for centuries past
and centuries to come
the truth has never been disrobed
and the lies still remain unexposed
the only thing we can prove
is that we cannot prove
or disprove that
a higher power exists
otherwise,
the existence of humanity
would be on the same page
with each other

but for those who need
the probability of god
need help to get through

the odds are against you

and for those who take it head on
find strength, hope, faith and
courage in other dumpsters

the odds are against you

atheism is contradiction:
believing in nothing
is still believing in something.

in religiosity,
their are over 4000 gods
so which god is the real god?
all of them?
none of them?
or just the one you believe in?

we don’t need an ancient book
that is no longer relevant to
a modern world to tell us how
to be a good person.

so forget belief altogether
and stay humble, be kind,
try not to think so much and
be decent with one another
and don’t blame indecency
or disrespect on your
upbringing or how the
world treated you.
you have a mind,
so use it and obtain
moral core values
but then again,
if it were just that easy
the existence of humanity
would be on the same page
with each other.

the truth is, the world will
never be an unison but
one day of being dead gains
more knowledge than a
100 years of wisdom from
being alive

...they know what happens
after the wait

but the fact
that the dead
remain silent
and leave the living
wandering and wondering
somewhere between the
sidewalks and the blue
with the unknown
is one of the
greatest things
they’ve ever done.

eighteen
words
is
too
much
for
this
poem
so
cut
it
short
and
get
the
hell
out.

vibrant colors on beautiful birds
caged in uselessness
and never flying free
when the doors wide open
from the presence of fear
and the absence of dream.

mortared into corners and
clutching onto our terrible lives
and meaningless possessions
with talons of counterproductivity.
terror-stricken by vagrancy and
holding up the dagger to our hearts
while submissively allowing the
beast of prey to cut through with
ease until the blue waves come out
through the tear ducts of depression
and the voice starts trembling
and the feathers start molting
and we start falling apart
at the seams.

working hard for everything
and surviving on nothing.

our lives and our deaths
wouldn’t be so sad
and we wouldn’t be
so terrified of change
if only we had proficiency
and understanding
in our viviparous days
that when we wake up
to face the sunrise,
the reckoning of agony
begins.

we’d be able to
fly free
a little more often
like catapulted
hippopotamuses
but here,
in the swampland
of our darkness
that’s our cross to bear.

paper hearts
paper moon
paper towns
paper mache
paper money
paper minds
paper hats
paper airplanes
paper gangsters
paper sailboats
paper the cracks
paper the lanterns
paper the presents

crumple it up
and throw it away

and do something
real with yourself

the origami of life
is marginalized
with Illegible lines.

wasted lives
writing
wasted words
on
wasted paper
in
wasted books

where
wasted immortality
rots in the
dumping grounds
of nothingness

until the end when
we become fertilizer
for the rich soil
underneath
the dirty fingernails
of some gravedigger
named Sal.

mildew covered cardboard boxes
neatly stacked in the dark, dingy
basement of my childhood
I rummage through
in sought for nothing
but I stumble upon everything
discovering an old cassette tape
of my younger years
unplayed and forgotten about
since 1995.

23 years of useless instability.

I brought it home and waited,
waited til I was alone with it
and played it once again,
right where I left off.
I cried almost instantly
from the nostalgic moments
running over my mind.
reminiscing on those
innocence and defenseless
days and the tape replayed
as one particular occurrence  
replayed on the projection
screen of my memory bank.

climbing a tree
with the warm sun
beating down on my
goose pimple skin
and the gusts of wind
blowing in my face and
waving the tree around
as I was listening to the
headphones from
my Walkman and
feeling completely free.

a freedom away from a
brutalized upbringing,
a freedom away from a
globe of vile misconduct,
a freedom away from the
prison cell of emptiness,
a freedom away from the
labeled guise of falsity
they’ve given me
throughout the years
and I could just be me
but it’s a freedom
I haven’t felt since.
no matter how much
agony I battled through,
no matter how much
my body tirelessly prowled,
no matter how much
my aching heart necessitated,
no matter how much
my innermost desire hunted,
no amount of good times
and great memories could
bring back the provisions
of freedom that cassette
tape once provided.

the routine of attrition
has worn down my senses
and hurled me over the
railing of life and down
into the afterthought
of death.

music can be absolutely beautiful,
powerful and orgasmic,
but it’s a shame that it’s
created by humans
and sometimes
you can hear their souls
in their songs
and sadly,
it’s anything
but worth listening to.

the claws of
these poems
scratching into
the eyeballs
of blank faces,

faces holding onto
beliefs and propaganda,
and politicians and positions,
faces holding onto
justice and an outlook and
occupations and opinions
faces holding onto
sexual victories and wisdom
and problems and grudges
fearful of losing
what little they have
with their incisive
expression of style and
evacuating their poisons
into conversations
into people.

but someone will be
there to replace you,
sleeping in your bed,
filling in at your job,
preaching morality
while the whores
are singing
in their showers
and someone who
you don’t know
will shovel dirt
2 yards into the
ground onto your
decomposing body
so let it all go
and just be

who knew that these
assortment of words,
arranged in peculiar ways
would save me
and get me this far?

but how much more
am I willing to go?

I’ve been living with the dead
and dead to the living
for so long,
there is
no more
light.