It is only a matter of time before they realize,
                  this world has been destroyed by land development and population size.

And they will look for cratered pastures.

Because the moon is so beautiful this time of night,
                      and a mansion would look so elegant in that light.

So they will fly their luxury shuttles
                  to the dream homes in bubbles.

And leave us in this dump they left behind.

But what they don't know, is when they make their depart,
                                                the music here on Earth will start.

So fly to your Moon Mansion and leave us to rot.
                                    *We know a beautiful life cannot be bought.

Here I sit with my monsters and a ****-eating grin.
          They treat my mind like a playground, with recesses in the shadows of every membrane.

But without these demons to conquer there would be nothing to win.

I've been victim to this darkness, feeling no self worth and masochistic and insane.

That darkness that makes us look at the mirror in appall.

That terrible feeling that starts in your gut, working its way to your heart then ripping and tearing its way
                                            through bone, muscle, and vein.

But I'm sick of running, now I pain pictures of them on my wall.

I embrace feeling of
                  self-consciousness
                         ­                  and pain.

I accept that they walk beside me down every hall.

On weakness these creatures prey,
                         stopping many from standing tall.

They drag you down to self-destruction and try and sweet talk you into a stay.

And when away you try and crawl,
                   they quickly slink back to bay.

And you start to forget about them,
                                                           ­    once and for all.

While in the back of your mind they quietly play.


Everyone has their monsters,
                                                     their demons,
                                                                ­             their skeletons in the closet.

I know I'll never win this war,
                                *but at least
                                                      I haven't
                                                         ­             lost it.

Tonight, I can finally say,
                                    that everything will be okay.

I have set a new goal
                     a poem a day, and lately I've been on a roll.

But today my mind is a blank slate
                          and as the hours of the day grow late,

                                             I still haven't thought of anything to write about.

So! I'm taking an alternative route!
This poem is about nothing,
                        I'm simply hoping the words will ring.

It's an exercise in dedication,
           and although I'm now starting to lose the war with my night-time cold medication,
                                                                                                                                  at least I wrote something.

A Nation founded on movement,
                                 now manifest nothing more than suburbs and cement.

In the beginning we came to this land, and became lost.
From our civilized lives to wilderness we were tossed.

Nature swallowed us, a beautiful maze of
unknown trees and streams.
unknown freedom and dreams.

In the new millennium we find the essences of exploration spent on
million-dollar homes and
million-dollar corporations and
                          million-dollar schemes.

And so I suggest a  Nationwide Event!
                              Turn off your cell-phone and sleep in a tent!
Our Developed Destiny has come at a cost.
                              We need to escape this world of websites and car-exhaust.   

So we can re-discover the beauty of being lost.

Never stop jumping down the stairs.
                     Or leaning back in unsteady chairs.

Leap to the tip of the atmosphere from the heavy plastic seat of the swing.
Every time you go ****, sing.
Be amazed by even the simplest thing.

Don't give up on your dreams nephew,
                               they will take them and turn them to a brown lumpy mound of chew.
                               You will get stabbed in the back and never know by who.
                               Tears will fill a river flowing into this earth, more than a few.
                              
You are the untapped intelligence in a million brains cells that have yet to read.
Your heart fills with joy at the simply task of writing your name because of that ever growing need,

                                                      to be bigger and better than the person you are today.

So here is what I have to say.
You amaze me.
Even though, sometimes you still *** your pants.

I repaint
                Mona Lisa
                            In dazzling dyes and exuberant expressions.