Tamed by an ordinary spirit,
So blissful and so charming,
Love, that is,
Or is it lust?
Either of the two end,
With lacerations that spell loss.

A mere flesh wound, mind you,
These temporary frowns,
Caused by passing past smiles,
Are only appetizers to the main course,
A bite of taste and a sip of tears.

Like 1-2-3,
The sensations come as fast as “they” go,
And to accept these customaries of life,
Is to accept that there is no permanence,
When it comes to stimulation.

Revive this lost soul,
As it relied on the scents of “them,”
To feel something deeper, more wholesome,
After years of self-isolation,
Caused by the last one that came and went.

Love this lustful sense of loss,
I sometimes crave the morbidity,
To remind me that I’m still breathing,
When I lost myself trying to preserve,
That feeling of lust masquerading as love.

Fruits of my existence causes a sensation to ratify my soulful being.
A feeling so warm and so deluxe that I fail to contain it in entirety.
While I may misunderstand aspects of this mystery I continue to ponder,
I do entertain keeping faith.

A great deal of gratefulness for love and lust as it pumps gracefully through my heart,
Leaving me incapable of discovering a detainer of joy.
She's known to have many flaws,
But I mustn't exceed an investigation of what they are to be.

Life, she's such a beauty.
A beauty no man should take for granted.
For I am a man she treats with royalty and favoritism.
I do not dare question why it is me,
That she adores so dearly.

Flowers bloom in April,
A month of my debut on Earth.
I'm blessed by god and the angels above,
With a lack of remorse and fear.

I'll shamelessly thank whomever is responsible,
For this happiness I've been gifted this year.
No being should challenge the strength of her power,
It is I who can appreciate the loveliness about her,
And will forever hold a smile when she stumbles across me.

She's out of her mind.
Wild as can be.
In bed she's an animal.
Dark hair,
Soft lips,
Lord, she drives me crazy.

She can make a woman turn homosexual, Or a homosexual man turn straight.
She is uncontrollably ****,
But what is it that I really know about her?

She's out of her mind.
A daredevil.
She's got all the right things about her,
If you're craving the *** of your life.

Going on a date means fearing for jail time.
She's that insane.
Not a care in the world.
But still I am skeptical of her sanity.

I come home,
Kicking my shoes off in the closet.
I look down, and I see something.
Something shocking,
And frightening.
And red.

A trail of blood leads to where?
The bedroom?
The bathroom?
The kitchen?
I'll start with the kitchen since it's close.

Holding my fists up as if I am a champion,
I stumble into the dark kitchen.
A silhouette visible, but no face to be seen.
I flick the lights on,
It is her smiling,
Holding a knife,
as they're both covered in blood.

Slowly and erotically licking the blood off of the knife,
she starts to giggle viciously.
Looking down at the corpse next to her,
an unfamiliar face frozen in terror.

Using the knife to slit the side of her dress,
It falls on the floor like a feather.
She stand's there in her bra and *******,
Motioning her finger for me to come to her.

"I want you right now", she said.
My heart is beating fast.
I'm petrified.
I'm alone.
I'm stuck with a killer,
And she wants me right now.

What makes men manly?

Is it depth in tone,
Is it large in build,
A claim of the throne,
And dominance at will?

Or is it indulgence of temptation,
To be a sovereign of fear and pain,
Using women as *******,
Destruction sought to be obtained?

To reap the feral fruits of life,
To sow the damning consequences,
Causing mourning, loss and worldly strife,
Chaos of man’s expenses.

What causes me to seek it,
What causes me to weep,
How I lack these biological ticks,
That keeps the world apart from sleep.

So what if I’m not big and strong,
So what if I’m not masculine,
So what if I can’t be the cause,
Of humanity’s need of Aspirin?

Put me in a quiet room,
Let me stew and think,
I aim to be the greatest groom,
My life will cease in a blink.

Father, son, holy trinity,
A woman’s man is not for lust,
My love transcends to infinity,
But women’s approval is a must.

Color me short,
Finger me stout,
Characteristics I constantly sort,
What is this all about?

Who cares if I’m not mean and cruel,
Who cares that I’m not suave,
Who cares if I’m not chill and cool,
I’m him whom man should evolve.

Many days go by, many nights come through, when I haven’t the faintest, slightest inkling of you. I rest my head easy, hardly do I become queasy, over the memories of what made my love for you so true. Have I ever felt blue, when pondering you? You bet your bottom dollar, though don’t expect the remotest holler, even on the nights when I’m mildly missing you.

How could you, do me the opposite as I have done to you? How could you do the things that I could never do to you? What makes you, so tamelessly shrew, and fail to miss me as I have missed you? What could I possibly do, to know that it could be true, that you have treasured me as I have treasured you?

That’s why I was through, because the moment I found you, you never made me feel as grand as I tried to make you. Complete as you’ve made my heart, you had a particular knack for tearing it apart, and that is why it is left shattered in its own aortic goo.

That’s all on you. That’s forever what will make you the best and worst of you. To be so ruthless and nonchalant with the damage that you do, and play it as though you had no idea that was all you. Now I’m left blue, pretending to be through, when all that I’ve sacrificed was due to this idea that I had of you. To slave in an asylum, to be a lawman and a wild one, a future as bright as a bullet shining out of a gun. That was all for you, my thoughts on tangoing as two, for the rest of our unhappy lives that would have been happier, if only you knew.

Who exactly are you? Who were you to this man who is now blue? Was it your pleasantries, so few, or was it a universal coup, toying with my hopes and dreams, of meeting and ending up with someone like you, someone I thought I knew?

My head is now a zoo, filled with starving animals and poo, moaning and groaning over this animalistic swine flu, that pillages my spirits and slices me in two, all from the memories that lead me to missing you. But I told you to shoo, after your silence asked me that for you, many moons of endless begging for anything to come out of you. In solitude, I’ll watch the drops of the morning dew, condense on my windowsill as I reflect on the person that came from you.

To love such a love, I have experienced so few, the dreams of this young man, who has dreamed a little of you, where I am kissing those sweet, darling kisses of you, in my head as I recall, on the nights when I’m missing you.

730 days of ambiguity,
Searching your soul,
Finding a cracked China doll,
Fragile, yet beautiful,
With a tragic past.

That one holiday in New London,
A mere ride on the Ferry away,
But we took the long way,
Simply to have more time.
More time, how I wish… we had it.

Our excitement as bold,
As our love for each other then,
You watched that Mohegan Sun rise,
Through that gaping window, overlooking the lake,
As you studied my sleep.

A holiday festivity,
Experiencing Siberian music,
In this Native American palace,
Dining like royalty,
And smiling in harmony.

730 days of highs and lows,
Despite how it all ended, and it did end,
That one, quaint little memory,
Reminds me of one simple thing,
We’ll always have Mohegan Sun

Look! I can spell MOTHER:

MANIPULATIVE
OPPRESSING
TOXIC
HATEFUL
EGOTISTICAL
RESENT

Body language speaking in Shakespearian sonnet,
As I evolve from boy to man,
Hungers I battle to remain silent,
This mutual silence screams we are both in need.

Bogarting my path to seduction,
Fueling my fantasies with possibility,
I pray to god my morals vanish,
In the end it remains a dream.

A spitfire,
sophisticated and dazzling,
Motivating me to enjoy such tediousness,
I fall in love with the idea of fornication.

How beautiful the moon is tonight.
So gracious and so pure.
I'm fortunate to have the privilege of accompanying you this evening,
Since I am in fact,
An insomniac.

Life has a funny way of making unconventional things turn gorgeous,
In the split second of a blink.
My heart holds gratefulness to you, Ms. Moon,
For adding charm to my hellish night.

You change a lot like a person,
Your appearances can very well vary,
But the object of your being is simply to shine light on the darkness,
Now my darkness has been lit up like a Christmas tree.
All because of your elegancy.

You're great company for me, Ms. Moon,
As you hold no judgment to my livelihood.
I do not choose to be woken by such an illness created from genetics,
Thankfully I have you as a companion,
A companion to share my struggles with,
On a night you so beautifully made shine.

My open window bears a gaping hole,
Welcoming and whining the sounds of my soul,
A tasteful mesh of stormy delight,
In a moment so blissfully lonesome tonight.  

Whirls of wind that plow through the trees,
Rain drops pouring and ******* wherever it may please,
Slight brisk drafts of air cooling me at ease,
In this hot, oven-like bedroom, while I cough and sneeze.

Alarm clock sets for the dawn of tomorrow,
I lay here filled with bouts of sorrow,
How this beat of peace is simply a borrow,
Due to this I whimper, whine, and willfully wallow.

The openness of my window, this gaping frame,
The darkness of my bedroom, delightfully same,
Provides sense of solitude in this world, without blame,
I complain not a lick that this is the name of my game.

Nice Guys,
they finish Last.
They make it by,
the skin of their ***.
The woman don’t,
appreciate class.
They expect ‘em all,
to have ***** of brass.

Blood dripping from my bathroom faucet,
Shaking from ominous waves of insanity,
Petrified by horrific sounds of screams,
Only to realize that they are my own.

Puddles of red at my bare feet,
Leading a trail of it to my bathtub.
Expecting a corpse unknown to my eye,
But all I see is myself lying still.
My eyes and mouth are as wide as the wounds to my throat,
My heart is clearly visible,
Coincidentally on my sleeve.

A manifestation of evil appearing as a human,
A demonic entity it turns out to be.
Teeth as sharp as impaling spikes,
With serrated flesh dripping blood from it's gums.
The sense of determination can be shown through it's shaded eyes,
An act aimed for evil is in motion.

Wind zooming through the atmosphere outside,
As rain falls down from above.
Lightening strikes the tree adjacent to my bathroom window,
The demonic entity has disappeared.

My strength to hold this bravery I cannot seem to discover has weakened,
Rain drops ****** as the sliced flesh of my wrists,
Standing in confusion, my fear begins to escalate.
I am dying,
But I have the most life I could ever encounter flowing inside of me,
Projected as fear.

Fear is the distant cousin of shame,
But facing evil there is no shame.
For I am lost in a world of death,
All I can see is fog before my eyes.
The devil has risen,
Risen from inside of me.

Canines lacking the emotion of being timid,
They can feast on the rodents at my toes.
This bathroom is what I consider as hell,
But purgatory it seems to be,
Foreshadowing my everlasting throne in an area surrounded by flames.

Death seems inferior to what I'm about to experience,
As ****** could be exhilarating once more before I become a prisoner of my own psyche,
The devil himself has claimed.

Waking up in cold sweats of heat,
I struggle to catch myself, failing to catch my breath.
I've lost the ability to wonder,
As this nightmare slowly fades away

Your presence be known, if needed,
In a pinch,
You’re here or there when summoned,
Yet never praised,
Often overlooked and misunderstood.

Always guessing where this road will end,
How backwards is over where you bend,
For all of whom claim to be your friend,
Your classiness and craftiness I will always commend.

Finding nowhere to rest my head,
You were a place to lean on,
A host when I had no place to dream,
A mentor of my bizarre fantasies,
Of all trades that you’ve mastered,
That I aimed to perfect.

Ages lightyears apart,
Yet still closely in tune,
We play the same music,
A grasshopper to your sensei,
I sail the endless seas of your knowledge,
A lighthouse to my rocky waters.

With shared poverty,
You scraped together your last,
To fill my belly with lamb,
Your cynicism of man,
Your confidence in me,
A father and son, not quite
A grandfather and grandson, hardly,
An odd couple that just makes sense.

A Sinatra-like scholar,
With more brains, ***** and bravery,
You are a man’s man for men,
Everything that I want to be,
And everything that I could need,
In a friend.

Four years of insanity came and went,
Searching for a place to rest our heads,
Living through a nightmare that we couldn’t wake up from,
Finally achieving our biggest dream,
We’ve found a home.

You have to give credit,
where credit is due.
The little things mean the most,
In such a big world,
A mean world,
And now the world feels like ours,
Because we have a place to lay our hats.

Dreaming of what was,
Instead of what will be.
A night with my ol' Scottish friend,
Bluer than green as my heart mimics my liver,
Screaming to be cleansed of the poisons I give 'em,
To feel something other than remorse.
Pain is weakness leaving my tear ducts,
Mumbling some sort of ironic phrase,
Playing it Bogart as I sit in my own stink,
Separate from this mediocre world,
If my own world were isolated from thought,
Or If thought were a composition of Chopin.
Sweating the aged rye as it coats my ability to *******,
I'll light another cigarette for kicks,
Since death by smoke seems more charming,
Than dying of a broken heart.
I'll kiss the lemon twist,
Relevant to the aches I've felt.
Submerging the sourness in a pool of cheap,
Since I can't afford the good stuff.

Leaves are falling all around me,
containing such color and beauty.
The smell of the air is crisp,
Like dew on mountain trees.

The temperature outside decreasing,
As does my care in the world,
When I'm drawing smoke,
from such tobacco that is sweet.
It is now my favorite season.
A season I have branded "Pipe Season".

A pipe made of corn,
A heart made from passion.
A hobby I consider gold.
I'll continue to love this pipe of mine,
Until I'm eighty years old.

Rich clouds drawn from flaming leaves,
Leaves seasoned like cucumbers resting in salted vinegar.
The chilled breeze of Autumn flows smoothly,
With my vanilla flavored taste buds.

An odor like heaven enters my nose,
I grow fond of my handheld chimney,
Sitting at my palm as I admire it as a work of art.
Surpassing the Sistine Chapel,
Through my teak colored eyes.

Now I feel that Autumn is here,
This pipe has inspired it's elegance.
But what will become of it when the Winter arrives?
This moment will eventually end,
I fear.

The modern poem,
Is a minute, edgy,
Motivating, philosophical phrase,
About how you should change,
Your belief system,
On love,
In the format of a poem.

The expectation,
Of you to accept the inhalation,
Of the evaporation,
Of someone else’s waste.

Make it make sense,
How the walls of stalls,
Fail to reach its maximum highs and lows,
For all of us to share what we release.

We listen to the air,
That flubs between *** cheeks,
Just as the **** projects deuces,
Into the bowl that cups the sound of wind.

We hear the moans and sighs,
Of relief, constipation and strain,
As we urinate nearby,
Adjacent to the incomplete **** shack.

Make it make sense,
How tasting the gases,
Of Joe Blow, blowing out his insides,
Is a customary to our community.

A sociological experiment,
Deemed to generate sociopathy,
As we laugh at the flatulence,
And giggle at one’s vulnerability.

Merely a forgotten fact,
That we have been there too,
We go there every day,
And pretend that others don’t do the same.

And without a mere act of courtesy,
The space is left filthier than the last,
Because why be considerate for the next?
Someone’s job is to cleanse my waste.

Furthermore is the neglect,
Of faucets, soap and towels,
Aimed to **** bacteria,
That exits biological passageways.

Why oh why,
Must I be forced to study,
Why this is simply unacceptable,
This concept of oversharing?

Recurring stage fright,
Readily apparent,
When forced to **** beside men,
More than double my size.

I’ll simply never understand,
How by design,
What we wouldn’t do in front of house guests,
Is something we are urged to do in front of strangers.

Bonding,
With a bunch of hairy, overweight men,
Who clear their throats, bladders and colons,
In my personal space.

Never have I ever,
Felt so free from loss and grief,
I dignify this endeavor,
I'm so far beyond relief.

A wind that carries me away,
From emotional *******,
I can't quite find words to say,
How I've grown from exaggeration.

Growing old is a form of art,
A marvel crafted from that we evolve,
I grasp onto this change as I depart,
A new problem I have yet to solve.

Extraterrestrial feelings spark wisdom,
An epiphany driving an Eldorado,
Leaving me vulnerable to aphorism,
In a mirror I sport a healthy bravado.

Waking up from nightmares,
Crafted by the hands of me and I,
Myself is who is left behind,
A new man who lacks the ability to care.

Have you ever felt,
The things that I have felt,
Repetition at its finest,
Cycles viciously spinning,
And fires that refuse to go out?

The annoyance of consistency,
Always needing more
                            more,
                           And more,
Until my brain just resists,
The resistance of greed,
But greed is just a substitute for emptiness,
Holes that have been formed inside me,
Craving the very sweetness of joy.

I'm caught on a hook,
A hook of fishermen named desires,
I ache for variety and change,
But the only change is my ability,
To sustain in complexity.

Is it ungrateful to be this way,
Kissing the realism goodbye,
As it drives me to madness,
Leaving me in a state of blue,
And uncertainty?

Independence is what I propose,
But adolescence limits the opportunities,
That have been given to me as a test,
A test of which I continue to fail,
Since I am afraid of responsibility.

Genius talents,
Gifted from god,
I hold him liable of my fate,
Yet since I need this vicious cycle to end,
I must try to take it into my own hands,

Even if I am,
Afraid of the change,
As much as I wish for it.

I had seen a woman that I once knew.
She shattered my heart,
Leaving me cold and blue.
Although it was yesterday since I last cried,
It has been a decade since she had died.

Sanity abandoned my life,
The minute I asked her to be my wife.
Once she fell for a new man,
I then became her biggest fan.

Photography became a hobby of mine.
Oh how her eyes were beautiful when they shined,
In the lenses of my polaroid.
It was my heart she viciously destroyed.

Her lips pressed passionately on her new love's,
As if they were two white Turtle Doves.
He pulled her clothes off,
One by one.
In my car I sat,
Loading my gun.

The smell of fear was loud,
In the atmosphere gliding in a crowd,
Of particles kissing spatters of blood.
Her screams could wake the neighborhood.

On this day I weep in pain,
As I recall an abundance of blood to drain.
Though being reminded is not hard,
Her apparition is not far.

In cold sweats I awake at night.
My sanity tender as it builds a fright.
This is no hallucination,
She's here with me,
Causing fear to flow through my still body.

Creeping towards my king sized bed,
Her eyes shined bright blood red.
She opens her mouth so bold and wide,
To remind me that I am why she died.

Sarah Castle, please be kind.
Your beauty is rare.
It can cure the blind.
But how sinister you seem tonight,
I don't appreciate this uncomfortable fright.

Screaming loud,
So ominously and cold.
Your smell is like the smell of mold,
Yet beauty is still a quality.

Horrific and beautiful.
Deadly and lovely,
I remember you just as one.
Now you come to visit me,
Holding my loaded gun.

The laughter you create,
As I cry and sway about.
I have soiled my underpants,
As you hover and shout.

******! ******!
You so boldly scream at me,
I apologize for my actions,
You will always be my lovely.

Farewell sweet Sarah.
I'll see you in my dreams.
Just please do me a kindness,
And cease those horrifying screams.

Into my life, she came back for a reason,
A reason, give me a reason why, anything,
A good ******* reason why she came right back,
As we fell right back, into old routines, our old adrenaline shot of love, minus the pain,
Like good *** never felt so good without her.

What the ****, man,
She came back and now she’s leaving again,
Her reluctance, against her will, she will depart, soon enough, as we lose each other all over again,
Just as we fell back in love,
She came back and now she’s already gone.

Some other ***’s mum, a lesser of a man,
Lacks her heart when I am overstocked with it,
Drowning in her love and not a care in the world,
Besides that thought lingering behind my neck,
Saying she came back but we know she’s already gone again.

Do we, though? Do we really know?
Do we really know if she’s gone gone?
Or is she only gonna be gone until the day she comes back?
Will she come back again? Will she be ready for me?
Will I be ready to take her hand and never let it go the way i have to once more?

I thought I was freed from this torment of love,
But I never was freed, and then she came back,
And it’s like… really ******* perfect,
Yet somehow really ****** knowing how perfect it is,
And it’s perfect timing for her to come back,
Just as she’s about to leave again.

**** it.

She’s gonna sing?
I’ll dance.
**** — what a lovely little voice,
Caressing my spirit and shattering my ego.
Her ambiance brings forth the notion,
That one person can be deemed flawless.

Perfectly imperfect,
What a melodic little spirit.
She sings, I dance.
I listen to her words tenderizing my ear drums.
A fool blabbing love that remains unspoken,
When she rips apart all that is entwines me.

I’m a mere note in her tune,
Her concerto of loneliness and dread.
She rehearses too much,
Calculating each vibrato to the tee,
Anticipating a sore throat,
When I’m the only one in the crowd,
And I don’t mind.
I have lozenges.

All I want is to hear her sing,
And for her to watch me dance,
And cheer me on with her lovely voice,
As I sit in my skivvies, front row, center stage,
Like a buffoon with a lack of rhythm in me.

She better keep on singing.
The key may change,
But notes stay the same,
And I’ll be there to back her vocals,
With my frugal, five-dollar guitar.

I’ll always dance to her tune,
I hope she’ll always sing for me.
When she sings,
I ******* dance,
And I pray that she’ll give me an encore.

Sooner or later,
I need to learn how to dance,
A voice like hers can’t go to waste.
A genius composer,
I can never oppose her,
The sound of her music livens me.

She sings,
I dance,
She belts,
I prance,
She laments,
I advance,
To savor,
Our incestuous romance.

(Why do you look at drinking as such a nasty thing?)

Oh, no reason.
It’s a silly little beverage,
That twisted and turned,
My childhood to shambles,
All because it was who ‘he’ was.

Oh, you’re right,
I’m just being dramatic,
It was just my innocence,
After all,
Silly me.

Look! I can spell SISTER:

SASSY
IRRATIONAL
SICK
TOXIC
EGOMANIAC
REALLY ******

Shall we dance together under this enchanting starlit sky?
Let us press up closely and sway to and fro,
Let my eyes glisten so deliberately,
As I daze at the sensation you give me by simply existing.

A dazzling penguin I appear,
While my peers sport identical attire,
Your glow is as bold as the smile on my face,
Every second I spend dancing with you.

How charming my humor may be,
Awkwardly shunning those who are near,
Your shoulders look like golden biscuits,
I crave the taste of them,
As they sit so shiningly in sight.

May I take out your hair clip,
Once we arrive at home from this soiree?
Would it be possible to admire your almond locks flowing,
So rivetingly down to your *******?

Would you let me unbutton your corset,
Kissing every inch of your spine from head to toe?
Can I wrap my arms around your belly,
Conjoining our bodies together like two molds of clay,
To form one marvel of modern art?

Life with you is as elegant as this moment,
Our laughs are like a melody of Mozart,
Our *** is like a jazz suite band,
Smooth and soulful,
When intimacy inspires the art of lust.

A soiree it is,
Having every moment spent with you,
I'm intoxicated on tranquility,
Knowing every second is where I'll find you.

How do you do,
Mr. Shadow on the wall,
No rudeness intended,
But I did not miss you,
In your absence.

Remember when I was young,
Remember when I was weak?
You stole my sense of purpose,
I let you in,
And you had your way with me.

One step forward,
Ten steps back.
Each step backward,
I felt your breath on my neck.
This time is different.

I reflect on yesterday,
Today is the day to ponder,
Today I see one small change,
I’m strong,
No longer small.

Same problems, New mind,
Loneliness still haunts my soul.
Your presence gives me agita,
Cramping my style,
In this newfound perspective.

Back to square one,
Back to my square roots,
These exponential problems,
Are not yours to guide me through.
Get away, Stay away.

Bobbing and weaving,
Slipping and jabbing.

The fighting stance against a thousand opponents,
All of whom, look like me,
Is a stance I can only articulate,
In a mirror,
Shadow boxing that guy,
Strangely looking like me.

Pop-Pop BANG,
I throw punches at the air in front of me,
This bull can rage like Cinderella in a cage,
A square, roped cage,
Where life’s uppercuts put me in a daze.

The fighter in me,
One stubborn little *******,
Iron-jawed and iron-clawed,
Always taking one to the gut,
I fall down and so ruthlessly get back up.

24 and 0,
I’m the undefeated world champion,
My opponent remains consistent,
But I’m not afraid,
I got this far,
You think I can’t go a few more rounds?

Huff, puff, smooth bravado,
This instrument that I play,
Whisks me away into smokey,
Desolate lounges,
Filled with women in black and red dresses,
Who would otherwise look away,
If not for my silky, suave vibrato.

Ooh, how I can carry a tune,
My fingers dance on the keys,
Like raindrops on a windowsill,
The neon lights at the door,
Buzzing outside in the cold.

The only thing warming up,
This cold little soul,
Is a finger of rye,
Adjacent to the ashtray,
That holds my neglected cigarette.

She watches, She listens,
My face turns purple,
As I pour my heart out on stage,
Out in the open in this vacant place,
With only the few of us around.

Wasted energy beyond the perception of gloom,
I carry a large burden upon my shoulders, like a boulder waiting for my spine to collapse,
Though now I seem as if I am without a spine.
I am weakened by the very inkling of depression inside of me,
Yet I cannot seem to cry.

Crying is your mind's way of telling you that you're human.
But I cannot decipher the idea of me grasping any humanized traits,
Since I let my emotions eat away at my own self-empathy.
I lay down in silence,
My insides screaming in pain.

I suppress these urges I get just aching to drive me to madness,
When it is my own person that has to deal with the stress.
I find myself dreaming of dreams that cannot be reached.
I am nearly an adult,
And all I feel like is a naive child,
twiddling his thumbs in his own little world.

I pray that I discover a way that I can feel joyous,
With people that share interests in similarity.
I am a young man with rare characteristics,
Finding such a person would be strenuous.

Uncanny it is for me to speak words like so,
It boggles my mind to uncertainty.
I've cried a lot through my hand,
Not my eyes,
And my poor pencil has grown exhausted from my depression.

Continuous peeps from a bird landed on my windowsill,
Music fluently sounding through the beak of this winged creature.
Oh how noisy true beauty can be,
Leaving the world to withhold more elegance than Mother Nature intended.
An amendment I possess to bare arms as I wish,
I cocked my twelve gauge and blew it the **** away because I want to sleep in on Saturday and the bird kept waking me up.

No matter how hard you try,
No matter how much you give,
You’ll never mean a **** to me,
You made your bed,
Now lay in it.
I love you.
Please tell me you miss me.

The **** does it really?
The **** does it all mean?
To caren’t oh so freely,
To not aim to read in between.

The **** is this monstrosity?
The **** does this represent?
This self-aware precocity,
Diving and thriving in its own lament.

Possessions stemmed from possessiveness,
Losses that led to lenience,  
No ***** to give and not a **** to lose,
Too many have come and went.

The **** does it matter, truly?
The **** should it matter to me?
These thinking caps are on too tight,
I’ll embrace this coldness cruelly.

Not to say that I am so daft,
This emulation of me is unflattering,
I’ve come to love this newfound craft,
The ***** become irrelevant when they stop mattering.

I search this ocean of emotional wrath,
Rage building up from below the core,
I study the textbook acts of feeling hopeless,
In a world of halfwitted fools,
Whom I claim superiority over.

Behold! This artifact of false pride,
I discovered it as I meandered the ocean on my love boat,
Fighting constant rouge waves of selfishness,
It calmly floated through the white foams.

I defected on the **** deck,
Holding no desire for consideration of my mates,
Mates who could care less for me,
And my prejudice towards sailing on this body of water,
They then made me walk the plank.

My heart rate reaches a point of vulnerability,
As I struggle to hold my breath below the surf,
I lasted unusually longer than a month's worth of travel,
Floating on nothing but my buoyancy,
I reached shore,
Suffocating with no use of my hands and feet.

Ironically,
A lady fisherman retrieved me from the waves,
Reciting a prayer, then proceeding CPR,
I regain consciousness, gasping for air,
Forgetting what was to become of me,
I grab her by the torso of her slicker,
And kiss her passionately,
With no ***** given.

She did of course kiss me back,
Confused but delighted,
Once she realized what was occurring,
She pulled away smiling,
I gave her a glance projecting my ruthlessness,
Because I am in fact,
Superior to the king himself.

The sun looked innocent,
As the clouds rolled in viciously,
This storm seemed like an old friend,
I recall it's grubby warfare,
Kicking me around as I swayed to and fro,
On the mahogany of my dear rig,
A rig that has been stolen from me,
On the lost sea of emotional wrath.

He sweats when he poops,
Not just any old ****,
A **** of glory,
A **** of a lifetime.

The kind of ****, that jacks your heart rate,
The kind of ****, that makes you breathe heavy,
A **** so intense that your bowels moan,
And generate a need to remove your shirt.

The cold, yet intense sweats of this ****,
Cramps in the lower abdomen, sharp and warm,
The sweet relief of tension, when that one big log comes out,
All hot and steamy.

Followed by a stream of liquidy brown,
He wonders how his body even operates,
The unholiness of what exits through,
That holiest of holes, next to the birth stump and boulders.

Pondering the consumption of two nights before,
He sits bare-assed on this porcelain mouth,
Ingesting every bit of solids, liquids and gasses,
That exit from his **** canal.

Clothes tossed onto the floor,
His ******* harden from the unpleasant draft,
Caused by the perspired glands,
That shiver from trauma and nightly air.

A king will be a king,
His queen must be a shill.
Dare she were to disobey,
Stick her head in a guillotine.
The modern world seems so classical,
An era of error on repeat,
As if a broken record,
So to speak.

Her hair a factory of honey,
Glistening eyes of a little girl,
A figure of motherhood in need of a mother.
Why, she was just a baby,
Right from wrong?
She could not tell,
He wanted her,
He got her,
And they all danced to his tune.

She worshipped her king,
Loving him tenderly as —
The king worshipped himself,
Taking care of business.
An entire world heard him speak,
Yet never saw her.

Enslaved in a kingdom of grace,
While she was up,
He was down.
His majesty ruled rocking,
Molded his maiden,
And left her but to wonder,
Simply of his whereabouts.
The throne,
Lonely without her king.

A flawless woman feared flawed,
Merely a mirror of his honor.
A man of many mistresses,
Ravaged for *******.
Who was she?
She could not say,
A lover or a friend?
A mother or a gem?
In time past due,
She could not stay.

The goddess vacated his palace,
Long left to showcase his gold,
But even those walls reek of plastic,
Hindered by a painting left unseen.
They did not know him,
Neither did he,
Only did she,
And she is forced to eat,
At the dime of his memory.

Marching up the hill with his fellow troops,
His insides are ready to burst with anticipation.
Growling and bubbling, his stomach seems to sound off as his hands quiver holding his rifle.
The soldier cannot turn back, as he must fight for his freedom against evil,
Though the art of having a choice has been long forgotten.

This soldier knows not of his fate.
He's petrified of what is to come,
Whether he survives or not.
If he dies,
He dies with honor,
yet he's not afraid of dying.
He's afraid of being forgotten.
If he survives,
He survives with honor,
Not expecting of a soul to recognize the sacrifice he has made for his own,
And failing to discover it as he lives on.

His beliefs are meaningless,
His pride is no longer relevant.
What requires quality is the strength to fight,
To fear no man aiming to take away his freedom,
And his life.

Facing what can be assumed as evil,
Yet never needing to know what true evil is really like.
The soldier has seen evil,
Evil awaits again willingly.
But he is not afraid.

Fragile Minded,
Gullibility that leaves me in embarrassment,
Causing an obvious departure from my notability.
I weaken as my former friends migrate to someone new,
Forgetting that it is time to move on.

I have struggles to let go from my past,
Nostalgia makes it impossible to achieve,
Those days have been long gone,
But my memory will always cherish them,
Even if they carelessly forget my name.

I'm wondering if my sadness is because I'm moving on from this place,
Or that I'm having trouble giving up the idea of it,
Whichever one my path leads to,
The lost art of smiling behooves me to feel blue.

It's meaningless and useless in regard to my successful future as a man,
But the emotional scarring will always be with me,
Part of me mourns my mistakes and lost notoriety,
But another part of me loathes the other part of me,
As it is someone I never truly wanted to be,
But had to be, in order to survive.

There were as many good times as there were bad,
But the bad times sinfully destroy my chances of retaining bitterness,
I've lost many girls before,
And friends who then became rivals.

Life in these years are like being guided by a safety net,
But the following year the world gets dropped in my hands,
Like a melted piece of clay,
And yet I have to be the one to mold it.

I'm not afraid of being a grown up,
I'm afraid to let go of my youth,
Not matter how petty and senseless these experiences may have turned out to be,
I'll always be me,
The teenager who refused to grow up.

Give me a sign you understand,
Pleasure my psyche with   confirmation,
Twist and turn my moral brain,
Until it is worn to a bucket of mash.

This awkward bio examination you speak of,
Has it always been so complex?
My finicky brain seeks the resolution,
A solution to this core that is common.

How is it that man can be man,
If man evolves to entities beyond,
We are our own experiments of modern science,
Constantly analyzing data we have yet to comprehend.

A technician fails foolishly,
As another earns their Nobel Prize,
We are chosen to fit such devious survival tactics,
Though in our hearts we look at the consequence.

A quizzical I carelessly push aside,
Finding it easier to risk the perks,
A self made genius consistently preaching,
Superiority over those who are victims of doubt.

To have a mind like he,
Is devilish as much as it is holy,
We find vices that motivate illusions,
Created by those who are lost in time.

Figuring the start of a new,
As a new so boisterously grows old,
An aging sweet wine with sour grapes,
Contained in a waterlogged barrel that never ceases to replace.

The pearly gates seem foreign,
A daydream away from today,
He talked about Hades like Sin,
But what he neglected to mention,
Is that Hell is from within.

A dystopian travesty,
Civilizations amuck,
We fight,
We ****,
In pursuit of happiness,
Whatever that is.

The third eye,
Is a bird’s eye,
View on a hurt guy,
Within a dirt life.

Since first flight,
Cut with a big knife,
By Dad and his wife,
Who gave me life.

What hurt Dad?
Who hurt Dad’s wife?
So much strife,
In this foul scented life.

Bitterness so rife,
In these brown eyes,
Since all that I,
Know is to,
Trust that third eye.

Grasping onto my bed sheets like the moon's gravitational pull met its demise through the force of our love for each other. Your eyes are shut but mine are open, admiring your luscious body as it conjoins to mine. Hearing the songs you sing as I put-forth the utmost efforts to please you while playing my instrument in harmony with your voice, I'm reminded of a blessing that this moment symbolizes. As we reach the ****** of our enchanting nightly journey, I open my arms to you as you sink into me like warm butter sinks into toasted bread. We gaze into each other's eyes while the universe unfolds around us, without a care in the world I utter the three words every woman wants to hear, but most importantly, every woman deserves to hear after providing such a joy for a man that she has provided for me this evening... I love you.

The logic fascinates me,
How a perfectly fine bundle of bananas,
Is just thrown away,
Simply because,
Nobody wanted the inconvenience,
Of having to peel.

And then the barkeep said...

"One more drop and he'll change from blue to black..."