Isn't it nice to know all?
Can you just imagine!
Start telling a story
With a crowd of friends
**** good memories too
And that one ends it for you
Yet was never even there
Then I toss out a farse
Just for ***** and giggles
And claim there beside you
Altough you went solo
In that farse which wasn't
And that one won't hesitate
Once I try forming a sentence
Will certainly be halfway cut off
Will appear out of nowhere
While hanging with my hommies
With no ticket in stow
If I could afford to I'd buy
Yeah buy that one an attention
Voucher

He really isn't such an extravagant specimen of humanity
The other day he told her that he wasn't a mess
And the funny part is that he believed himself
He believed that he wasn't so pathetic as to deny his masochism whilst depriving himself of sleep
He believed that he didn't send messages to random people on HP because he was lonely and maybe just maybe that other person would live in south africa and get to know him and love him
He believed that he sent those messages because he wanted to help people
His pathos of trying was so painful to watch even he stopped seeing the reality of his metaphorical wrist and literal subconscious
And even though he watches good shows and listens to good music and has valid philosophical opinions that are well structured of both he still second guesses himself
He still doubts his ability to be anything in life but his dreams are real and o so powerful
He has become a farse
A pathetic dismal farce
And the worst part about this farce
Is that this farce somehow still believes that he is different and better farce than all the other farces out there

Yes he hates himself
But he has become so good at lying to himself that he doesn't even believe the words as he types them on this screen

Fake was the gold
She spun from her wheel.
Did you not know the farse to get here?
A Lie the tower
He climbed to reach her.
Tell the children of the witches plot.
Don't forget to hide the gold.
Tie it with a ribbon,
Leave it cold.
String a tear,
wear 'round your neck.
Bewitch a prince.
Hide the cinder foot.
Don't go in the woods.
It's beaty,
Will kiss you awake.
While your gallant steed pulls away.
Charge on to another day.
Watch for troubles,
On the way.
Fair maidens in towers
Glass on their feet.
Beware troubles,
Beholden in Fairytales.
The story's never over,
Though we stare at books end.

I'm the boss
You do not cross
The king of my domain
For the day
No work, all play
Is found in my refrain

Love to eat
The prime of meat
So sad 'til I get some
'Tis so sweet
And such a treat
Boy, they can be so dumb

Hate to dress
Give me caress
No bother with the slime
Have to dig
In it real big
Archaeology time

When I'm beat
I have a seat
Take my favorite spot
No compete
It's so complete
Out of my royal cot!

Here to stay
I love to lay
Napping is not a farse
I'm a dog
Who's a couch hog
So move your big fat ****!

the smile that comes
after saying something
that is so genuinely
unique
and true to you
so that no one
can ever attack it
try as they may
they will never erase it
or take away
the joy it feels
to know it
to be 100% true.
Even if the entire world
was a farse
that would still be true
regardless.
Even if tomorrow I died
I would have understood,
I would have understood
myself.
In this way regardless.
The smile that comes after a poem
when it is so absolutely true
to feel no shame behind it
so that it cures
even the worst
of my indiscretions.
So that each moment
becomes separate
and stagnant
individual
and without the power
to see into the future
I become liberated
for I am not God,
nor do I want the ability
to see everything
so that I lose all control,
as powerful as I'd be
because
The smile that comes after a poem
in the truth
of it
Is enough for me.

What fortune is more cursed
Than a lover black of heart
What flower more odious
Than a lovers stall to start

What animal least prepared
For the loss of love
Than the petty man
And his dying dove

What tale more sour
Than the story of man and wife
What play more dramatic
Than this farse of a life

What animal least prepared
For the loss of love
Than the petty man
And his dying dove

What Destiny more doomed
Than me and Rose
What option least fitting
Than the one she chose

What animal least prepared
For the loss of life
Than the broken man
And his endless strife

There is no other way. Either you forget the lies you've been fed all your life or waste yourself away, to chase a fabricated truth.

Man is only free when he breaks up with those lies, when he denys everything and becomes ruler of his own reality -  but that demands sacrifice, and is harder than anything imaginable. In fact, it could well be the hardest thing you'll ever have to do in your life: to demolish an entire temple and be left with nothingness.

It means you must be able to see yourself for what you truly are and accept that your reality is what you make of it.

It also means you must be prepared to blame yourself for your failures, just as you would eagerly blame yourself for your successes.

Those who believe that man can rule another man, that lust and feasts are the answer to solitude and boredom, that love can be bought and worn like a badge for the world to see.

Those who name a king a king, who give church the greenlight to do their bidding. Those who fiercely believe that man has what it takes to wield the gods and bestow their will.

Those will say many things to contradict your reality and your dreams, because their reality and dreams are the greater good. Those that see you and me like a means to an end. But we can spot them. Their system is flawed, and that would be ok: because man is flawed. But they won't accept their own reality. They will remain untouched, in ther little shiny rooms with mirrors. Twisted until the end.

Well, it's your death in the end. That's all you should know, all you should care about. It should be enough to tell you what kind of life you need to live. Because all else is a farse.

What the other writers of past centuries have wrote is true. And the truth prevails anything. No matter how many generations pass and take the wheel, the sullen play goes on, with or without you.

Your dreams will be crushed, and your failures noticed.

But you only lose if you give a ****.

It's fool's day, and I'm thinking of the first heartbeat
my body has shuddered.
Skin smoothed from an embryo and into the form of a human being;
I was ushered into this world 12 and 8 years late
to two parents who rose their white flags by the time I was 10
and two siblings who had endured their fair share of the family fortune: traumatizing memories and the gene pool of mental illness.

I used to think it was a farse; this "life" thing.
I believed I was sent here by mistake,
as my mom often told me I was the "surprise" to her.
I came home on Father's Day and 17 years later, my father disappeared.
But I'll remember how he and my mom formulated the lives of 3 human beings, now on completely separate paths,
and how beautiful life became on our own accord.

We're often taught that blood is thicker than water,
and that your family are your first role models.
They teach you about the world before you get the chance to be taught by the world itself.
So what they're saying must be significant, right?

No matter the pain that has been struck on me
since that heartbeat,
I'll forgive.  It's the only way to make a second.
And as the blood trickles from my flesh,
on my dying bed, I'll reminince about my first breath, as I breathe my last.

When can I breathe again?
I’ve been holding it for the past week.
When will my lungs relax from this tensed up state,
of ******* in air and keeping it there.

It’s like every time I try to exhale,
I choke.

Because I’ve been planting new trees
in this forest of responsibilities,
******* the hours out of the day
Taking away
My carbon dioxide
and expelling stress
The poison that this oxygen is

Because the message chime of my phone
has become a dreadful drone.
Chat bubbles rise up into the sky
They pop and pop
Like some kind of cry
For help
I need some air for myself

Because I’m so ******* mad
And not at any of the friends that I have
But at my own selfishness
They deserve the best
And yet I treat them like a pest
How do I even ******* live with myself
When I ever only give to myself

“I need to breathe”
**** that noise
Are you even listening to your voice
You’re acting like a child

“I’ll do it, just give me some time’
Always looking for excuses
Keeping expectations low
With this self-deprecating *******
We get it, we know
You’d rather not do anything at ******* all
Playing the day away
Watching the night away
Wary of making plans
Because you know when you do, you can’t
Back away
You’re scared of facing the day
That you need to give your time away

“I need to breathe”
“I need to breathe”
How much ******* air do you need?
Are you blowing yourself up like a balloon?
So that you can fly
High
Up in the sky
And get even more air for yourself
But here’s the thing pal:
At high altitudes, the air is thin
Oxygen sparse
And that’s when this whole farse
Will come and bite you in the ****
And you’ll realize how it feels to be alone
And there’ll be no home
To return to
Because you pushed everyone away
away
Away
Away
Like you push the air out of your lungs
In the hope that people will get hung
Up on this crystal clear facade

JUST ******* CUT IT OUT, MAN

ANd I’m out of breath again

(A true poem of teen angst)

It's not lunch, it's my life,
Some pointed remark
In front of a friend,
And it stuck in me,
And my friend said
"Dude, what's your Ma's Problem" and I said"Me".
And he said it was weird,
And I agreed.
And I was a captive stranger
In the middle of this saga.
It was terse, this flimsy repose in this farse.
And my Dad rode her train,
And most times I got
The stiff rebuttal.
And I was 16,
And it sounded blase' to me.
But I didn't know **** either.
Mostly listen to Hendrix,
Get ****** before school,
While inside it wasn't
Like that at all.

It was more a reflection,
A stirring in a pool,
Light along the edge of waking.
Definitely Fringe Dude,
Get off the couch Son,
That's reserved for the
Big Shot of the family.

Light burning dark and glowing through my window,
I'd crawl out To the night,
Looking for love slipping away. And the rock n roll
Spiking my head.
And I'm smoking
And I'm holding.
And I'm a punk
And I know it.
And I'd slide out the door
With the LOOK from her,
And what I'd find was mostly
An even keel Of boredom,
A little pick up ball,
Maybe a joint down The woods.
Mostly stupid ****
Until I met Cathy,

And the levels changed
Red to blue.
And the feel of her skin,
Shadow and smell
Along a river of love.
500 miles long
Cresting to an Ocean.
And the Ocean Boomed,
And the crest rose
Crashing to the rocks,

And I wake to shiny pebbles
In glittering moonlight,
I'm naked and wet.
I move toward moonlight,
Following the sound,
Night opens like a flower.