happy years aren’t
hard to come by.
out of 365 days
there is bound to be 1
that is full of maggots,
and to take its place
later on down
there will be 10 more
that are full of progress.

it is upto us
to choose,

whether these times
are going to be long
forgotten years,
rotten with bigotry,
stinking of nothingness

or as a testimony
for the times when we
burned our minds and souls
as embers on a cursed night
to never look for the sky ever
in search of a false hope.

Universal
You know the bandage pull
And how they say you should
Remove in one yank?
Oh, for comfort, true.
I've got the addiction
Just like you.
Meet me on the carpet crisscross
And we can slowly tug the
Adhesive for the pain we need
Over days. Better yet, stay.
We can hide ourselves for years.

"Where do you see yourself in five years?"
"Hopefully done with college"
"Married with a couple of kids"
"Buying my own house and starting a business"
"No debt. Everything, student loans and car payments gone"
The typical answers to that question
Want to know mine?
I never saw my future as bright
Hell never thought I'll get this far
I can see the end of my path
Where do I see myself in five years?
Depressed if I'm not already
Homeless because of my pride
Jobless because my stupidity
No one to turn to because of my negativity
Love is no where near me
That's the last thing on my mind
After food
After drink
After a roof over my brainless head
There's too much going on
No one will help me
Why would they?
It's all my own fault
So the answer to your question
In a different world
Hopefully a better one
After this one is behind me

You don't know this yet,
but I'm gonna meet you
in a few days
and on the 13th of December
you'll let me be yours

My mother will hate you
for a couple of years,
but I'll leave the house
i grew up on
just to be next to you;
all the hard work and sleepless nights
will be worthwhile

Sixty months after that,
we're going to get married
on the 18th of June,
and our children will be happy,
i promise

I'm aware of all this stuff
because, twenty three years later,
I'm still in love with your laugh,
your jokes, your rants
and changing moods

I'll always be thankful
for that first conversation we had
eight thousand, three hundred
and seventy seven
days ago

The smoke that rose
It's grey to orange bloom
Throwing ash to the air
Bugs dance like ghosts with
Burning bodies darting while
Posing the threat of eating what
Happens to be the flesh on which they land
Pulsing as it was in London
All that now matters is housed
We peak through the windows
Thunderous fog rolls along the harbour
Gutters running over stocked by
Spilt beer and glitter
A girl who lost her shoe unaware
She's leaving her friends to drag
Half-crawling to the stadium
Combing lawns for misplaced cigarettes
Snapping food into her belly
Three more times the bell shouts
And even the sky of fire
Has found it's way off the streets