it is often in the face
of adversity that people
flourish, pushing past
cement and brick to bloom

or so you are told–
the lion you find is not
filled with honey,
and only sand scrapes your tongue

its ribs do not yield at your touch,
they do not fall apart
in ivory waves as you
crawl into its thoracic cavity

no, it is but a decaying relic of god;
a carcass left in the dirt
and you can’t help but wonder
how such a thing ever roared

you are no samson, but you
let your hair grow out anyway
and hope to coax strength
from the maw of the forgotten beast

dredge in mud
knee deep
but sky high

trudge the sludge
plod the crud
and form tracks

nearly sighted
look far
to reach

growth will follow

Goodnight cruel World, I've struggled through,

Another of your days,

Quite how I've survived for so long,

In adversity always.

I identify with the folks on a TV screen because we both share a secret; that we are both entertaining and that people want to watch us on a daily. We turn blank in an instant, no more flashing images or language. Maybe now there's a shadow from a light in the background as you sit down. To flip on a channel means getting up but you're too tired to pay attention

I keep writing down the year as if it means anything to me dear
I don't feel connected,
just another spirit lost.
Gone is that turned leaf.
And his mother still faces him in his wildest nightmares and keeps him home,
and his mother cries tears and whiskeys down her pain. She can't do this on her own,
but she's holding on; for the sake of them both.

It makes him happy to know that he was actually a part of the family before he left
and I can't speak for him, but I sure know when someone loses their mind again,
better keep it on the downlow, because nobody wants to go to detoxification home, no.

So, I won't report
and he sings with me, and he lives with me and he loves me indeed. He just can't see about me,  can not even breathe...
and you can't even see that
Our ideas linger together, and it makes us both in company just like it should be.

Exasperation is the new season, flaunting it around instead of holding it inside.
Yes, these bags under my eyes are designer.

Help arrives in the nick of time, losing your unfiltered mind.
Bricks thrown, all sorts of sizes, too. Collecting and building, haunting your shrine. Hovering above is my denial. It reminds me why what I experience is such a trial.
Such a set back, run another lap. Farther and farther away…
Introduce me to the style.
Expired ideas are lightly sketched.
I gave up my sight of fashion when pressure popped out my eyes.

"Thank you
for granting me
this opportunity
to face these aspects
of myself
i'd much rather
sweep under the carpet."

@--\-----

She stood in mama's kitchen
at the table by the door.
Blue plastic roses
their vase broken on the floor.
He said he was leavin'
bought a bottle at the store...
Now daddy's gone
won't be commin' back no more.

(chorus)
Blue plastic roses
put together with some glue
Blue plastic roses
my oh my, how time done flew
Blue plastic roses
no longer bright, no longer new
Blue plastic rose
She's still waiting where they grew


She sits at the table
places set with cheap champagne.
He's not coming over
and she's alone again
Blue plastic roses
their petals cracked and stained
Placed on the TV
the memory remains.

(chorus)

The undertaker paid.
The gravedigger gone.
She left this rotten world
She wasn't all that strong.
Can we reverse the clock?
It just ticks on and on
The damage was too great
no way to right the wrong

Blue plastic roses
set down before her stone
Blue plastic roses
haphazard set upon the loam
Blue plastic roses
hear the wind in the pines groan
Blue plastic rose
now she's really all alone

Now shes really all alone.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/21/2015

My mind is playing tricks
flipping into reverse,
all is static,
I'm frantically sadistic.

I'm on the grind,
****'s grinding my gears,
you say my name like it's sounds I made up
even in our sheets we're ****** up.

The rat race isn't a race,
but a triathlon
we aren't athletes,
we're just dragging our feet along,
no ping to life's pong,
this is a poem
'cause I can't write songs.