“I look at you,” he told me, “and I think to myself; now here’s a guy whose got it all: he’s over fed, has a nice watch on his wrist and his shoes, although not my style, are brand new. The only thing he doesn’t have are troubles and worries.”

“bartender,” I shouted, “I’ll take one more and the tab.”

“hey man what about me,” he asked, “mind topping me off?”

“and another one for the poor sap next to me.”

“you see what I mean,” he continued. “you can afford to buy drinks for yourself and for others. as for myself, they forced me into a war I didn’t support and I also got my *** shot off for a cause unknown. I was stripped of my emotions, gutted from my life, they sodomized my psyche, carved the dream out of my head and I was never given a chance at having children or a future. and all this happened before I ever held a beer or tasted a cigarette or had a woman in my bed.”

I didn’t bother responding
in hopes that he’d get the hint
but as expected, he was as
clueless as my ex-wife
and as he carried on
with relentless persistency
each word dug in like a cat scratch
and all I could do was clench my glass tighter and tighter to contain myself.

“I’ve been spit on, kicked out, beat up and let down,” he further continued. “the streets are hard and unkind and everywhere you go you’re unwanted and everything is locked. why do you think I pour into these bars late at night? to drink? naw man, I just need a place to go, a roof over my head you know?”

that was it.
I had enough.

I finished my drink,
got off the stool
and headed toward the exit.

“hey buddy,” he shouted, “can I get another one for the road?”

“no.”

“just one more?”

“NO!” I screamed.

“c’mon man, you’ve got everything and I’ve got nothing. what makes you better than anyone else?”

“now look here you bumbling idiot…”

“but…but…but…” he interrupted.

“I’ve heard your tales of woe and now you’re going to listen to me,” I said sternly. “I look overfed because of poor diet and lack of exercise caused by working 60-80 hours a week with no time to take care of myself. I have a nice watch and new shoes but it came with a price. I’ve traded in my freedom for comfort, my time for materials and any chance of love for success. you say I have everything and you have nothing? I say you’re wrong. you’ve got something I no longer possess and that my friend is soul. don’t lose that. don’t buy into the mold. don’t conform. don’t become like everyone else. most of the people you see in here have imprisoned themselves into their own personal hell. that’s the way society wants it. but you’re free. truly free. and another thing… don’t worry about sorrow. everyone’s got problems and nobody wants to hear about it. why do you think people are in here? for the enjoyment? no, there here to forget. just. like. you.”

“******* *******! I don’t need a lecture from you or your cheap advice. all I need is a ******* drink!”

…and with that,
I walked out into the
dark and empty streets
where they greeted me
with their silence.

I'm a somber soul,
My baby is sick at home.
I'm too far to walk,
I'm too young to drive.
Oh it's such a pity,
Lonely with the little lows of life.
My baby is sick at home,
But I've just gotta pocket,
All my strife to sickness.

A proud mother's push
Wings spreading to catch the breeze,
a baby grounded

Open up my wounds
Drench me in my sorrow

With every waking day,
hand me another pill too hard to swallow

It gives me thrill
A taste of a dark state of bliss

For who can resist
another opportunity to wallow?

My very own mind made misery
A haven from the first sign of glee

Take me there
so I can go nowhere

Lock me in
the sanctuary under my skin.

Shall the cries of the dead be heard?
When the world quites down,
Do the weeping winds coax their pain?
Seeping the ground for their comfort,
Will the rain find it's purpose then?
Will it be happy knowing it's not just a source of shallow joy for the living?
Will the clouds stop crying?
Out of pity for the dead,
once alive,
Does the sun apprise us of the regret of the day before or the one ahead,
Does it pity the ones it doesn't serve,
The ones dead

A wise man once said,
if you want to allow yourself a bread,
you need to know how to sell yourself
when he found my dusty grey shelf.

Young Me asked — “What is it that I need to sell,”

and he responded,

“sell your laugh
with a mouthful of pebbles in your mouth,
then sprawl your wings of a moth
and mimic a butterfly,”

“But, that's All I have left!” Young me screeched -
protecting the only vanity I possessed,
which I put on the market so cheap, so priceless
to those who never will to pay,
but I demanded the bidding too high
to those who gave me
a worthless charity,
a careless pity.

“I’ve just had enough!”

“Enough of what?” I asked

“How can you not see it?” she cried

“See what?”, I said

”Simply, how I’ve just had enough”

“Oh…no, I see”, I confessed.

“Indeed, you’ve taken more than your share”.

Ruthless, a little
cynical, hellbent on
suicide

It's over before it
even begins tonight.

Cause a scene and
simply explode,

Hurt the ones around you,
the ones you already loved,

Lose them like dominos, falling,
one-by-one, it's almost
appalling.

Place the blame, but you know
it doesn't work

You've tried everything
and they already know,

This shade of blue doesn't
look good on you,

What is your true calling?

Do you know what you want
out of life?

The signal never connects,
and blood rushes to your head,

Alert the others, tell them
you've reached the end.

It's over before it even
begins,

You begin to cave
and shamble

Can't hold it together
So you explode and
explain to them

How much you
fight.

How much you try.

Nobody cares.
And you're in denial
Again this time.

It's hard to believe,
that at the end of the day

No one cares and
no one will believe you,

They'll only see
You when you
make an effort and

See the other side.