you're blind, for the most part
to everything i'd had to say;
you'd done it to yourself,
all this is just another way
to figure out what i'm meaning in every way.

however, you're not stupid,
so you must know a good bit,
about my life, my loves,
and about how i've never given a ****
about how anyone but me has felt some bit.

so why even repent for this;
i'm without sin, i cast the first stone.
you're lost, little girl,
but i promise you, you're not alone
in the world you've created as your own.

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.

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.

I'd tell you every story
and every tale I have
If you'd ever actually
                                     listen.

But I see there's no      hope
in reaching you today.

So I'll just keep you
hanging there, lost,
where I want you,
and this grand scheme stolen from
                                     love.

O transient depth,
how moved am I
that you have moved on,
deeper now than I.

O transparent death,
how human are we
that you take us all,
and leave none behind.

Remember me, as you shall,
and I remember none
for none have reminded me
of what we once were.

                                      Entwined.

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.

your voice is still echoing in my head
and through my walls; entire blocks
drearily sinking deeper into the night
as i shrink into my corner of this block.
i swear i heard you singing that song
that you'd been whispering in my ears
and that i've been humming; i don't know
the words to the music constantly in my head.


                                                           i know the words to the music
                                                          that i'm making up as i go along.
                                                              they're simple in their meter
                                                         and matrices that they're filling in.


i'd written you a love song, but you're gone
and when i see you, i don't think the words
that i'd spoken to you over the phone;
i think in the stylings of love that'd been forgotten.
it seems like they linger through to the dawn,
and they hang on every whisper that i still hear.
they hang around, never quite leaving here.
they're hanging on, and they're still so clear.

bleed into forever,
as forever we are sanguine souls,
situated for slaughter.
death's inevitability beating down,
and time slipping behind
the mind, awoken to something;
broken, reconfigured, alive,
it's bred to fulfill situational ideas,
bleeding into annihilation.

forever.

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.

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?

in the entire existence you've been
there's been something you've cleaned
and where you're wanting a renewed dream
of what it is you want yourself to see
but you just won't open your eyes.
there's some dust still covering it all
and you're still waiting to fall
from how far it is you've called
down the line and up the hall
for them to know you were coming.
and now it's been said
there's nothing left in your head
but the simplicity of your dread
from the beating in your bed
that you'd watched outside of yourself.

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.

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.

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.

shine on, you perplexed ruby red light; shined on for your years of ambiance, and now the shine's seemingly dulled.
as the illuminated street signs show you the way out of your own head and into the house where you'd rather sleep all day than clean, read or create; illustriousness never held much of a hold on the mind you've let burn into a pile of carbonated waste.
in the silence you've surrounded yourself in, you've found that there's too much going on in your own head for anything to ever be quiet, so you scream.
as the death of another loved one fills your heart with sorrow and pain, there seems to be a new reason to figure this one out on your own; there was nothing you'd missed over the years, but you've always seemed to ignore the social ques and questions you knew felt needed left unanswered.

in light, there is darkness.  and in darkness there is light.  it's all a matter of perspective.

there's something in the middle of this
i'm not so clairvoyant to see it
but it's scaring me and thrilling me
and it's causing me too much ****
that i'm starting to lose the touch;
the numbing of my finger tips
is only from the callouses from playing
and they linger, although now
i hardly play.  i only sing.  not well.

it frees my head, let's me feel
less dead; alive in five, i say.
not jive, less to survive for
as we're sure this is where it stays
before the ending, we're entranced;
caught in another ring of life
straining to see the light in the tunnel
as we funnel all the information
to our brains.  to be insane.  to be a frame...


for that picture

what's all the insanity for?
are you worried?
are you peeved?
are you paranoid?
that i'll find a little more?

is there something else?
is there enough at all?
is there some secret?
is there another one?
is there nothing that can help?

where's the sensation?
where's the intuition?
where's the humiliation?
where's the desolation?
where's the heartbreak i'm awaiting;
it's lingering closer to my ear than death.

there's never a reason for a grudge,
especially when i was the one left in the mud,
stuck in the rain, freezing and shivering,
now sickened with depression and mistrust.
hardly catching any hardening of the spirit,
allowing the gruesome idea of solitude fill in,
and now it's quiet; the birds gave up their song.
i'm dreaming again, and it's lovely; there's hardly a reason for anyone to care here.
and there's the death of my spirit again as i collapse
behind the wall that you built for my support,
as my foundation; founded on morality and respect,
i'd fallen again and scraped another bit of my shell off.
back to the dream again, and again to the back of the dream; the real reason we're displayed this imagery.
ah.

separately simulated
through words; ideally
separated simultaneously.

restrung, hung, ******
far beyond recognition,
misquoted.

caught up in the anxiousness following me
around the aisles of this store
and here i stand, typing and writing,
finding this all to be just another bore
into the wooden frame i'm supporting my soul with.

i can't be racist
if i can't be free
i can't be vicious
if i just can't be
so i choose my sights
and i show my way
i'll take my flight
and hide away
from the darkness
that's calling me
it's dangerous
and it's me who sees
the detrimental life
that's dragging us along
without a price
on any other song
that i've written
and that i've sung
that i've been
and when i've begun
to let this all fall
to the floor at your feet
as you find the call
that's calling defeat
of the soul
of the mind
of the cool
waste of your time
so open your eyes
and see what i do
nothing left to disguise
but what thought you knew.

you're impossible
you're impractical
you make little sense;
always in offense
to whatever i say
about my day
like it was a personal attack
on something you knew; matter-of-factLY
there was nothing i hid
in what it was i did
when i told you the story
that made you worry
like i had something to hide.
instead of just letting it ride
i'd decided i'd take my chances
and ignore all the glances
to just let you know
that i love you so.

it sickens me;
the lack of correction
in grammar,
in punctuation,
in style,
and in titling.

it disgusts me;
the apathy
and support
that go along with
spilling any idea
out; vulnerability
shouldn't be praised,
as it should be sculpted
and shaped, communally.

the decrease in morale seemed to linger
across the keys as i dragged my fingers
to the beat of something simple in mind,
simple in length, and simple in rhyme
but the reasons i'd continued to continue on
were never meant to be played as a pawn
in the constant fight i'd been having alone
with the uncertainty ringing in my phone
where i heard them utter the news i'd heard
and hearing this knew that i'd gotten word
of what i was to be knowing for some time
and now that i was knowing was too sublime
as the filtration of this seems to fall off
and all i can seem to do is hold in this cough
to keep from releasing my sickness to you
and keep you safe from what's keeping me blue.
safe from harm's way.

there's more.
there has to be.
i want more,
but i don't see
why you talk
about life
and the walk,
the knife,
and the key
to really begin seeing.
seems freeing.

dreading the moments here in silence
and spreading this infection further;
sooner than expected, silence becomes
the music i need tonight, up until now.
the day had wrought out from the inside
and now i devise a new escape plan
where i can rely on my debatable qualities
and where i make it out, somehow.
alive.

out of sorts
and sorted out;
in senses of shorts
and shorted for love.

caught in life
as i fell to death
to be caught stealing
your heart and your head
from the skin you'd held them in.
now they're caught up in me
and they're catching on;
i'm hardly thinking,
bleeding, and breathing.
i'm living.  imbalanced.

i never believe what you say
because you’ve convinced me
that everything i spew has been
lies, deceit, ****, self-hatred, abusive.

i never ask you questions
because you’re not there, still,
to even answer the phone when i need
somebody, anybody, are you listening?

i never look too closely anymore
at the things you have to show me
because you never wanted me to see
as much as you wanted me blinded

to everything you really are,
and that i could be.

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.

and burn down the whole ****** neighborhood
and **** all the ****** people living here
and destroy everything that rests along these ****** tracks
that have cut through the earth and have lead so many places.
i remember when i followed the ****** things
and found how the ****** way the railroad system works
and saw all the sights on the ****** way to my revelation
that we're all bound to some sad ending; ****** and meaningless.

pain is pointless
and feeding into it
hurts worse than ignoring it
so I guess I can't write
to satiate your desires
in the pains of others
and instead I'll stay alive,
numb to it's existence
and also to my own.

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.

here i sit
above you
above the streets
above the sounds
of the ruined lives
that drive
through these alleys;
here i sit
below the church
beloved by god
below his reign
as his reign drives
us toward sanctity
and through our lives.

we're all looking up
for something;
weather, stars, answers, etc.

here i dream
above my pillow
above the streets
below my window
where you're still driving
yourself toward the end
of the road, and up an alley;
here i dream
below this roof
below the skies
above the ground
where you're dreaming
you'll spend less time dreaming
and more time in peace
through death.

we're all looking down
for security;
placement, terrain, estrangement
of self in a solid form above digging
deeper for something so simple
that we're still unsure of.

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.

i'd rather lie around in bed and drink wine all day
than exchange moments of my life for money
but if I wasn't out there, slaving away to the system,
I'd only get to lie around under bridges; begging
for change, to end how things are in the world,
and to find serenity amongst humanity as it should be.

i've started the wake
and said my piece
now it's everyone else's turn
to come to peace
with the fact that we're a dying generation

indebted for life
to the systemization
that we've grown up in
as it's organization
comes to our lives full of frustration and grief

called to a calling
that's been rather loud
to make our lives something
in a way to be proud
of the life we've been given and what we've done with it

                                              living just to die
                                                         living just to live
                                                           ­     living in the wake
                                                           ­             of another generation