at first it's faint, the wailing sound.
almost a mile or two away.
it's a quarter to 1, you stayed up late again thinking about
her or him or what or who.
the sound is loud and you can't come down from the high.
your ears are stinging, your eyes on fire, knuckles are ****** and bruised.
remember that razor you said you would flush?
the drugs?
the pills?
the *****?
all you can hear is that ******* wailing.
your thoughts foggy, unclear.
trembling hands gripping the metal that sets your demons free.
the 3 bottles of *****, the bag of X and
your moms prescription pills.
little did you know, the wailing you heard was no siren at all;
it's your screaming and crying and loss of hope ringing throughout your ears.
as they strap you down
and roll you away,
you're just a siren for everyone in these pasty white walls to hear.
so when you remember her or
him or what or who, maybe
why, when and how;
also remember the faint sirens.
when you woke up in a hospital bed.

I hear too many sirens,
Their call has no desire;
And yet their plaintif wails
Makes one feel alive.

But there's a chance
A child's at risk,
In chaos children die;
Not all kids are underage,
Children are the majority,
Their older than you gauge;
It's like they live at home:
They did: They do: They don't.
And the sirens
Still mean the same.
Someone's child
Left parents grieving
This side of their grave.

Sailor man, will you be with me?
Hear my song I sing just for thee.
Be my brave pirate and forget the thrashing waves.
Come with me and love me in the deep.

I am a sailor,
I have traveled far and wide,
Each wave and tide have brought me directly to you,
Your song is enticing,
With each note I find my ship closer and closer to crashing upon your rocks,
It's a scary thought,
But your mesmerizing voice draws me nearer to what may be my final shore,
I brace for impact,
I hold tight,
I know that when my ship crashes upon your shore,
I am staying for more than just a night.

What song did the sirens sing, Ulysses?
What tune could break your will,
cause you to lose your way?

Were you strung by the sound of a harpy's harp?
Lured by the lies of hideous creatures
singing songs of fabled falsehoods?
Like empty eggshells holding none
of the nutrients they promised.

Was their melody flooded with the bitter truth of love unreturned?

Did they sing of release?
Release from the turmoil the journey was and would continue to bring?
Were the dissonant harmonics of a watery end,
the chance to be one with the sea
what made you beg for your bindings to be cut?

Perhaps the sirens sang the greatest songs of all.
Perchance they sung
of passion sweeter than nectar,
of love stronger than ambrosia,
waiting to be given to the sailor
that could traverse
death itself
and make his way to them.

fears are strange

i fear things that are practical
like that those sirens
are rushing towards a love one
that i didn't tell them
how much i loved them
when i saw them last

i also fear things
that i feel unpractical
like snakes
the thought sends chills
in through my body
and makes me want to cry

but my biggest fear
is being forgotten
is falling into oblivion

and as cliche
and boring
as i seem
i know no other fear
then being forgotten

but other days
i want to embrace my fear
and fall into an oblivon
to be forgotten
to never have to worry
to never have to exist

it's a delicate balance
of life
and death, really.

-r.y.s

Watching night step-sitters staring at each passerby
abiding time as if counting sheep stepping with the city's cadence
Hearing sirens alarming in their BEWARE BLARING;
persistent fearfulness for evil and citizens securities
Staring-walking-bodies searching a barren land prostrating
before the great needle
Patched streets and decaying sidewalks by flooding night lights lay surreal

DECAYING fingers of poverty playing its fingers into every crack, crevice; into every pore, into every cell member
into one's whole being
Sounding the hip-hop generation street corners of hustlers
jiving away the night
The hustled and hustlers' overwhelming struggling for power; being surrounded by red brick and stone; being  incased in poverty

Pounding city hysteria;
at times laying silent in sleepless depth
by the waning gradualness;
anytime readying itself to ERUPT

for witches with brimstone on their breath, ashes in their hair, and fire in their veins


for faeries with daisy crowns atop their heads, broken sea shells across their necks, and crumbling skulls in their hands


for sirens with sweetness laced with poison in their voices, melancholy hidden in their eyes, and death in their hearts

As I hop up in the car loading up the clip. Bullet after bullet thinking bout the hit. Park in front of Shantel mama house looking out for Tony. Johnny catches two in an alley as they run pulling on the trigger but the comb of the glock gets jammed. I see Tony dropped nine in his ribs and 11 on the next person with him. All with in 2 minutes I hear sirens ringing. All behind that my daughter's voice clearly saying daddy don't go.  But I gave in to my demos something you wouldn't know. Wrote you this letter before in case I don't make it against the police. Hope it reaches you before you become deceased. Daddy loves you.
As the Angel shows up one last time and asked me was it all worth it? To not be able see my seed grow. To join the game that that turned your mom to a fiend though and put my two brother six feet under, am I trying to make Lucifer 's trilogy?