Giants lived here, we collected their bones
in museums, their spirits in myseums
of status and power, pride and desire

We are the shining oil lamps
in which the spirits live on wishes
that we sometimes cannot control

Then one escapes
and he roams the earth
that gives him weight and makes him heavy

a giant who is way too big
for our world and people
are challenged by him

to unite
against him before all hell breaks loose
destroying everything

Helicopters roar across the country
and turn crazy
in fearfully hiding heads

Time is ticking louder

Meadows of loving emotion
Jostle us kindly away
From cascades of swollen ire
That guide our desires astray.

Dear Lord,

I know their earthly bodies find comfort in its smog,
in the brine, and in the actions that keep them sane

and I ask you, Lord, who is the pinnacle of comfort
to ease their minds and souls and lift them out of pain

in Your mercy, by Your light, by Your loving holy light
so they may never need to smoke or drink again

Amen

Officially,
the calendar now marks
that it's been over a year
since I've last had your taste.
I should be proud
of myself
- and I am -
but more so, I am
surrounded by frustration.

I cannot write code like I used to.
Neither can I
find the words to write poetry
like I used to.
With you,
my creativity and passion
came effortlessly:
like turning on a tap
from which the essence
flowed,
whenever I took
my next hit.

Now, it's been
over a year from you;
and the passion from which
you robbed me of
is starting to come back.

I refuse to let
my memories of you
taint
that which I love.

My subdued passion
for programming,
video games,
and literature
shall not be dull forever.

With every new moon
that passes,
the fog in the mirror
continues to fade,
as my reflection
becomes clear.

And with it,
I feel (more than anything)
the ambition
that which you stole from me
ever-so-slowly return.

I so desperately
searched for my soul
while in your grasp.
Clouded by your embrace,
I lost myself,
and saw only the image you painted
in the mirror.

In time I will find myself again.
Fully.

One year clean
is something to celebrate.

There's nobody that cares enough to look past my career,
Even I don't give a **** about the far future or near.
I am waiting for the day that I can get drunk off my rear,
If it saves a life, go ahead and put me to the spear.
Definitely not suicidal, that hotline's not my speed dial.
The evil's really there, but I'm the one who's even more vile.
My fam and friends love me, too bad the hate is deafening.
If you really wanna help me then be more than just threatening.
Can't walk with pride, so I crawl. Society's centipede.
seventy percent chance that I won't live to see seventy.
My heart plenty big, but plenty dark. My bullet biting thoughts mostly small, cause it's all bark.
But I am always down to get together, hang out at the park whenever.
Maybe even spark a little, save these memories for forever.
Keeps me and my homies tethered down, weather won't catch us now.
May not see right past this fog, but I see through you now.

It's the easy path to label all problems under depression,
no one wants proper treatment, but prefer smoke sessions.
Then you think you learned your lesson, underneath it's all digression.
Takes you at least a year to break down and start confession.
It poisons me to see my friends fade into strangers with problems,
only thing you can do is relate and say "Amen".
Why did you ignore omens? My door was wide open,
but then again I have my problems that I don't cope with.

i come to you half mad with desire
my *** turned to sacrifice;
starved, like an Unwatered flower,
A wretched *****,
A sacred *******,
A temple of worship,

Do you remember How you created me?
In A sort of Rebirth, out of the carcass I once was
Aching to be consumed
All my flesh and bones and sinews,
Stripped away.
Now, just the soft dew of our skin,
The clear thickened air dressed in fire
Smoked by the scents of sage and salt
evoking numberless poems

For me to swim through your body
back and forth in a sacred liturgy
Bloodied and purified I am Laid bare before you now
amidst The white sheets of  the alter
A purity of sin almost worthy of  worship,
almost crying out the holiness of lust before the gods.
And Our velvet kiss turning to a midnight confession
all of our vices and virtues
Are as blood and as sky.