If you want to be a great writer only write about writing.
Inhale your own ******* so deeply you can’t breathe.
Then ingest several mountains of a publisher’s *****.

Pretend to read a lot and go ******* all over Europe.
Drink bad wine and socialize with Harvard's yuppies,
and watch mostly 1920’s avant-garde *******.

Always act like your the only center of the cosmos.
Say the same thing fifty times and word it differently.
Make your stuff dull and as hard as my **** to read.

Be subtle like a cat burglar wearing assless chaps.
Sell your off dignity cheap and be free from all shame,
but…..

If your hot (preferably asian) and show me your ****,
You’ll always have a life long reader from me.

Rewards and scars gather up as hours collect my thoughts to gather in a lonely room.
Bladed cuts and screaming
haunt me silently
in the unmasked gloom

No skeletons in closet for demons keep me warm we often look for solace and I simply another line .  But the storms outside offer little silence and long is the night ahead.

The darkness stretches
in pale lines, etching bone in its loneliness
Tracing patterns of lightening against a dark tempest
I sit and wonder why
I sit so alone inside my head

Courage is when fear
Has said its prayers
When you need some
Just call on Him upstairs
On your knees
You gain His grace
Oh there's nothing
You can't face
Courage is when fear
Has said its prayers

I listened to the sounds of a nights life as it was on truest display.
On yet another dead end night.
No deadlines, no friends to annoy, no voices to echo shattered thoughts together.  

Long since had the audience grown cold and I simply deaf to their presence nothing drowns an ego worse than the reality's of a distant storm.

I listened like a ghost story.
A child's fears matched only by the amazement of what never could be and the night kept rhythm with my soul as emptiness washed the troubles aside for now .

Sometimes nothing.
Holds you closer than any lover shall.

We are lost to our thoughts and me just lost for the sake of being gone.
I enjoy my distance now the wolves can call but no longer do I feel the burden to run .

Nothing is as peaceful as knowing the hand doesn't have to yearn for the pen.
Simply let the thoughts go as they linger in seconds my hours were never wasted .
For what never was could never be lost.

Time tells me I'm done .
And the night simply speaks to me in gentle whisper of darkness .
Be bound not by shackles for now you are free .

If there was an Eternity I would have believed it in your gaze, however, your eyes slid shut again and I'm left dazed, at 3am. A time for slumber, a time to forget, yet at 3.01am I'm silently weeping as you rolled over, still sleeping but whispering words that remain a powerful refrain, that keeps me awake inside my brain because you simply looked me in the eye, then sighed and uttered but one name...
Rhonda
a pretty name
but, all the same
*not my name...

I sit in darkness, soaked in Gin, I remember everything,
except all the things Tequila forgot,
I remember nothing except for the things left to rot

I forgot the darkest nights
most certainly in days light
I forgot you placed the drink in my hand,
is that how we ended up here last night?

A half empty glass we have mired our delusion dear
Do the stories just get better or do we simply fill in the blanks?
Trace our old lines again and again.
Weathered are my eyes behind a mask
It’s no place to breath but anything beats the grave.

As we recall the sunset from the shore it seems so far now
it is but a fraction of the truest sense and the most cursed fools delusion
a switchblades sting and you will remain my favorite scar?

Delusions are illusions with which we fool ourselves
with a magician’s eye and a sense of skill.
Sunsets upon a distant shore are our memories
retreating against our will.The switchblades knife is rusty and it's only hope is to scar.

Do you revere or revile me?
The empty bottles that lay between us ask for little.
I ask us for more!

Will I be your scar, the one you rub when you’re alone?
Tracing lines that cut so deep but set rigid, like stone?

Perhaps the open wound you created
when you picked apart our past won't heal as quickly,
and like the final drink we had together won't be our last.


Painted is the portrait so far from the truths we all choose to ignore
and now I simply understand are regrets than the echoes of a shared view.

When we break the heart do we find solace in a statue like existence?
We all spill the glass sometimes and a candles view dim will only reflect the shadows we've become.

Tomorrows a dream and the nightmares become a friend far more than this dance
I care no longer to stand and the ice won’t bare the weight of this ego's crash.

Let's skate the ice so thin it cracks beneath the weigh of pain.
Let's dance the tango of wilted dreams and find no shame.
Let the broken heart of shattered glass
be a reminder of our pain
but you and I, we share a common lust
we mix silently, oil and water
blending in the same frame

For from the page to the far corners of this empty floor we have made our choices
Now we understand past regrets in silent reframe

Never doubt the passion for the lack of fire it simmers a volcano underneath the illusion of emptiness and so we find are paths twisted yet always brought back to the same point.

We always speak in shadows what is known in light of day.

Our paths are gritty dirt, pretty split and intertwined
broken cobblestoned nights and sun baked days to which we can’t deny
Shadows that come to play hide the demons
we would once talk to, but threw away
when we attempted to revive a life we weren't meant for
Our answers don't lay at the bottom of the bottle
nor do they rest behind the closed door,
They itch beneath our fractured skin and spill their secrets on the floor
dripping from serrated cuts that pump a life full of ****** memories
the broken bottle stands as sentinel asking always for
One More...
Please?

Maybe we found our muse in a mutual insanity.
Laid bare the vein I question what lingers when nothing remains beneath?

This last round stands only for the night my dear for its clutches are but a moments embrace and an overcast view.
Tomorrow I can never promise what fate hands us by surprise.

Insanity is a fickle Muse
that's sips from a collapsed vein
breaking bottles against skulls
looking for an idiot to blame

Personally I think our Muse
is a Mistress that flogs well in the dark
Chaining our souls to our demons
never shining light on our demise,
Demanding we whip ourselves hoarse
prying opens the oysters
of our murky world spilling pearls of stone into a world so stark

No, the Muse of you and I is an unruly *****.
She chokes our memories and forces our pain
with a flick of her wrist

I sit in darkness, soaked in Gin, I remember everything,
except all the things Tequila forgot,
I remember nothing except for the things left to rot

I forgot the darkest nights
most certainly in days light
I forgot you placed the drink in my hand,
is that how we ended up here last night?

A half empty glass we have mired our delusion dear
Do the stories just get better or do we simply fill in the blanks?
Trace our old lines again and again.
Weathered are my eyes behind a mask
It’s no place to breath but anything beats the grave.

As we recall the sunset from the shore it seems so far now
it is but a fraction of the truest sense and the most cursed fools delusion
a switchblades sting and you will remain my favorite scar?

Delusions are illusions with which we fool ourselves
with a magician’s eye and a sense of skill.
Sunsets upon a distant shore are our memories
retreating against our will.

The switchblades knife is rusty and it's only hope is to scar.
Do you revere or revile me?
The empty bottles that lay between us ask for little.
I ask us for more!

Will I be your scar, the one you rub when you’re alone?
Tracing lines that cut so deep but set rigid, like stone?

Perhaps the open wound you created
when you picked apart our past won't heal as quickly,
and like the final drink we had together won't be our last.

Painted is the portrait so far from the truths we all choose to ignore
and now I simply understand are regrets than the echoes of a shared view.

When we break the heart do we find solace in a statue like existence?
We all spill the glass sometimes and a candles view dim will only reflect the shadows we've become.

Tomorrows a dream and the nightmares become a friend far more than this dance
I care no longer to stand and the ice won’t bare the weight of this ego's crash.

Let's skate the ice so thin it cracks beneath the weigh of pain.
Let's dance the tango of wilted dreams and find no shame.
Let the broken heart of shattered glass
be a reminder of our pain
but you and I, we share a common lust
we mix silently, oil and water
blending in the same frame

For from the page to the far corners of this empty floor we have made our choices
Now we understand past regrets in silent reframe

Never doubt the passion for the lack of fire it simmers a volcano underneath the illusion of emptiness and so we find are paths twisted yet always brought back to the same point.

We always speak in shadows what is known in light of day.

Our paths are gritty dirt, pretty split and intertwined
broken cobblestoned nights and sun baked days to which we can’t deny
Shadows that come to play hide the demons
we would once talk to, but threw away
when we attempted to revive a life we weren't meant for
Our answers don't lay at the bottom of the bottle
nor do they rest behind the closed door,
They itch beneath our fractured skin and spill their secrets on the floor
dripping from serrated cuts that pump a life full of ****** memories
the broken bottle stands as sentinel asking always for
One More...
Please?

Maybe we found our muse in a mutual insanity.
Laid bare the vein I question what lingers when nothing remains beneath?

This last round stands only for the night my dear for its clutches are but a moments embrace and an overcast view.
Tomorrow I can never promise what fate hands us by surprise.

Insanity is a fickle Muse
that's sips from a collapsed vein
breaking bottles against skulls
looking for an idiot to blame

Personally I think our Muse
is a Mistress that flogs well in the dark
Chaining our souls to our demons
never shining light on our demise,
Demanding we whip ourselves hoarse
prying opens the oysters
of our murky world spilling pearls of stone into a world so stark

No, the Muse of you and I is an unruly *****.
She chokes our memories and forces our pain
with a flick of her wrist

Can you guess
My hidden secret
Where in darkness
You will feel pain
But also pleasure
With a forbidden taboo
For nobody will know

It's dandy
Finding randy girls
As macho guys seem to
I drool at scenes
Like tight blue jeans
When a wiggle warms the view
I'm a gangster
For ****** samplers
And sweeties that crowd the beach
I used to shop
Till my eyes would lock
Where my right and left eyes meet
And when I gaze
At perfect sways
A tom-tom fills my chest
And I still cheer
For a lovely rear
But I race back to the best
For I love the one
That shares our home
She stirs me quite enough
In her gown
It flutters down
When we peel down to the buff
I can't afford
The babes on Broad
And cheating is too drastic
But I've long chose
My perfect rose
And hmmmmm she's still fantastic