I like sitting on my rooftop, in a city that the one over finds
degraded and blue-collar. Its quiet and the sun heats the
tar- a soft lullaby on the bottom of a pair of feet that traverse
a life I’m always trying to get closer to.

I like things like ginger ale and lemonade; faded colors
& antiques. The belief that people still listen to vinyl
and care about our founding fathers. That they
still hand write love notes to themselves as much as for
Another.

People okay with the company
of an occasional fruit fly and a toasted bagel with butter
and honey alongside a sweet peach iced tea, sweating from the
thought of summer’s
sin.

I like sky lights & well-lit rooms; shadows permitted the freedom
to dance across exposed brick and structures
incapable of forgetting the daily histories of all their inhabitants.

My passwords are always about the planets or Greek mythology;
(I rotate).

Because I need a daily dose of the cosmos & humanity’s
attempt to better understand its purpose on this solitary fleck of dust.

I tend to bleed my existence through learning history and maintaining eye-
contact. Weekends are where people smile and emerge from their
carefully soaked-in showers, feeling clean and comforted by the silence
of a fogged mirror.

I like sentimental movie trailer music and bathtub tunes - whatever
can put to rest the parts of society that demandingly vibrate within me

(I leave).
my front door open because I appreciate individual curiosity
and creating an invitation for people to look in and see how very
much we are all alike. Needy and wanting to watch for signs of life
in others.

I like people who can carry sorrow in their back pockets & yet
**still offer to
pay for your check.

Beauty is what
Beauty is thee,
Beauty is whatever the ******* see
It is a flower,
It is a tree,
It is in thee,
Can't you see,
Beauty is where ever you'll be,
The sun,
The sky,
Your light,
I see,
All within the scope of beauty,
Again we cross,
So bright,
Yet clean,
Beauty is what I see in a dream,
Beauty is what I mean,
Mean to dream,
Forever a theme in a hallway unseen,
For a beauty so demandingly obscene
It is potent,
It is powerful,
Undeniably supreme
Passion,
The fire
The beauty in between,
This has to be a dream,
Her beauty makes me scream,
I am unclean,
In the love I am serene,
But my beauty is the monster,
I choose to let run free.
Beauty is me!

the irish call this a well established word salad,
half of them are qualified psychiatrists,
because they think language
ought to be an arithmetic rubric understood
well enough for manual labour arguments to take
the populace numbers off their backs of via
ennobled ****-fiddlers taking the entitlements
of prince or king be left holy
so that the politicians can ******* with power
and powder and vote... i veto my democratic right
of vote... i veto it! you sign your name with an X,
you vote with an X... you educate yourself
in order to be debased with only an X...
**** your X... many st. andrews in the english parliament!
you think you'll make me an "illiterate" person
voting? the vanity of the fallen armies for my literate
signature signed as once demandingly categorised:
illiterate. to hell with democracy's booth!*

and when drinking defeats me
i truly serve
a sobering-up programme
that has a life-span of a day
and a female companion
that's worse than a canine *****
barking: howl howl hoof woof!;
i too wish... i wish i wish i wish....
i never had... and that serpentine
labyrinth with me the Minotaur
for an exercise of ****** doesn't help;
and yet the cat in my bed, calm, snoozes.

i will die.
and when i do,
i will still carry your
burden,
your resentment
and
your cruelty. That'll never leave me,
like the scars that imprinted
themselves into my body,
making a home in this frangible pale skin.
You
marking it vigorously
and demandingly,
like how i used to
like it.
When the darkness
starts to overthrow the remaining light in
my sight,
I
hope that you'll be the last person
I
could catch a glimpse of before i start to
peel and bleed.
The pain,
the anguish
and
the ghastly,
quickly ****** everything into me,
and i'll undoubtedly let them control
my conscience
and destroy the tiny bit of self-awareness that was hanging at the edge of
my uncertainties.
this time,
the time that i'll die,
i'll bring the iniquitous and vile you to the grave.
the you that i had loved
and adored
and cherished
ever so dearly than my own life.
i'll die with them,
and you'll stay here,
with the ****,
and the restless
and the stupid
and the cowards.

and all that's left of you, is the you whose no's are extinct,
whose consciousness' unadulterated,
and the you whose love i never witnessed.

and this time, the time that i'll die, it'll be your death too,
the very moment that your purity cracks, and corrupted by them,
you'd finally understand.

You twist below earths casing with unease.
Ravens caw awakens you once more with
such rasp of unholy calling.
Skeletonised featureless humanity with broken
casket worn by years of gluttonous worms and
maggots frenzy.
Weighted down with soiled crust, you excavate
within your grave, driven by the glorious call of that
murderous brood, pecking demandingly above with
such Tomb Stone drumming.
Appealing for their master to return.
Upon the midnight hour such clawing bone appears
through earthen clays that fall beside thee.
Back once more to their righteous hiding place.
The clock slowly ticking for such a time when
freedom will be your reckoning.
Eventually to bare such sight as no man would
invite to call.
Resting wearily after such rite you ****** your
caller from its lair and feast on sullen flesh and
blood as around you  feathers floating around
you in surprised cascading chase.
Not the most captivating meal but such will sustain
you until sinew repairs itself and ****** meat once
more returns to bone.  
Plenty is the time when metamorphoses completes
for  more appetising morsel.
Awakening complete it is time to delve into this new time.                                                            ­  
A future where you are once more free to feed on
living flesh.                                                           ­                                 
Once more to be Master is your calling.
Off you go into the night, off you go to have your
way and feast till Devilled hearts content.
Into nights shadows do you stride.

Happy and content -> Nudged out of wack.
On the right path -> Diverted off-track.
Whole and complete -> convinced of lack.

Laughing imbicility -> Fatalistic and sad.
Understandingly forgiving -> impossibly mad.
Totally good -> enjoyable bad.

Zest for life -> inviting suicide.
No remorse -> regretfully tried.
Never always -> honestly lied.

Timid fear -> Daring and bold.
Genuine character -> hypocritically cold.
Religiously devout -> soul's been sold.

Musically inclined -> can't keep a beat.
Social butterfly -> never want to meet.
Sour face -> smiling so sweet.

Always the same -> subject to change.
Seeking normality -> incredibly strange.
Demandingly certain -> just to re-arrange

… Remind you of anyone?...

Self expression is a weapon used by people with depression
Used by people who have meaning
Used by people with reflecting
The world is only good at telling lies and then neglecting
Don't mean to be disrespecting
But the governments subjecting
The worlds been subjugated
The worlds been made  distraught
Because the worlds  been filled with hatred
Real rap has never been  appreciated
God is in my life
But people swear I act like satan
I don't feel  satanic
When people hear my true thoughts that's when people start to panic
They don't know  I'm that deep
But they know that I  cause damage
My emotions never  sink
That's what they said that bout the titanic
None of what earned was ever handed
I have been through the struggle
But I always tried to manage
And by managing
I did ignore my vanity
And then remained my sanity
I hope that I don't leave the rap game empty handed b
Intelligence man that's what Jesus handed me
I ask him for forgiveness and I say that **** demandingly

The love I yearn for is quiet
Within deep, dark trenches of woodland,
she thrives
Beneath bright blue blooms of spring,
she hides
Where the soil is soaking still,
and the steps taken upon it are silent
Unseen and unheard —
Invisible to the air around her
But felt demandingly
by those within

Joseph Preston Kirk Apr 2013
Truth Prevails
when times are good
everything is as it should
when times are hard
revealed is the hidden card
from the deck of life you were given a hand
play it right or it crumbles like sand
one can bluff or even lie
but the truth is known as it meets the eye
be true to thyself or or none can be true
as the life you build will fall upon you
based on deciet a heart can grow fond
but over time you will lose that bond
as with time it will show
the thorns as they rigoruosly grow
truth will consume the you, you think you know
because all the lies will suddenly go
when that moment of judment demandingly calls
and the castle of your lies built suddenly falls
to each their own and to thine own self be true
reap what you sow as it is cast upon you