All of us write,
late into night,
Simple rhymes becomes prose,
As night draws to a close,
Connotation becomes denotation,
Expressed or implied,
Painting pictures with words,
Of a world much denied,
Of heartfelt regret,
Or anger or pain,
We elude to the simple,
And write about rain,
To illuminate others,
Of that which we see,
Another perspective,
Of what may be,
We invite opinion,
Of comparitive worth,
The definition of judgements,
Are all that we need,
So bleeding and ugly,
Take care to impart,
A wonderful meaning,
To a forlorn heart.

'...He went like one that hath been stunned...'.

Inspiration swayed,
Then swerved,
To a forgotten and unoticed corner of the room,
Quietly resting in a dusty and darkened shadow,
Brooding woefully,
Turning in on itself,
It waited,
Hunched and starving,
Ready to pounce,
At the first thing that moved,
Tearing at the flesh of ideas,
Ripping apart the drawn conclusions,
Sinking its teeth deep within the illusions,
Holding tightly,
Until the last breath was drawn,
And then moving,
Moving on

I don’t want to apologize.
Like I have in the past
For coming close to a breaking point with you
Where I almost speak my mind
But refuse to do so, realizing that if I acknowledge
The shallowness of this relationship
I will never be able to return to this place
Of blissful ignorance
Where we float by, month after month
You, happy, and I happy enough
As long as I choose not to think.

Mundanity poisons our minds
And threatens to keep us sedated
In our blissful ignorance
Because that’s exactly what
This has become to you and I.
A place of familiarity,
Which offers no outlet for expansion.

We have limited this love
To a mere coexistence
Where we smile and laugh
Enjoying the ease of life and each other’s presence
And if that is not somehow wrong,
Why do I feel so empty?

Do not tell me that I am of a generation without religion,
As though its a bad thing.
Because I am as connected as you are, but my beliefs don't come from a book.
No, mine come from what this world tells me.
This world, the one who knows its wrong to stone someone,
But who won't be too mad if someone's ******.
Yes, this is my world. A world that knows we only have one to make, or to break.
And a world who knows that there's a risk for every chance you take,
But that the end of the day, you're only in trouble if you've lost yourself.
We're the generation that isn't sure how to feel.
No, no, we certainly know where out opinions lay,
Its the actual connection to our feelings that have gone away.
How would you feel if you were made guilty about every meal?
Whether its because your fat *** doesn't need it,
Or because you grew up knowing that those kids on TV,
they deserve it more than you do.
And that whether the two of you could hold a single conversation together doesn't matter,
Because all you can think about is that your world tells you that meal is the last thing you need,
While his need not remind him that its the last favour on our list of good deeds.
Not that he holds it against me or you,
After all, how would you decide between water, food, or a shoe?
I asked how you would feel, if for you this meal guilt was what you called real.
And you probably don't know, and neither do I,
Remember when I told you, we don't know how to feel?
Now don't think this means we don't understand feelings, oh no.
Those of us who listen with our eyes, you'd be shocked by what we know.
We know your eyes would be stuck on the men holding hands,
While ours burned to watch how he grabbed her's just a little too tightly.
You see, we see which is the boy, and which are the men.
And while we're not overseas, our war is here.
Because most of us are either one of those brave soldiers being called queer,
Or our home is where the enemy lies,
our beds made of fear,
while he opens another beer
and his fist draws near.
If it were you, tell me, where would Jesus steer?
If we gave him the wheel, could he keep this from being real?
Yes, our war is all around and it is right here.
And though I may not be sure how to feel,
I know what it means when I shed a tear
365 days, of this short year.

I'm Bored......I'm Lonely.......What will I do?
I think of some stupid excuse to call you
I act nonchalant, and pretend I could not care less
When I ask if you want to come over and watch me undress

You say "be ready, I'll be over in ten"
And again I'm left waiting, again and again
I curse and spit, and swear it's the last time
I put myself out there to fall, hook, sinker and line

Then four hours later, I hear the car in the drive
I jump to my feet, and wipe the tears from my eyes
In the doorway you stand, not a boy, not a man
Just a terrible liar, who gets away with what he can

I nod and listen to your feeble excuse
And I wonder how I take this hurtful abuse?
I answer my question when you throw your arms round me
It's to feel that someone in this life still loves me

But it's not love, it's not even true feeling
I'm just another cog in the wheel of your wheeling and dealing
So I go through the motions, and fake all the pleasure
And pray to God that you realise that i'm a treasure

But this prayer is not one that is heard tonight
And it's not long again before you are gone out of sight
And all that is left is your scent on my bed
And the painful feelings in my heart and my head