Certain people in life leave strong impressions on us,
By their sayings we agree with or positions we abhor.
When these people are no longer around,
their marks make themselves known  in various ways.

You are in my thoughts often.
You were quite the square peg.
I think back to the odd ways you did things.
A True Rebel.
But not a rebel just for the sake of it
Nor in order to receive the attention society pays to such people
A rebel because you make up your own mind on things.

"Never be afraid to change your mind," you used to say.
That stuck with me.
So although you are not here with me,
You are never truly gone.

For a while you said I was the one for you.
                       But You Took Your Own Advice
                       And Changed Your Mind
And in the now, I am ok with that.

We’re the rebels they call rabble
They want us all to be quiet
They bluster and they babble
Then they publicly deny it.

Representatives, an easy question:
Who do you represent, which faction?
You seem to have a lot of nerve
To insist that you protect and serve!
You want our money to campaign
Then leave us standing in the rain.
You grant yourselves a frequent raise
And pat your own backs with praise.

We could ask who you think you’ll fool
But, this is a nation of brain-dead tools.
At least half the country does not vote
Which leaves our case with a sour note.
But that leaves half who do believe!
It’s for the Constitution we grieve.
Your oath of office had you swear
To work for us, represent and care.

We’re the rebels they call rabble
They want us all to be quiet
They bluster and they babble
Then they publicly deny it.

So, it remains to us to care and feel;
To be the infamous squeaky wheel
And call to the public’s lazy attention
Crimes you commit and fail to mention.
We point it out when you lie and steal
That the promises you made aren’t real.
We remind our brothers, the working slob,
That all you do in office is keep your job.

Getting into office, your number one priority
For that you must ignore all the minorities
Only mentioning them in campaign speeches.
Then continue on being high-paid leeches.
Nobody in your party will call you out
Just collect your money from the touts
And when you retire just leave the rubble
And demand the populace call you “Honorable”.

We’re the rebels they call rabble
They want us all to be quiet
They bluster and they babble
Then they publicly deny it.

We wasted our youth on numbing the pain with alcohol and cigarettes.
We were young and naive.
You were charming, I was a mess, and we jumped into the flames together.

We wasted our twenties on screaming into almost full answering machines and bars with mindless conversations.
We were wild and free.
You were a mess, I was  fed up, so we danced down dark alleys together singing rage filled songs to the moon.

We were best friends; we were trying to fight the same battle with scars across our wrists and blacked out livers as mementos from this war.
We were family;  we were just filling up boxes with old pictures of smiling and happy birthday cards from a mother who was never around.
We were lovers; trying to scream ourselves back into each others arms in hope that we could be the heroes we always wanted.

We were the kids your parents warned you about.
The ones with the broken past and the empty futures they said.
The ones with the alcohol addictions and the drugs habits we refused to kick they said.
The ones who lived in the night, who danced in the shadows but dreamed of the next morning they would have to make it through.

Cheers to numbing the pain at the expense of our livers and wasting our youth on impossible dreams.

You're a mystery Heath.
What's that love you hide underneath?
It seems that you're chasing love again,
Spilling it like brand new champagne.
You watch her dance in lavender spectrums.
You must of fell hard for Electra,
Cause now, you roam the desert,
Killing for nothing but treasure.

A never-ending love ride,
It's almost like you can feel the high tides.
Oh, how she's such a bliss,
Such a babe to share a kiss.

Can you feel your heart on fire?
Every inch of her is your desire.
Pour that love into the drain,
Before the blood begins to stain.
She now cries in red colored spectrums,
And you're somewhere faraway from Electra.
Run, here comes the boys in blue,
Sacrifice yourself before they get her too.

A never-ending love ride,
It's almost like you can feel the high tides.
Oh, how she's such a bliss,
Such a babe to share a kiss.

The desert is miles away,
And you've been locked in jail for days.
Yet, there's no sign of Electra,
Could she be distracted by the spectrums?
What has this become?
Is there still more to overcome?

A never-ending love ride,
It's almost like you can feel the high tides.
Oh, how she's such a bliss,
Such a babe to share a kiss.

We have funny colored hair
And we sing our corrupted music a little too loud
We paint pretty pictures of revolution
Right on the surface of our diamond-studded faces.

We run away from responsibility,
In fear of not meeting the standards set by generations before.
Work hard, no sleep.
Play a little less, fall under the knife.
When will we reach the ****** of
This demented little fairytale?

Sit in a perfectly placed corner,
Smile wide, and don’t say a word.
They’re going to muffle your cries with cotton, anyways.

Before the year ends

there is so much left to

accomplish. Little grains

of salt tossed from shore to shore

Rogue One is my savior

Jin and Cassian are my guides

a bonding brotherhood

a bonding friendship

a budding romance

but ended as the imperial army

blew them to smithereens.

What is to become of the

rebel forces? They end up winning

but it's a long, hard struggle.



The Force is with me.



I am the Force.



I know this now.



All this power like

the Death Star

channeling green toxic energy

destroying all

that is innocent and good.

Before the year ends

there is an opening

not unlike the blue power shields

that the rebels destroyed.

Fear is my shield

but I have the Force within

and all it takes is some hope

that this next coming year

will be a new bright beginning

full of love and caring

bringing peace and relief and satisfaction and release

to my Brain and my Heart.

I've lost time counting headlights and lamplights and streetlights and stars. I've literally lost time. Each day I wake up, and watch the evening drift by in a sunset, I fall asleep and watch the moonlight sail away on a sunrise.


It was an empty promise, these lights all around. It was an empty promise, that buzzed with the current a few thousand volts. Lights...pale and broken bulbs bleeding gasses and lies. But I guess in the dishonesty of some idea so pure, I found the dream that Teslas lightning tipped fingers yearned for,


A quest of solid gold that conducted an orchestra of thunder. And so lights couldn't be a lie anymore,


They could only be a dream, a dream never fully realized so long as the frozen dead fingers of liars past held their grip. Edisons overgrown yellow tinged finger nails, piercing through the veil of misty electric sparks,


Yet here i am


The light bulb is over MY head now! And my brainstorm is an F4 hurricane, my bolts like guillotines for your greedy fingers!


Because this is the generation of new light, of new thunder and new mayhem.
Of illumination!


A new generation carrying torches, casting out our light bulbs and our lamp posts. Forcing fire into Mason jars and using flames like they were new again.


No no no
…
Not Mason jars. Pull those ******* light bulbs from the headlights and lamplights and streetlights, fill those ******* with gunpowder and unstable explosive mixtures and make stars, *******!


Make flames that burn brighter than Edison's unholy lies, that tear down the dome and bring the skies falling!


Watch everything we've built, watch corruption and lies and racism and false superiority come hissing out of the cracks, trying to save themselves from the building pressure,


Trying to claw their red boney fingers from the fire but they can't. Because they are the fire,


And we will all watch as they burn like they always wanted to. Their voices shining past all of the glory their burning visage may grant, their bodies becoming one with the chaos that is our country.


And then we will have nothing left but ashes. No more eagles. Only the right and left wings of a Phoenix,


Risen from our ash and tears, flying into the sky to become the sun...To shine like nothing ever seen by our eyes so used to a false light.


Because it's time we became the sun. It's time we chose a real light to follow, not a halogen tube spewing gas over sickly bodies. No more light bulbs to only last a few weeks. Were tired of artificial light...Tired of breathing oxygen made in a lab…


Maybe it's because we've lost so much time under buzzing broken bulbs, under boot heels and tyrannical ideation. We've lost so much time staring into TV lights and camera flashes that we've only been able to wait for someone real to step into frame...


We've lost so much time counting headlights and lamplights and streetlights and stars. Counting the minutes till a new hero appears...I'm ready to be the light.

Atlas shrugged his shoulders and said his last goodbye
He said I’m tired of this world and all of you know why
Before he left he let the singing caged bird out to fly
She said I begged you to release me before I die

The world once was green but forgot how to create  
The sun’s early morning make the moon tides too late
He purified himself first so he could turn from his hate
Now he’s gone leaving behind the anger of our fate

She only knew how to paint the colors of her reality
It made her life easier because it was her normality
They begged her to come back but she did not feel free
She’d rather sell tortillas than cross the pretentious sea

Release the favor of your desires for I have none to offer
I exist where the light has exhausted itself from its search
We only live underneath its glow and not by its promise
And I walk alone by the door of a once beckoning church

In his hands he may choose his wraths or his mercies
A terrible sword of dust swirling without remorse
The light of a rainbow without sound or footprint
We choose either the gentle or sharp side of its source

Where men gather arguing over the virtues of sin
There is no trail to follow except the way of failure
For there is no just end without a just path for peace
And the burden he bore knows who was his savior