If I could tell you how I feel,

It would probably hurt you.

It's the last thing I want to do,

But I'm being pulled like a rope.

To stay or go? How do I know?

This decision will not be easy

I don't want you to think I'm sleezy

The young man was hungry,

The young man was innocent.

His clothes were very *****,

His face showed his fear.

The decisions of his past,

Left him lost to all, a ghost.

He was alone in the world,

Not a penny to his name.

He was oh so trusting,

Maybe to a fault.

He wanted to see the love,

The kindness of Humankind.

So when asked for a favor,

He instantly accepted.

The young man took the bag,

No questions were asked.

When the police came,

The truth came out.

The bag was filled with money,

***** from the botched heist.

The young man will never be the same.

As the jail cell slammed,

And he was locked in,

The young man screamed,

"Why me?"

Writing makes the world go 'round.
Writing brings the Earth down.
Writing teaches those all around.
Writing can lead to new ground.
Writing has caused so many wars.
Writing takes us to many places.
Writing has opened up closed doors.
Writing can give us brand new faces.
Writings words can bring us all together.
Writing words can be lighter than a feather.

The bottle followed him around,

Like the sun to the skies.

He spit like no other,

Always giving him lost words.



The man with the lip,

Made it oh so enticing.

But the resulting cancer,

Made it so engrossing.



He would do it every day,

Until he could do it no more.

He made his habit known,

Like the characters of before.



When the boys saw the thing,

They had no clue what to do.

To try it, they say,

Was the best thing to prove.



The history of their fate,

Is told from the man,

So addicted to what he thinks is life,

The rest are lost in the path of lore.



Once addicted, always addicted,

And that’s the way the cards played out,

And that’s the way the world pays out,

Every day a struggle to deny,


The temptations of many, the vice of one

The child looks for guidance.

The man looks for answers.

The child chooses defiance.

The man chooses the wrong cancers.

The child is thrown in the wrong direction.

The man is ****** into the wrong life.

The child is all ready for the injection.

The man fears the sudden strife.

They know nothing of whats ahead,

While they lay in their comfy bed.

The worker bee hurries,

As the queen worries.

Like the underlings rush,

As the politicians hush.

The intensities of the world,

Seemingly more and more bold.

The everyday man,

With his everyday plan,

Has no idea what’s in store.

After the end, he’ll want no more,

Of this crazy little thing,

We like to call the War Machine.

Everything happens for a reason,

Or so they seem to say.

I love this type of season,

You come around to stay.



The summer sun is rising,

As I try to fall asleep.

I have trouble in deciding,

I think I’m falling in too deep.



The mad world frightens me,

From the struggle and strife.

Now I think you’re the key,

To my boring, normal life.



Everything happens for a reason,

That’s why I love this season.

This time of year you always stay,

Making all my problems go away.

The times the boy remembered,

From one home to the next.

Making friends along the way,

Seemingly, honestly perplexed.

He did not know, why he was uprooted.

He just knew, the life he’d began to love,

Will be the distant past in a few short miles.

Where he’ll stop, no one knows,

But the change is the same,

New life, more friends, same situation.

The boxes remain packed,

The house never truly full,

The son of a travelling salesman,

Will never be right, he’ll never be close,

This poor boy stuck, in a life he never chose.

The moment his eyes shut, the deal was done.

He slowly dreamed, as the devil won.

The life of this child was no longer fun,

As the demon approached, in the rising sun.

The young boy dreamt, no idea what he’d done.

The world was now in control of the one.

So fierce, so powerful, and afraid of none.

He owned the boy, like a bullet in a gun,

To do the things no good man would have done.

The thoughts of his childhood had already begun,

And the memories brought back, like a guilty pun.

He thought of losing control, like Attila the ***,

As he remembered those days, remembered by none.

He felt the whip, of the rising sun.

Urging him on as he wandered by some.

He could no longer feel the pain of none,

He only felt the burning stun.

He was being controlled, he was being won,

By the devil inside him is keeping him alive,

For without that live he would not survive.

Creation was meant to satisfy,

Through the duration, we all survived.

Chances in time are fleeting,

And the world feels like its drowning.



People are breathing and the world,

The world is losing its touch.

The world is falling apart.



The thoughts of a once-great man.

The timid features of the scared man,

Hide the scars that lay deep inside.

He struggles to survive, hoping to die.



Hoping to live, He’s lost in his mind.

He takes his breaths, and lives his life.

Never feeling the true life, the real feeling,

The man’s life is empty, he just hopes to live.

Every day the time creeps by,

Counting the minutes until the work is through.

The American Dream is killing the guy.

He thinks back upon the days he grew,

Dreaming of wealth and women, he now felt dry.

Thinking of his family, he was ****** in deeper,

His fantasies of riches fled, as he grew weary,

Of the monotonous days of the broken ladder.

He was promised so much, in the beginning.

Now that he’s wise, he knows the truth,

He will never be a CEO, a leader of men

Every day the man puts on the suit

Every day he wears his mask,

The stress, the pain; he wants it to end.

The American Dream is killing us all.