Faded stains of bourbon
dot her nightstands’ weathered surface
like stars speckle the midnight sky

Each impediment commemorates
a symbol of courage
to help forge another day

Bras, slippers, heels, and flats
pepper the carpet
each a reflection of impediments
that fleck her soul

Harbored distortions from her past
forgiven by those she harmed
forgotten by others
fester within her frontal lobe.

Rain pelts upon the window
rat-tat, rat-tat against the panes
repetitive sounds that fling open her mind
to let today’s downpour
splash away
every trace of her anguish

I'm a rap addict,
I breathe beats,
I crave rhyme,
I like when the track,
Tastes like lemon lime,
How many kinds of music,
Keep making you come back?
Not enough,
Shout out to hip-hop,
Call out to rap.

Curled up in the corner in dead of the night.
Afraid of darkness and praying for light.
 
Eyes peer from the ceiling. Hands reach from the floor.
Hearts beat from the walls, and he stands at the door.
 
No chemical shields me. No masquerade hides.
The sweat of my body, the fear in my eyes.
 
He’s pounding and pounding and growing in strength.
He’s growing in hunger and looking for prey.
 
He whispers to call me from deep in my mind.
With lies and with luring each weakness he finds.
 
But I know what he wants yes, I know where it leads.
I’ve scars to remind me of all the past deeds.
 
But the door he can’t open and that’s why he calls.
So, I’m curled in the corner… afraid that I’ll fall.

The feeling
haunts me
time and time again.
I feel it as it’s coming
like a scent upon the wind.
 
Like wind across the predator
wafts out to warn the prey.
So likewise, all I know and feel
screams, “turn and run away!”
 
But something deep inside me
in a way I can’t explain,
finds pleasure in the desecration,
need inside the pain.
 
So, mind and heart and faculty
drink of the traitor’s blood,
and render my will helpless
like a reed against the flood.
 
Then yet again I falter
for I now become as they.
The predator has full control…
I want to be the prey.

I was there twice. Two times I'd walked in thinking it’s home.
Second-guessing it both times as I stood in the hall.
These abandoned places that taught to abandon hope
handed me more ropes than there are in our old depot.

It is all a cycle – the shoulder you once leaned on
won’t be there this time, leaving you on your own,
either pointlessly leaning onto something resembling its sort
or forcing you into becoming your own support.

/it is all a cycle – the illness, the ambulance call,
as a body lies lifeless a back turns cold,
and a voice keeps saying it is his own fault
for not living and growing enough to grow old/

I was there twice, both times I got on my knees and prayed
to Our Lord, to be at the right time, in the right place.
In the inanimate bodies along my new way
I recognised all the mes that were once left strays.

But as God washed his hands in warm milk with honey
I moved in on a mountain of myselfs dying.

bare trees stand in the morning stillness as
silent watchers, empty, cold air fills the gaps
between the branches and withering leaves
a tender cry cuts past the bedroom door
his comfort rushes to her
hands desperate but tainted with selfishness

a daughter bundled in wrath, braces for the trudge ahead

sideways he staggers one foot, and then the other
thump, thump, and THUMP
the veil unravels, before the bathroom mirror
a man caught between fury and shame

he sees her frail blanket, and can only reach for more

This one goes out to
the rambling, gambling madman
from Aspen- the late great
Hunter S. Thompson.
My drinking has landed me
in prison for a short stint.
To occupy my time,
I read and write,
it keeps my mind sharp
and the nursing homes at bay.
Also, a pen or a book in my
hand has the added benefit
of a signal to the other
inmates that I'm in my own
world, and I don't care to converse.

H.S.T's guerrilla approach to
writing, and his sharp gonzo wit
keep me laughing and thinking
on this carnival ride from hell.
And if I can laugh in prison,
I'm halfway home.
My mind will go where my
body can't.

Like Hunter, I'm a betting man who always
bets on the long shots.
So I'm putting a bundle on
me to pull out of this **** hole
and do something with my life.
** ** **, God Bless you, Doctor.
And as my old man used to say,
"They can **** us, but they
can't eat us."