you walked in
then walked out
turned yourself around
and wondered
what to think about.

then thought again
about what to say
as you turned back around
decided to go home
and just walked away.

left me here standing
with my hand in my jeans
pulling at the loose strings
hanging in my pocket
and what this all means.

now i've got the idea
that you're unsure yourself
about what it is we're doing
where we'll end up
and if we'll need any help
deciding what this love is.

though shadowed and followed
through the darkness there's ambience
that follows my shadows.
it tastes of regret, simplicity, and ignorance;
feels like shame, denial, and *****.
shaken from my dreams, i'm alive.
shook to the depths of my soul;
my dreams resonate as they vibrate,
violently across your frequency
and violating my sanctity.

*i heard your voice,
i spoke through your lips.
i saw your hair,
i tasted your hips,
and before i knew it,
i'd smelt my death.

in the morning, i remember her face
as she slept on my arm that had slept
all through the night with her
while i lay awake wondering;
where i was taking my life
where i was going to end up
where i was, belonging to the night.

the sun spanned her shoulder
through the cracked window pane
and split a beautiful ray on her tattoo
the bird, so colorful;
where i kissed her last night
where i missed her subtleties
where i knew i wanted to rest
where she was in her dreams, i couldn't contest.
she said love again
except this time i felt it go through me.
she said she meant it
and i felt her soul touch mine; exquisitely.
she said she wouldn't leave
and in the morning, stayed on my arm.
she said it was meant to be
and i knew she was telling not just me;
she meant this more than my cigarettes, coffee, and crullers meant to give me cancer.

we broke this whole idea into increments
and fed it to the birds in the park
as they flew around for a crumb of what it was
that we were feeding everyone else;
hunger for dinner.

now they're searching our eyes and our heads
for the answers to what there was once was
and where it's coming from
as we've already told them where we were
and where we're going.

there was nothing else left for them to eat
so they turned towards us and devoured
every morsel that was left of our being;
our souls were roasted
and eaten whole.

now we're emptied of anything well
and well enough, there's nothing here
to feed you but what i am
and i'm not sure that's even delectable;
you'll eat my hunger.

it's pretty faces like yours
that keep me from dying
by my own devices
as i devise a way out of this place.

it's pretty faces like yours
that save me from myself
by your smile
as i smelled the burning sulfur.

it's pretty faces like yours
that help me want this
by fire, i cleanse
as i clean up the mess you'd left me in.

you said what you said and there's no taking it back,
think before you speak and even harder when you act.
there's nothing you can do now, the damage is done.
i hope that you're watching all this and having your fun
as you ****** with my head.
like so many before.
you ****** with my heart.
and the stitches are tore,
apart and now i'm bleeding.
you've killed me; to the core.
*death again.

it's playing through me
and you're not even listening
to what they're saying
while it's always playing
through me.

it's trying through me
and you're not even noticing
how it's always menacing
while it's just trying
through me.

it's glistening through me
and you're hardly guessing
that this is the dressing
that's it's doing while glistening
through me.

you should be paying attention, but i doubt you'd ever hear anything; anything that isn't in your own head.

we'd overslept too long
and now the day's half done
as we dreamed about nothing
we'd missed out on the fun
that we were to have
while there's light from the sun.

she whispered it to me
and i woke up immediately.
i knew what i'd heard
and i'd practiced it remedially.
she had a hold instantaneously
and i knew i couldn't break it.
there was no doubt left
and i knew i couldn't shake it.
i held her that night
and i didn't wanna let when the sun arose;
i knew i had to eventually
and i'd have had to know
that i couldn't let it go.

completely chaotic in its beauty
and completed only by its sanity
there's got to be a reason we're looking for something here.

we're drawing our own portraits
and painting over our mistakes
with everything we've practiced at any easel.

as it starts back at the last tempo
we contemplate the time signature
and whether or not the time's showing anything at all.

there's too much going on now
and we're getting it all mixed up
with something we're all trying to feel in one form or another.

as we come back down
we see the sun glaring off the window pane
and realize this is where it's meant to have shone; upon our lives.

the devil told me his story
he told it quite well
the devil told me his story
and what it's like in hell
the devil told me his story
and how it's always swell
the devil told me his story
and i found we're all just shells,
waiting to be emptied.

as you grow,
remember what i'd told you
so many nights ago,
how i said to "always be true."
when facing any adversity,
to keep both ears peeled.
to let yourself truly love,
and to never let wounds heal.
they'll make you stronger,
with plenty of infection.
and, also, to never aid anyone
in another's dissection.
keep your hands on the wheel,
and your eyes to the sky.
there's no way to stop growing up,
even after you die.

she couldn't **** him when he asked her to
so she asked her daddy if he would.
she couldn't tell him, ever, the truth,
but she knew her daddy could.
she'd seen the way he'd looked at her,
and knew her daddy saw his love.
she knew he would be dead soon,
cuz her daddy took off the gloves.
she watched him bleeding in the street,
as her daddy beat his head in.
and she knew there would be a good reason
why her daddy had to **** him.

wandering through my head
you'd slid the idea in again.
i'd let you fill in that space
and taken time figuring out
where it was you made it through.

there's nothing i pointed out
as you poignantly accepted
the deception and lingering
that would come afterwards
when you did what you'd done.

now that it was called
what we'd called it that night
there's nothing more for me to say
i've never written what was right,
and you have no say in this.

you'd based this off a time
when you had the life
that you'd always imagined
but never let really happen
any breaking of what it was
and you know it's all because
of the way you'd carried yourself,
acting as if you'd never needed help
just being.
never living what you were meant to live as; the fates have been quite angered.

dreaded hang overs and handouts
made to believe in something else
for the sake of belief in anything
and yet there's nothing here to think;
there's been plenty done in the head,
and it's tiring itself out in here,
so it's got to find a way to get out.

the thing is we don't get out alive
and we're all bound here
in one form or another; we're stuck
as we're sticking ourselves,
poking and prodding for life
that we're all aware is here.

yet, there's this unyielding need
to feel something at one point
as well as at some other,
but nobody's pointed it out to anyone
and we're all blindly aiming ourselves
to destinies we're uncertain of;
but we're all out here living before we start dying.

pass on by
through me
and get an idea
of what i'm about
before you talk about
who or what i am
and what you think;
you haven't thought
just yet it seems
because we're still
ill-acquainted
in this ill-fated
dramadey.

you'd had me at hello,
and i knew it was a show
from the opening number
to the closing curtains;
you weren't acting though.

you were harboring something
and you couldn't really tell me
what the plot finalized in
as it came out in your expressions;
it all made sense in time.

you've never heard a thing
it's just a ploy, you say
just to hear what to say
and nobody's been listening.
there's nothing coming out
to make anyone care
that you've let down your hair
and finally had something to say.
but i heard it all
and i can say it wasn't
what i'd expected to hear
because i wasn't near
i heard just the pieces.
that you need to pick up on
and stop putting yourself on
to the constant income
to be put into outcome.
where's it leading you
and why are you going
**that far?

on the brink of a river, there's plenty to see
on the brink of insanity, there's only me
and as i fall forward, i don't put my hands out
and as i hit the ground, i know what and why this came about.

you couldn't stand being dealt the truth
so you needed somebody else to handle it
with kid gloves, brutally *displayed
over various acts of violence; violently
handled like it was a child, misbehaving
and now it's flown off the handle.
and you're standing empty-handed.

it's not only the disease in my mind
that's been left so far behind
by the mass time you've spent
in your self regret
and mutilation of the facts
and aimless, allegorical attacks
based off of your life's lies;
how they've been goodbyes
and never hellos.
or good mornings.
or any salutation, noticeably
cold and distraught collectively
for the sickness that you've left behind.

we'd worked it all out in our heads
but when we'd made it to our beds
our dreams ruined everything
and we pulled apart anything
to make some sense of something.

we'd worked it all out on paper
but it slowly reached the shredder
for the sake of it never working out
because what this was all about
was deeper than the tile; it was in the grout.

so we had to start at the base
and gave ourselves the space
to make it all work in one way
and that's when i began to say,
"you're dead, as the horse is to his hay."

you've never told me how you felt
in any form of honesty
when i asked was for you to honestly
explain yourself after it all happened
but you'd just left me in ignorance.
so, i sat down and worked it all out
and i came up with a few things
that i'm beginning i actually know
about what it is you really want
and how to get it all for you.
there's some things i have to ask of you
before i can start fulfilling your wishes
before they've filled you with hope
of the empty desires we've discussed
that you've been complaining about
in your own sublime ways;
and, subliminally, have changed my thought pattern.

my goddess dies each dawn
with the rising of the sun
and is reborn; renewed
in the sick, slighted
mannerism she awakens.

even with noticeable differences
the sky projects her face
as she lightens my burdens
and burdens my nights
with her glowing.

this shining has come for time
that it's been needed
where i've stood; judged
for the sinful mannerism
of my paganism.

but you're lost in the twilight;
daydreaming
in the middle of the night
that day will break the dark
and again, you'll see.

i've never needed any light
for my goddess is here;
she's been for ages
and she will be
once i'm gone.

welcomed to the idea, once again
by the cool calling that lead me,
barely heard, and hardly felt,
yet, still coercing enough for this.
so i decided to attempt it,
again.
an attempt made at nothing,
when reality says it was something,
as i digress, it was nothing,
and again, it was something
though i'll never name it
what it should be called
because it has a
name.
aspirations brought about
by perspiration and an inclination
that, again, it would be okay
to try and make sense of something
that i've wanted before
and want again.

quickly through your head
and out of your mouth
before you know what's said
it's that punk rock n' roll
rotting your soul.

again it's blasting sounds
that scream my name
and my anguish
it's that punk rock n' roll
rotting my soul.

gaining ground inside
where no ground's held
holding onto something
it's that punk rock n' roll
rotting the soul.

from the inside, outside
its making its way
through the holes
that punk rock n' roll
rotted in the soul.

you can't possibly think i've been that mislead
by the simple words and excuses you've used.
for one reason or another, you continue,
and i'm feeling my kindness is abused.
i'm not one to really speak up much,
and really say how it is i feel.
but you need a reality check,
because nothing you say is real.

you keep pushing what's the truth as false
and the falsehoods i find to be quite real,
and it's beginning to make me really question,
whether or not you have the sensation to feel.
and if you do, i'm sure it's not prevalent,
for i've known the way you've said you've felt.
and as you pass through life in line,
how's that ride on the conveyor belt?

you're bound for an end, similar to all else's,
and you're bound to be quietly disappointed
in the mass amount of disappointment
you're only bound to find that's been anointed
into the fabrics, frayed and torn of your being.
but i know there's not much hope left,
that what you're really feeling at all
is nothing but a spacious cleft


**in your heart.

it amazes me how you're so contained
in the little box; ******* where you reign
over the kingdom within your head
never realizing you're bound to be dead
one day sooner than later; we all have to
but these are all thing i thought you knew.

so i guess i'll spoon feed you this abstract thought
because of the lackadaisical ideas, you rot
in the putrid ways of pointing out my faults
when yours are the one that've brought you to halt
before the gates where you must truly invade
and these are no places for you to persuade
me
of my own flaws.

i've made a list
and i know them well.

as you whined
for the climb
got only harder
so you'd barter
your soul
with the devil
to try and make it
when you'd fake it
in the silence of it all
and the wavering call
to the shores far away
as they'd always say
you'd belonged in another land.  far from this one.  you were lost out here, wandering aimlessly toward whatever you thought there was a purpose in.

the colors have faded
so it's time for a new coat
to cover the disgust,
the angst, how i'd gloat
about the ideas i'd had
when they weren't mine
and how i made them
into something out of time
out of mind
and into this sectionalized analysis on what was, is, and has yet to be.

i'd been pushed in line
with the rest
standing ground
wasn't a test
it was the norm
and proved
hold on,
the line's moved.

twisted words turn into twisted people
as they run around trying to seem well
and when they're twisting themselves more and more;
and when they unwind, slowly and vapidly,
they all start to hit the floor.

the bottle slid down to the floor so long ago,
but you were the only one who were to ever know
the reason i'd twisted the truth so much into a lie;
the reason i'd twisted what you saw, languidly,
through your twisted eyes.

as we all fell out in our fallout shelters
our twisted lives all, in an instant, began to welter
to the corkscrew sound waves coming out now;
to the corkscrews and corks lying about, sadly,
because we were all gonna die here, someway, somehow.

observed in
our empty lots,
there's still the time
to plot
our demises in the eyes
of our own ****** lovers
as they slowly begin
in catching
our drifting lies
that we've so carefully hidden
throughout
our over-planned
and our over-justified
senseless lives.
yet, we give them
a purpose
for the time that we fill
with self-dulling
ideas
and our own
revelations
of this
idealistic fantasy.
we've only fantasized for fun.

observed in
our empty lots,
italicthere's still the timeitalic
to plot
our demises in the eyes
of our own ****** lovers
italicas they slowly beginitalic
in catching
our drifting lies
that we've so carefully hidden
italicthroughoutitalic
our over-planned
and our over-justified
senseless lives.
italicyet, we give themitalic
a purpose
for the time that we fill
with self-dulling
italicideasitalic
and our own
revelations
of this
italicidealistic fantasy.italic
we've fantasized for fun.

as you sit drooling
and see you're pulling
any strings you can
to make your stand
as you sit staring
at the tv, glaring
back at you
in the dull blue
light it's reflecting
the sublime it's protecting
as your brain melts
and the radio star belts
another song to your ear
but you still can't hear
the true calling in your name
and no need to feel ashamed;
you're not to blame.  
you're broken; nothing to claim;
gone to the wrong side of lame.

was he what you'd dreamed?
were you dreaming?
what'd you find when you awoke?
are you still in that lucid state?
how did you not wake up during the thunderstorm?

it rained all night and crashed in all around us, and you just slept right through the whole thing, without the slightest clue about what was true, what i knew, and what you still had to choose.

just like you
allowing nothing through
the shallow skin
that begins
crawling all over
with what was clover
but now is just weeds
as the thought feeds
on the bubbles in my brain.

is this an aneurysm or just thought processing?

written out on napkins, scrap pieces of paper, and the occasional wall i find barren
the love letters that i've been writing to no one; i'm still trying to forget her
and it's getting harder to lose the words in myself as i lose myself in the words
that i've put down on whatever, where ever i find the time in a love letter
to no one.

so, as i pour myself out into my typewriter and write the types of feelings
you should know i've been trying to forget you as each line passes
as i pour myself another shot in the dark of the days i've been seeing through light
you're long gone, dead, and still unable to see without the frames of your glasses
through no one.

you've taught yourself not to let the letters find you out there in the wild
as i wildly write these letters from the bottom of my heart
sending them off to be edited by the endless critics and satyrs of our time
that have no clue where i'm coming from or even where i had to start;
for no one.

fingered in the jailhouse
for something indescribable
something impractical
and you're filling in the holes
that you'd bored out of yourself.

you began a man in your uniform
uniformly lined in manhood
but unmanned in your last line of defense
the soldier, bleeding in his solidarity.

his head held down by the weight of his thoughts
and his heart held high by his idealism
in this century, he bleeds for your sins
and you, bleeding for the sinners.

bleeding for the sinners.

bleeding from the cinders; burning holes in your flesh from the fire you'd put out in a last-ditch effort to save the "smokey the bear" imagery from your childhood.

didn't you know it'd burn down too
as you dreamt of being an adult
in this distant, futuristic adulthood
where you'd be bleeding out again.

not forming in singular lines
not forming anything but time
in the singular exsanguination of a generation;
they're bleeding for your singing.

bled out and torn about, they die.

dreaded and thrown about in the last ditch efforts of life, they cry out again to the demi-gods and goddesses they believed in for your sins.

they bleed.

Purely.

his arms
his legs
his oblong torso
made me think again about the way he'd been slenderizing me all over
his face
not his face
not any face
nothing there, just an empty canvas for you to fill in how you'd like
just like me
slenderized
tenderized
and coming after you; whether you'd like it or not, i'm a lender-man.

i made you live,
i'd killed you;
i'd been there.
i'd done that,
but you showed no remorse for your own accordance with my accolades.
and yet you've taken my own words against your own for disservice,
distance has been created from the anguished laugh you'd let out for a trembling break of the silence.
and as it broke down, realistically, you'd thought of what you'd learned from me,
and at last, i was used in reference, as in silence i brooded at your demeanor;
it was transparent and openly so; undistinguishable from the rest in its cleft.
this phenomena's gone on far longer than expected, and you've outlived your expectancy.
so, again, i'd killed you.
then i made you live.
and i'd been there;
you'd never done that.

and as you forget who i was, i remember who i am
and as i remember, you continue to forget
but i don't blame you for it; i was a horrible person.
at the same time, in the same sense, you were too.

the words are always in my mind
but they're always the hardest to find when you're there.
the ideas have been idolized
but they're still just fantasized when you're there.
the completion is nearing its end
but it will never end, as we float around in our circles.

dragged out of bed by the beating of my blood through my eardrums,
then pushed back into the deep corner of my mind by the drumming in my head,
this idea's progressing to a level higher than the mountaintop it was conceived on.

as it draws itself out in the stars; by my fingertips pointed heavenward,
the picture completes itself with the slightest adjustments of my mind,
and produces somewhat of an opus to be driven and dragged out upon.

killed in its final instances, it's death brings renewed life;
rebirth only gets to those who really ever let it mean something important,
and as we give purpose to our purposeless lives, i see what you're awakening to as a con;
a deception not of the hands that were supposed to belong to somebody else, but of my own.

you completely lost sight of what was sighted in for you
i know you're thinking of the target; your aim's just still not true
your rifle's steady, ready, but your hands are still too shaky
you let the hammer fall after you squeeze the trigger and i just let it be
but you weren't aiming for what i told you it was seasoned for
and you're still a little loose on gaining any floor
out here in this wild conundrum of life; living
out here dealing what's dealt; giving
out here completely oblivious; obviously
out here naked; grievously

godspeed my friend,

you'll need it as we're nearing this end.

the rains trinkets
leaving the world unheard
leaving the word unsaid
yet leaving nothing but puddles

filling the empty lots
where you'd had filled
where there you'd been thrilled
from the rain; nothing but puddles

falling into drains
down the streets gutters
up the gorges, flooding
and ringing in the puddles

as the fall falls down on me
the rain falls as well
the rain falls to swell
the woodwork you've bored me out of.