I wake up
No breakfast  today, life's much to fast.
A cup of coffee will do
So I set the coffee maker,
turn on the shower,
And lose myself in the mirror.
All the while watching,
Waiting.
Waiting for something
But finding nothing in the end
This morning is not my own
It belongs to someone else

I once read on a dollar bill a few years back that
“You can't sing the blues without blood on your hands,
And you've got blood on you hands.”
I spent that dollar but the blood staid on my hands.

We absolve our tender memories
Of what it was like to be children
To not have worry on our brows
To have an unstoppable imagination
which could build floating boats
and mega droids the size of skyscrapers.
An imagination that would make us all ninjas
and princesses and cow boys and girls
Each of us have saved the world with a cardboard swords
and index finger barrels and gun hammer thumbs

Now, we sing requiems of missed messages
All for a few lousy blood soaked dollars.

doubt they will ever

be written, certainly

not this day, the

thirteenth of anniversary.



there will be reams, and ink

satined fingers, hair assunder,

wild eyes for the work. it is hotter,

we stick to linen

sheets. remember the words



from first, to last,

to write.



it will be a soliary task,

where no one enters,

consumes our tea.



the memoires may be written,

in the garden.



sbm.

Constant flow,
Diving in and away,
A short stay someplace new,
Everytime

And then it feels,
Like the time is correct,
To change the old order,
Allow to unforget,
The most unfair ******

The right moon to pray,
To have my visions returned,
During the day, anyway,
Only my mask gets burnt

As if my words were heard,
I recall but one place,
Slice open the vein, in blood,
There's some of your taste

One cannot just agree,
That it was horrible,
It is never difficult,
We do what's impossible

Hair nets and hand-me-downs,
Striped garb with strings
Wise men in scrubbing gowns,
Angels with wings

Pin ****** and pressure cuff,
Disarming chat
Face mask and gassy stuff,
Drugs by the vat

Dull aches like bicycles
Peddling up lanes,
Cold streaks like icicles
Rush through the veins,

Laid back and lazily
Watching the dance,
Head floating hazily
Into a trance

Woozily waking up,
Wobbly and drunk
Water to sip and sup,
Memories sunk

Balance returning when
Loved ones are phoned,
Recovery over, then
Time to go home

Nous etions, en cet instant, prisonniers du bonheur.
Heritiers de cette douce mais, o combien lourde, ferveur
Brulant sous cette peau vernie de sueur, de sable et de sel,
Portes, en princes sous les ficelles des tisseuses de ciel.
Nous regardions le gris a nous ecorcher les yeux,
Aimant de la passion infidele du zenith bleu
Le vide encombrant de nos plus incroyables espoirs
Et le remou sans debut ni fin de nouvelles memoires.
Nous les connaissions, ces esprits, vagabonds des mers
Chassant, au milieu des vagues ces humeurs incidencieres,
Celles la meme qui jadis se prenommaient “reves d’enfance”
Et qui depuis de sont transformes en dependence.
Nous les connaissions, et meme si la nature de ce lien
M’est masque par un sacerdoce qui ne sera jamais mien,
Elle me dicte toujours chaque contour de leur lames grises
Qui de cet air sec et fier sont tragiquement eprises
Nous etions, en cet instant prisonniers de beaute,
Celle la meme qui voit nos poumons dechiquetes
A vouloir engouffrer ce monde entier sous nos pores
Que demain a travers ces lettres je puisse a nouveau le voir.

the music of old fashioned births
is no longer enough
and this thought becomes
a magical opera
where all promenade a century
entertaining memoires
that beg release
like an early summer
that is to late
we shall not retire to a wilderness
for we are a great and radiant sin
like exploding nebulas of the mind

liquid love poured from
           seeping fissures.
And she tasted his every moment.

He gave his essence so she could
       linger within a lifetime of memoires.
And she saw every pain of his existence.

Within her tears were reflections of his
            momentary happiness with her.
Knowing she would drain his pain away.


"To collect the pain of another
         is to know the true emotions
         of what its like to live within there anguish"

We only know those we love truly by tasting
        the dirt left behind in there footsteps.
Everyone has prints in the past wished brushed away.

This the inspiration from the same old songs
Painting memories as the sunrise sways to moonlight
Writing out immaculate fantasies in which I long
To see vividly in reality as an endearing sight
Seducing fixated thoughts into a surrealist abstract
A senseless halucination seperated from common fact

Spilling out vague accounts of thoughts days before
Monotonous literal interpretations of living dreams
Dwindling epiphanies leaking from persepections pore
Forgotten pieces of satisfaction that we can't redeem
Except on these tattered memoires I've come to resent
Piles upon piles of dying highs rotting on parchment

Despondent attempts to reanimate decaying emotion
Through a larger than life sincerity hidden in rhyme
Showcasing empty facades and uncertainties devotion
In vain of the first conception that changed as time
Makes a mockering of the beauty lost in every moment
Restless sensations trapped within all the verses spent

Broken words of rememberance that a poem leaves behind
Untimely rhythms growing more useless as days pass by
From the deliverance of meaning in our star-lit minds
To the desperate hour where we can't find a reason to try
We're searching for an excuse to have our names defined
A theme on a story that will mean something once we die

My memoires like a juke box, I insert
a thought to play out those memories
stored with in my mind. New ones I
can view no long stored play out in HD.

Then we have those stored at the back,
old memories some long forgotten then
a coin, smell of music last heard inserted
in with some change of thought, and
played out in my mind on an LP slower
than the new ones but still seen quite vividly.

My mind is a juke box of memoires, it plays
old and new, some of the old ones with
out sound but the pictures I see are just
as good of long forgotten. The new ones
stored my jukebox stores my memories
for me to listen to and see, I put in a thought
and I see the memory of old as if it was
only remembered yesterday.

a jezebel in past memories
or was it the men who took over--

after all it was there tendencies



a town like hell in past memoires

or was it the house of god--

after all that is what it transalates;

or is it just a fraud?



change comes.

change goes.

so add your sums,

find the pimps and hoes.

it's reality i love.

the sound of the siren.

but in this economy were getting fired--

when the jobs should be a hirin'

but i don't mind the flame

this mind of mine is one you cannot tame

take the torch, to burn the web--

he would rather see that black widow dead.

but i enjoy life, even the poison.

lay down in that bed,

ask for a little bit of arson

to go with that martini--

choices are in the end an action

with a consequence

can you see the beauty?

a cage, a prison, a fence

or is it just a fraction

of the picture;

maybe it is just a mirror

and the thing you see deep within

is just the sight of fear

and we learn to look away

because hard truth doesn't seem quite okay

we lie to you, to ourselves to ease the pain

each and every day.

****, I'M LOSING MY MIND

as the clock ticks it's time.

is it in, or just sane?

the answer is one we must create--

not find.

but we still keep ah searchin.

lookin for that love.

lookin high and low,

under and above.

we wait, we go.

we hate our libido.

cause baby you just want to **** fast, then slow

then walk out that do'

never ask for any mo'

i guess it's just my mother ******* ego.

so eat the pineapple raw.

get caught in satans claw.

break the pieces to the jigsaw.

cause i care, and i don't.

i contradict my each and every thought.

but these wars seem to have already been faught.

and all i seem to have got

are these bombs

and many a gun

we'll use them in your front lawns

teach your children it is fun!

so cut off the leg and an arm

it's in the tradition of a religion

when a girl misbehaves.

but my father told me

thats what he would do if he followed those customs too.

and words no longer penetrate my heart, nor soul.

i just let them go.

you can't hurt me

just try to insert thee.

see the pain you will be in.

all because of fornication--

it can be as brutal as the storm of an ocean,

but maybe as sweet as a potion.

and i'm not lookin to find a person

to listen to my every word an...

****

cause right now thats how i think of it.

i slept alone before i met you,

and i will sleep alone post-abuse.

this is why i choose to refuse;

to live in hell.

to be the jezebel.

to kiss, and tell.

instead i shall choose

not to be defeated and lose

but to keep my soul, to choose not to sell.

just look to the future, and excel.

I like poetry
Like a painter likes art
While they make brush strokes
I stand up and try to evoke
Feelings  
I can’t paint a picture with a brush
But I sure as hell can with words
For instance
Some of the most beautiful things
Come from sadness
I’ve seen Poets hold back tears
When talking about lost lovers
I’ve met vagabonds who run
From state to state looking for
A place to call home
I’ve held my baby brother and sister
In my arms while I smile to myself
Knowing that they will have a better
Future than me.
I put these thoughts into poems
Because we use feelings to create
It doesn’t matter if it’s
Poetry, photography or painting
We all have an escape
My favorite artist killed himself
At the age of 29
His only escape
Consisted of starry nights
Wandering in wheat fields
And painting the man he wishes
He could be
Not realizing he had
All of the time in the world
To find his happiness
But It didn’t take much time
For the bullet to enter his chest
Lead penetrating his heart
Where his passion should be
His last words were
The Sadness will last forever
And it does
It feels like an eternity
When depression is clawing your back
Leaving you bruised and scarred
When anxiety comes crawling back
Leaving you broken and breathless
Realizing the person you once were
Is no longer the person you truly are
You’re not the same kid
That your single mother raised
Working night shifts at bars
Where people were shot in cold blood
Because my father decided
That leaving a 19-year-old woman
With a newborn was a good idea
You’re not the same teenager who prayed
To a god every night and ended up
Being even more alone than before
I don’t believe in hell
But if it’s real then I’m already living in it
You soon begin to realize
That life doesn’t owe you anything
So you try to make the best of it
Even when you’re dying inside
Because life is about memoires
Sometimes you have to stop and smell the roses
Watch the sunset and sunrise
You have to travel to the places
You dreamed of seeing as a kid
To remember the innocence
Fall in love with someone that
Leaves a fire in your chest
That cannot be extinguished
Because for once
Waking up will be okay
If they’re in your arms
Learn to live your own life
Before you teach somebody else
How to live theirs
Learn to love yourself
Learn to live freely
And don’t be afraid to explore
You have to be lost
To eventually find where
You belong anyway
So don’t rush to your destination
There’s so much to see along the way

lines over lapping lines
like my train of thought
I mull over the same things
contemplating exactly what I did wrong
and how I  can change the things I did
but you see my memories and thoughts
are not exactly the same as over lapping lines
because you can erase a line
you cant erase your memoires from your mind
and sometimes it feels as if I'm dragging a 50 pound weight
like its wrapped around my legs
so running after you can not be an option for me to choose
I'm weighed down by 50 pounds
of guilt and self hatred
and like lines over lapping lines
ill always come back to the same questions
but trust me I'm trying to pry this weight from myself
but its merely impossible
so ill give up the chase and allow these
lines to overlap