I feel alone and scared,
My past haunts me every day,
But the music understands me.
I cry when I'm alone,
Because I want to die,
But the music understands me.
I may be smiling on the outside,
But I'm crying on the inside,
And the music understands me.
With all that I have been through,
I'm surprised that I'm still sane,
And the music understands me.
Nothing seems to ease my pain,
So I'm forced to cover it,
But the music understands me.
Sometimes I can't,
And I get overcome,
But the music understands me.
I like the pain that I can control,
And I love the rain,
Because it's good to cry in,
But I never have to cry with music,
Because the music understands me.

Loving her was like chasing a sunset,
Each day, a new opportunity
To despair

What’s in a man?
This engine of a heart,
Works in machine like rhythm,
Monochrome innards,
Stashing my colors far too deep,
Someday I wish to see them,
Let their tones creep into place,
What’s in a man?
The longing for someone,
Silence worn as an outfit,
Attempts at concrete and structure,
At times we will shift,
Loosing sight of the times,
Apologies there after,
What’s in a man?
A title I am still trying to fit into.

I don’t want to be Bukowski
anymore
Filling women with my emptiness
Dowsing ***** with gasoline
Fondling the
icky, sticky
gritty sweet with my
fat-fingered, ***** nailed
slur


I want to be  J. D Salinger
Just one something
so significant,
(even if it outlines the disturbing),
and then
a permanent exit

But here I am
Just like chuck  
looking for a flamethrower
to eradicate that ******* bluebird

The words
spewed with all the sincerity
and eloquence I can muster
always lewd

I may have enticed a bit a love
via thin pen
to come knocking once or twice
but the sentiments
they contain no glue

And so when I tumble
back into
the hopeless spaces between
the dust and ***
there is no you.
or us

There is just
this interminably
ugly
I
believing Bukowski was right

And of course I deserve this ****
but
It would be better
to disappear
to never share
to take my ball and go home
forever
home
Yeah,

I want to be Salinger