The thorny rose that no one liked;
It lacked a petal and had a thousand spikes.
The thorns that grew from its roots to leaves
Kept the people from touching it.
But, this thorny rose once had no thorns at all;
It just lacked a single petal, tho,
This was enough for it be alone
And cursed by all, oh, so much woe.
So, she cried a million tears
Which soon grew as thorns and nasty leaves.
Now no one gives it a second glance,
But it doesn't really need anyone's touch.

Reusing old graves

Some of your own blood

Nectar of your soul

To build this nest

This stinging canister

An assembly line of skeletal remains and burning wings

Pushing little armies on the left

Pulling little armies on the right

To march themselves out of existence

Life is a pesticide

Kills the flowers

Kills the connections

Keeps you working overtime

Just to hold on to a place where you can shuffle off this mortal coil

i am
not
a box
where
you
can
confine
the broken
pieces
of my heart
as if
it was still
whole.

i cannot
repair
what
you irrevocably
broke
with
your deceitful
and lustful
eyes.

i am not
a box
where you
can place
your demons
anytime
it is convenient
leaving me
with the burden
of carrying their voices
inside my head.

i am
not your puppet
and you
are not
my master.

You made a promise to them--
You wouldn't hurt your little girl.

You made a promise to them--
You would never make your little girl cry.

You squeezed her heart with your strong grip,
And told her it would be okay,
As you watched all the blood
Slowly drip away.

You made a promise to them
As her eyes faded away,
Dying with the sunset
And the rest of the day.

You made a promise to them,
Caramelized with lies,
As the thin line of her mouth
Filled with bile.

Mistreatment, abandonment, corruption, exploitation,
Things that have been done, without any explanation.
Blue down the face, red down the brain,
Creating a purple, pleasurable feeling, of cruelty in perverted vain.
Yet the pleasure is reversed, for it was just an excuse,
For the deepest excuse that came from the most purple bruise.

I am a nice guy. why? I guess the trauma I have endured, made me a bit passive? To much destruction and discord. I live at a distance. Yet I'm still observant
especially of individuals and their ideas. Without being directly involved to understand them, their words are still clear. I won't approach you or become close with you, because I have a prejudice and preconceptions, rationalized by my fear. My family and friends seem to be the only ones, I can trust. However those who I love, have had their own selfish aspirations fueled, by their lust. I put others before myself. Their needs seem to be more important than mine. I come secondary in my own life. I wear my heart on my sleeve, so its vulnerable to attacks. I don't trust those who say they have my back.
I will give everything I have, just to get the one who I love to stay, but its my love that makes them stay away. I'm a very forgiving person, and at times a horrible judge of character. My vision becomes narrow, I only see the good in others. I got taken advantage of, and I went through many hardships, because I have a personality that brings people to me inspiring friendship. If I could, I would no longer like to be, the nice guy. They say don't change! remain the nice guy why?

Drive over me with studded tires,
Drain my tank until I sputter and die.
Your salt eats at my chassis,
Creating large jagged holes in my coat of steel.
You spin out gravel toward my windshield.
Crack! You’ve dinged me yet again.
When will I ever learn?
Probably never.
My brake lines are dripping,
I absolutely cannot stop this madness.
You drove me hard and put me up wet.
My headlights used to beam,
Now I am a one-lighted wonder,
Thanks to you, northern punk junk.
Watch this tail-light high-tail it on out of here.

1/6/2016