I miss you all so much
Words with such passion, right?
If only you could feel what I feel
(But you do, don't you?)
Then you would know what it is to “miss”
(But you do, don't you?)
Then “so much” would actually mean something
Maybe if I used a rarer word
A word favored by artists and English teachers
Then the feeling would be adequately described
Right?
Correct?

My heart longs, but that does not do it
My heart cries, but that does not do it
My heart burns, but that does not do it
My heart explodes with every pain of desire it has ever held
Repeat with soul
And still, nothing
These words are meaningless before feeling

Why do we move around?
Why create these feelings?
Maybe if
I add some Santa Easter Bunny Jesus Lincoln desire-made belief?
That I will see you all again
And we will share our most intimate moments
Worthy of many exclamation points
!!!!!!!
Until the end of time?

Stay put and never leave
Put down roots in the soil and in hearts
Never go and always let them know
Just how much you care
Never let your ambition or desire outweigh your love
And Be Godammit, Be!

Poets have been lying to me. I can't reach out and grasp constellations with my bare words and I am not the deep blue sea that you think I am. I am a dried up stream of self doubt and I am just a rough draft that was tossed aside because it's clearly not worth working on. I am that short straw no one wants to pick. But godammit all I want is to be that one who shines brighter than the sun or who you are at a loss for words with and I want you to see the infinite possibilities in my eyes and not the sad wreck that is actually there. And god is there anything I wouldn't do to make those words dance on the page again just for you but instead I am at a loss for anything or anyone  when all I pray for is love, for even a single friend in this empty world because ****, I can't look at you without imagining what won't be.

Mopin' in an overpriced motel
Trying to decide what items I can sell... Well, what's few and far between
Hardly any parts are even left of me

though THINGS do not define us
Take a peek in my chest cavity
You'll see I am righteous
High-strung Yet somehow Vibrant

Here it is, kids
'Tis the season of unrest
There's no sleep just tweakers
Screaming obscenities
In shadow corners
"****" "****" "****"  "godammit"
Im watching his sanity go
Right out the door

Is it the allure?
OR
Perhaps its the warm bed?
That's keeping me from leaving right along with it
I bite my tongue til it becomes
Blood red
Before I know it my mouth
Begins mimicking my head

And I'm yelling ...


"****** I can't stand it, get your **** together man!"

He opened the door as so many times befor the old man not giving thought to a stranger

inside in wait.

His smell gave him away even in the darkness it's always that moment just befor that

excite's me so.



As his feeble hands flicked the switch he gave no thought  to a intruder

he only cursed the light.

Godammit!  I just bought that bulb!

His voice like a memory lingred within my thoughts of hatred.



The mouse was in the vypers cage and I thrived in knowing the strike would

be savage in nature.

He stumbbled his way to the kitchen and as he was met by only the promise of more darkness it was then he would hear my hiss.



Hello Jim it's been so very long.

His eye's were so perfect in there grasp of terror for he knew the devil well.

Who's there? Get the hell outta my house I'll call the cops!



I couldnt hide my laughter Oh Jim how can you call the cops

When the phones dead besides didnt you miss me?

I dont know what your talking about who the hell are you?



The fear was a drug I knew his heart couldnt take much more but much like the phone he fumbled for it wasnt the only thing that would be left dead in this house.



He staggred back blind was the mose that soon would know my fangs.

My arms around wrapped around the weak old fool he let out a cry but I muffled it

with leather glove.



Oh dear uncle Jim dont you remember me?

You said I was always your favorite you sick ******* *******!

How many were there ?

What's wrong are you scared good you ******* freak!



I felt his body tremble  just as helpless as he had made me feel

You know old man it's only fitting I should **** you for so long ago you killed me.

His withred lips began to speak my name but soon he felt the sting and the

blood choked the sentance from his mouth.



His throat slit I let the old man crawl painting his kitchen floor a crimsom of pure devilish delight.

I dropped the phone in front of him and enjoyed as he in a last effort to survive

dialed the numders the gurgling noise a sweet music to my ears.



What's wrong Uncle Jim you seem so unhappy?

He convulsed in the floor I watched my creator die in such a beutiful demise.

The sound so sweet to hear my memories were washed clean my past was dead with the

wrinkled old garbage in floor I drove the blade in agian thats for the past you

I drove it in again thats for that helpless disgusting feeling of filth.



I drove it deeper agian and agian blood painted me i was washed clean of his decay.



How i love family get togathers

May3rd 2013
Stream of consciousness may 3rd
I am so bored. I'm sitting at work on my break. The atrium windows cast light all around me. I sat in the shadows though. The sun heats up the whole building. It's not summer so it isn't to hot yet, but just warm. I hate breaks. They are never long enough. Or short enough. The go by like a small piece of candy. Or a chunk of cookie. It's enough to wet your appetite, but not enough to stay it.
That's how I feel about sleep to. There's never enough, and when you can sleep as much as you want, it's never over quick enough. What is it with our minds? Why are they wired to be like this? Or is it just me? Am I the only one who is discontent? Unsatisfied with what I have? I know I should be. I try to be. I always want more. Or something else. Or something different.
Only on rare occasions can I sit down. With only the things I have. Or the people I know, and smile. Be content. Be happy. It's so strange. I'm not even focusing my eyes as I type any more. I'm typing on pure muscle memory. I don't even know what I'm typing really. Just going on and on and on like my breaks. It's kind of pitiful. I love writing stream of consciousnesses. They are like a little window into the thoughts and insights I don't know I have. They keep me entertained and they keep me going.
I'm just sorta rambling as usual. How many words can one kid put on a piece of paper without simply copying out of a dictionary? How many lines can I fill? It's like one of those video games where the levels never end. It just get harder and harder, but you can never win. It's just about how long you are willing to go before you give up. Isn't that the same as what life's about though? How far are you willing to go before you give up? How many lines will you fill? I don't know how many I will, but I want the content of each line to be bold. To mean something. When I look back on the lines of my life I want to see all the spelling mistakes. See how I've learned as they change and decrease. I don't care if it all makes sense, but I want it to mean something. I want it to be read by others who are just beginning to fill in their own lines. Maybe then the jumble of letters and lines and scwigglies will make sense. Maybe they will mean something. Or maybe not. Who cares though. We are all gunna die so let's have some fun.
See this is what I'm talking about, now that I'm on a roll. Now the the words and ideas are flowing out of me as easily as light from the sun, my break is over. Now I don't want to move. I don't wanna work any more. I have to though. Which *****. Even that will be over too soon though. Why should I want time to move faster? Shouldn't I relish in it all? Before its gone? Shouldn't I treasure every moment I work, every moment I'm on break, or laying down? I think I should. Should isn't though. I have to. I will. Maybe. Who knows, except that ill miss it when I'm gone. Woohhhhoooooo skiing sounds like fun. I love the Cookie Monster. He is kinda awesome. There goes Monica again. Hmmm there's a guy cleaning the atrium windows. Monica kinda freaked out. Not even in my words do I find solace now. No safety. They are not private, but what in my mind do I have to be ashamed of? I am a gift, as is everything in the world and we treasure it all, even if some of it may seem abrasive to our eyes. Godammit. Back to work I gues. Or maybe one more line to fill first. One more spelling error. One more string of useless, meaningless **** out of my head, into this note? I think that should be about enough though? Right? I miss you. Still love you. ****. Your still on my mind. Get out. Duck. Lol

Precariously perched atop a mountain
Swaying in the sickly sweet breeze
To the right, shining sun
Blissfully beckons.
To the left, deathly drums
Pound my mind ceaselessly.
Restless, I pace the psyche depths
In a race neverending.
Fleeing myself?
Thoughts of blades and pills
Delude this once harmonious life.
Godammit WHY I cry
As I look to the right
At my lover, so divine.
Such passion, such beauty
Should break these **** chains,
Yet they brace and remain
Leave me low all the same.
Birds swoop above, free,
Taunting with their calls.
So I jump and fly
Higher, so high
through the mounds of clouds,
I have found
Freedom fleeting.
Will it last?

Okay, so what was normal? It sure as hell isn’t me. So is it the average American white family? With their clothes all starched and their kids in suits and dresses? And they all come together at dinner or breakfast and eat like one big happy family? Like they don’t fight none or get on each other’s nerves? Or is it the hard working man, with barely enough money to support his small family? A family that doesn’t seem to have it quite figured out or quite right to sustain, yet somehow they find a way. They still seem to be surviving somehow, through all their toils.. They come together at mealtimes to eat what they have, and sometimes they get on each other’s nerves. But you know what? That’s normal man. It’s common, godammit, to not be a perfect family. The poor and struggling family is the real one.. the humble one.. the normal one.

I've given a
new name
to my hopes-

looking forward,
when Winter is
a stone throw's
away

I may be a
Goddess of
silver lining, always
trying to
wade through
the thickened blue

But I used to know
nothing of
Romance or even
believe that
love existed

but now I will not leave
behind what's handed
to me, and, Godammit,
I'll stir the *** until
the fumes take
over

And I'll look back
at every thought
of you and
thank fate for
the time

And smile
even though
I lost you-

you made me
believe in
love again

it's the hardest thing i've ever had to learn how to do
care more about where i'm at than i do about you
goes against my ethos, my ethics, my soul, godammit
i never thought it would go this far
but it has
and you're in it
if we could begin it again it
wouldn't be the same, would it

because where we are now
is not what we were
what i don't know
is how we let it happen in the first place

My wife has taken a trip to visit relatives
in another part of the country.
After a couple of days, here at home,
the cat is getting a little freaked-out.
Then my wife, who is away, is starting to get a little worried.
"Oh, she's okay I said". "She's been looking at me a little strange and she meows with some kind of accent".
I think she's saying, "Oh wait, there is something going on with my humans".
"I'm missing a human... godammit". "Someone has taken one of my humans! And my favorite one at that!"