Some thing's can get a little hairy
A little scary
A little daring
blood-curdling are the little vermin
Who love to digest down my harvest.
How they got a surprise coming,
With the good winchester model 37.
Take the little vermin to creepy crawly heaven.

This is my play's last scene; here heavens appoint
My pilgrimage's last mile; and my race,
Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace,
My span's last inch, my minute's latest point;
And gluttonous death will instantly unjoint
My body and my soul, and I shall sleep a space;
But my'ever-waking part shall see that face
Whose fear already shakes my every joint.
Then, as my soul to'heaven, her first seat, takes flight,
And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell,
So fall my sins, that all may have their right,
To where they'are bred, and would press me, to hell.
Impute me righteous, thus purg'd of evil,
For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil.

I left your house--
the house I'd hoped would be ours--
and all I could think about is,
out of all the people in the world,
only you feel like home.

Oh, when I was in love with you
Then I was clean and brave,
And miles around the wonder grew
How well did I behave.

And now the fancy passes by
And nothing will remain,
And miles around they'll say that I
Am quite myself again.

well, i’m sitting here drunk again, alone
i remember when i was younger
i spewed evident disgust for those
who resorted to the bottle
as a release from their problems,
yet now I’m at the marrow of
the little boy’s vision,
another sip tightens the grip
of the bottle
or the glass
depending on whether or not
i want whiskey or beer
it’s usually both
I had such high hopes for my future
now my hopes are devoted
to wondering if i have enough
money for the next bottle
or case
             it’s usually both

         (II)

i don’t even have
any social networking
site to sift through,
the internet is down
maybe thats a good thing,
but lack of mental occupation
clutches my impotence towards
thinking good thoughts
or not even thinking at all

theres music playing and a drink beside me
i don’t even need to write that theres
a drink beside me anymore, its usually a
given now

i’ve finally altered the
definition of “achieved”
from optimistic to pessimistic
in the sense that i have
attained the task
of proving every simplistic
childhood aspiration wrong,

a 10 year old boy, looking at himself
now would only surface denial or disgust

                it’s usually both.

You taste like love
As our swollen lips dance
Under the gleam of the moonlight

The sweetness of each kiss
The sweat sticking between our skins
The lust lingering in the air
But the love staying there