She sits across from me sipping and slurping her fat free french vanilla.
While I'm pacing myself with cappuccino imitation.

"All I'm saying is, that if he starts calling me baby, I might wanna keep him!"

She says it with that cajoling tone.
But I can notice the glimmer in her eyes that tells me she longs for that.
That sweet pet name that would mean she's special to him, in her mind...

I never could get comfortable around those things...pet names.
Cutesy little endearments reserved for a child's affection.

What is wrong with me?

She's vibrating with unmasked giddiness, glancing at her phone.
They've been dating for only months but she is lost in him.

Him.
With his once a week date nights
and clean shaven face
and joking interaction with her friends.  

She's full of soft embrace and warm affection and vulnerable interest.
Wanting never looked so form fitting on a person.
Like a cup waiting for a refill...

"If you want, I could see if his friend is up for dinner next week? You know it's been months for you..."

I hope she doesn't choke on her millionth slurp with the glare of indignation leveled at her cherub-like face.

"Ah thanks, but no thanks." races out of my mouth before I even hesitate to pretend to consider her obvious proposal.

How is it that easy to just offer companionship like that? Do I give off a "desperate for love" vibe?
And what the hell makes her think I can't find someone on my own **** time?

"Okay, okay. It's just...I hate seeing you alone. Don't you want to not be alone anymore?"

I know she loves me but those kind of questions from her caring heart, make me contemplate knocking her in the head.

My alone-ness she says.
My singular existence.

I'd laugh at her if I didn't know it would hurt her feelings.
To disregard her feeble attempts at pairing me up with whatever half-assed man candy she could sway my way.

I'm staring at the ring left from my coffee,
wondering if I should just give in this one time for her,
for me,
for the over used batteries at home.

"I'm not lonely you know. I just, haven't felt that connection yet."

Looking pitifully back at me she wonders aloud, "You're always waiting on that connection but have you ever felt it before? I mean, how do you know it's even real, that body, mind, spirit...magnet pull you believe so fiercely?"

It's the first time I've given her a genuine smile today as I tell her yes I have felt it before.
Briefly...
Bitter sweetly...

I just never got his last name.

It might have been years ago but I can still recall with clarity that electric tornado that seemed to have surrounded us.

We had only been gifted ten hours together but it left a mark on me for over fourteen years.
His face is definitely matured I imagine and his body shaped differently.
But I'll never mistake those sea green eyes, haloed by dusty blue cloud rings.  

The only boy who has ever made me want to get lost and never be found.

"Well...good luck with that. But until mystery man crashes back into your life, for god's sake live a little huh!"

She means well I'm sure but like an eager pup I just tsk at her goofily plastered expression and finish off the grainy remains of my only afternoon delight. She's in a hurry to make her "honey bunny" a homemade dinner anyway so it's not hard to cut things short on our weekly coffee shop vent session.

She's floating out the door before I even get my coat above my elbows but I can't feel offended.
Mulling over the uncomfortable idea of boring interaction with another stranger I decide to grab one more drink for the ride home.

Alone.

Oh, wonderful...now she's planted that seed.

Shaking it off, I order my vice and move benignly to wait and resolve to not think about anything related to that anymore either.

"Seems outrageous they charge so much for imitation don't you think?"

The question's asked to me but I pretend I can't hear it. A guy hitting on me today is not what I want to deal with.

And he seems to be standing right behind me
making goosebumps scatter across my neck.

He tries again, "So I guess you like buying bottom of the barrel cappuccino?"

This time I've gotten a little itchy from his voice and want him to just stop in his tracks.
So I turn to tell him where, in fact, he can go...

But I'm the one stopped short and a bit flabbergasted.

No way do things happen to me like this.

Those coincidental, lucky, fated things...

I almost wish I was a liar right now with the things I just spilled to my loyally, encouraging friend.
Because there is no way the universe would be this cruel.

Finally I exhale and word *****,

"They're the only place that taste just like the ones at my grandmas' house every summer when I was a girl. I waited a long time to find that connection again, even if it is just coffee..."

The smirking face and broad shoulders that greet me aren't the cause of my temporary delirium.
Not even the wild hair and black rimmed glasses.

It's the sea green, haloed dusty blue eyes centering all the rest that shallow my breaths

Of all the places.....

Like a falling satin sheet his face morphs into a query riddled expression.

I hear the barista call out a name and he reluctantly steps away, never taking his eyes off mine whispering,

"I'll...be right back. Don't move...please?"

I'm nodding like an awkward parrot and he turns to grab his imitation coffee.
The same kind I'm waiting on.
And I start smiling after a second.

Not because of the similar drink order, which could be anyone...

But because of something I haven't known until this moment for over fourteen years.
All thanks to fate, or destiny...
Or perhaps the oblivious barista.

His last name...


*© NDHK

Bouazizi’s heavy eyelids parted as the Muezzin recited the final call for the first Adhan of the day.

“As-salatu Khayrun Minan-nawm”
Prayer is better than sleep

Rising from the torment of another restless night, Bouazizi wiped the sleep from his droopy eyes as his feet touched the cold stone floor.

Throughout the frigid night, the devilish jinn did their work, eagerly jabbing away at Bouazizi with pointed sticks, tormenting his troubled conscience with the worry of his nagging indebtedness. All night the face of the man Bouazizi owed money to haunted him. Bouazizi could see the man’s greasy lips and brown teeth jawing away, inches from his face. He imagined chubby caffeine stained fingers reaching toward him to grab some dinars from Bouazizi’s money box.

Bouazizi turned all night like he was sleeping on a board of spikes. His prayers for a restful night again went unanswered. The pall of a blue fatigue would shadow Bouazizi for most of the day.

Bouazizi’s weariness was compounded by a gnawing hunger. By force of habit, he grudgingly opened the food cupboard with the foreknowledge that it was almost bare. Bouazizi’s premonition proved correct as he surveyed a meager handful of chickpeas, some eggs and a few sparse loaves. It was just enough to feed his dependant family; younger brothers and sisters, cousins and a terminally disabled uncle. That left nothing for Bouazizi but a quick jab to his empty gut. He would start this day without breakfast.

Bouazizi made a living as a street vendor. He hustles to survive. Bouazizi’s father died in a construction accident in Libya when he was three. Since the age of 10, Bouazizi had pushed a cart through the streets of Sidi Bouzid; selling fruit at the public market just a few blocks from the home that he has lived in for almost his entire life.

At 27 years of age, Bouazizi has wrestled the beast of deprivation since his birth. To date, he has bravely fought it to a standstill; but day after day the multi-headed hydra of life has snapped at him. He has squarely met the eyes of the beast with fortitude and resolve; but the sharp fangs of a hardscrabble life has sunken deep into Bouazizi’s spleen. The unjust rules of society are powerful claws that slash away at his flesh, bleeding him dry: while the spiked tendrils of poverty wrap Bouazizi’s neck, seeking to strangle him.

Bouazizi is a workingman hero; a skilled warrior in the fight for daily bread. He is accustomed to living a life of scarcity. His daily deliverance is the grace of another day of labor and the blessed wages of subsistence.

Though Allah has blessed this man with fortitude the acuteness of terminal want and the constant struggle to survive has its limits for any man; even for strong champions like Bouazizi.

This morning as Bouazizi washed he peered into a mirror, closely examining new wrinkles on his stubble strewn face. He fingered his deep black curls dashed with growing streaks of gray. He studied them through the gaze of heavy bloodshot eyes. He looked upward as if to implore Allah to salve the bruises of daily life.

Bouazizi braced himself with the splash of a cold water slap to his face. He wiped his cheeks clean with the tail of his shirt. He dipped his toothbrush into a box of baking powder and scoured an aching back molar in need of a root canal. Bouazizi should see a dentist but it is a luxury he cannot afford so he packed an aspirin on top of the infected tooth. The dissolving aspirin invaded his mouth coating his tongue with a bitter effervescence.

Bouazizi liked the taste and was grateful for the expectation of a dulled pain. He smiled into the mirror to check his chipped front tooth while pinching a cigarette **** from an ashtray. The roach had one hit left in it. He lit it with a long hard drag that consumed a good part of the filter. Bouazizi’s first smoke of the day was more filter then tobacco but it shocked his lungs into the coughing flow of another day.

Bouazizi put on his jacket, slipped into his knockoff NB sneakers and reached for a green apple on a nearby table. He took a big bite and began to chew away the pain of his toothache.

Bouazizi stepped into the street to catch the sun rising over the rooftops. He believed that seeing the sunrise was a good omen that augured well for that day’s business. A sunbeam braking over a far distant wall bathed Bouazizi in a golden light and illumined the alley where he parked his cart holding his remaining stock of week old apples. He lifted the handles and backed his cart out into the street being extra mindful of the cracks in the cobblestone road. Bouazizi sprained his ankle a week ago and it was still tender. Bouazizi had to be careful not to aggravate it with a careless step. Having successfully navigated his cart into the road, Bouazizi made a skillful U Turn and headed up the street limping toward the market.

A winter chill gripped Bouazizi prompting him to zip his jacket up to his neck. The zipper pinched his Adam’s Apple and a few droplets of blood stained his green corduroy jacket. Though it was cold, Bouazizi sensed that spring would arrive early this year triggering a replay of a recurring daydream. Bouazizi imagined himself behind the wheel of a new van on his way to the market. Fresh air and sunshine pouring through the open windows with the cargo space overflowing with fresh vegetables and fruits.

It was a lifelong ambition of Bouazizi to own a van. He dreamed of buying a six cylinder Dodge Caravan. It would be painted red and he would call it The Red Flame. The Red Flame would be fast and powerful and sport chrome spinners. The Red Flame would be filled with music from a Blaupunkt sound system with kick *** speakers. Power windows, air conditioning, leather seats, a moonroof and plenty of space in the back for his produce would complete Bouazizi’s ride.

The Red Flame would be the vehicle Bouazizi required to expand his business beyond the market square. Bouazizi would sell his produce out of the back of the van, moving from neighborhood to neighborhood. No longer would he have to wait for customers to come to his stand in the market. Bouazizi would go to his customers. Bouazizi and the Red Flame would be known in all the neighborhoods throughout the district. Bouazizi shook his head and smiled thinking about all the girls who would like to take rides in the Red Flame. Bouazizi and his Red Flame would be a sight to be noticed and a force to be reckoned with.

“EEEEEYOWWW” a Mercedes horn angrily honked; jarring Bouazizi from the reverie of his daydream. A guy whipping around the corner like a silver streak stuck his head out the window blasting with music yelling, “Hey Mnayek, watch where you push that *******.”

The music faded as the Mercedes roared away. “Barra nikk okhtek” Bouazizi yelled, raising his ******* in the direction of the vanished car. “The big guys in the fancy cars think the road belongs to them”, Bouazizi mumbled to himself.

The insult ****** Bouazizi off, but he was accustomed to them and as he limped along pushing his cart he distracted himself with the amusement of the ascending sun chasing the fleeting shadows of the night, sending them scurrying down narrow alleyways.

Bouazizi imaged himself a character from his favorite movie. He was a giant Transformer, chasing the black shadows of evil away from the city into the desert. After battling evil and conquering the bad guys, he would transform himself back into the regular Bouazizi; selling his produce to the people as he patrolled the highways of Tunisia in the Red Flame, the music blasting out the windows, the chrome spinners flashing in the sunlight. Bouazizi would remain vigilant, always ready to transform the Red Flame to fight the evil doers.

The bumps and potholes in the road jostled Bouazizi’s load of apples. A few fell out of the wooden baskets and were rolling around in the open spaces of the cart. Bouazizi didn’t want to risk bruising them. Damaged merchandise can’t be sold so he was careful to secure his goods and arrange his cart to appeal to women customers. He made sure to display his prized electronic scale in the corner of the cart for all to see.

Bouazizi had a reputation as a fair and generous dealer who always gave good value to his customers. Bouazizi was also known for his kindness. He would give apples to hungry children and families who could not pay. Bouazizi knew the pain of hunger and it brought him great satisfaction to be able to alleviate it in others.

As a man who valued fairness, Bouazizi was particularly proud of his electronic scale. Bouazizi was certain the new measuring device assured all customers that Bouazizi sold just and correct portions. The electronic scale was Bouazizi’s shining lamp. He trusted it. He hung it from the corner post of his cart like it was the beacon of a lighthouse guiding shoppers through the treachery of an unscrupulous market. It would attract all customers who valued fairness to the safe harbor of Bouazizi’s cart.

The electronic scale is Bouazizi’s assurance to his customers that the weights and measures of electronic calculation layed beyond any cloud of doubt. It is a fair, impartial and objective arbiter for any dispute.

Bouazizi believed that the fairness of his scale would distinguish his stand from other produce vendors. Though its purchase put Bouazizi into deep debt, the scale was a source of pride for Bouazizi who believed that it would help his profits to increase and help him to achieve his goal of buying the Red Flame.

As Bouazizi pushed his cart toward the market, he mulled his plan over in his mind for the millionth time. He wasn't great in math but he was able to calculate his financial situation with a degree of precision. His estimations triggered worries that his growing debt to money lenders may be difficult to payoff.

Indebtedness pressed down on Bouazizi’s chest like a mounting pile of stones. It was the source of an ever present fear coercing Bouazizi to live in a constant state of anxiety. His business needed to grow for Bouazizi to get a measure of relief and ultimately prosper from all his hard work. Bouazizi was driven by urgency.

The morning roil of the street was coming alive. Bouazizi quickened his step to secure a good location for his cart at the market. Car horns, the spewing diesel from clunking trucks, the flatulent roar of accelerating buses mixed with the laughs and shrieks of children heading to school composed the rising crescendo of the city square.

As he pushed through the market, Bouazizi inhaled the aromatic eddies of roasting coffee floating on the air. It was a pleasantry Bouazizi looked forward to each morning. The delicious wafts of coffee mingling with the crisp aroma of baking bread instigated a growl from Bouazizi’s empty stomach. He needed to get something to eat. After he got money from his first sale he would by a coffee and some fried dough.

Activity in the market was vigorous, punctuated by the usual arguments of petty territorial disputes between vendors. The disagreements were always amicably resolved, burned away in rising billows of roasting meats and vegetables, the exchange of cigarettes and the plumes of tobacco smoke rising as emanations of peace.

Bouazizi skillfully maneuvered his cart through the market commotion. He slid into his usual space between Aaban and Aameen. His good friend Aaban sold candles, incense, oils and sometimes his wife would make cakes to sell. Aameen was the markets most notorious jokester. He sold hardware and just about anything else he could get his hands on.

Aaban was already burning a few sticks of jasmine incense. It helped to attract customers. The aroma defined the immediate space with the pleasant bouquet of a spring garden. Bouazizi liked the smell and appreciated the increased traffic it brought to his apple cart.

“Hey Basboosa#, do you have any cigarettes?“, Aameen asked as he pulled out a lighter. Bouazizi shook the tip of a Kent from an almost empty pack. Aameen grabbed the cigarette with his lips.

“That's three cartons of Kents you owe me, you cheap *******.” Bouazizi answered half jokingly. Aameen mumbled a laugh through a grin tightly gripping the **** as he exhaled smoke from his nose like a fire breathing dragon. Bouazizi also took out a cigarette for himself.

“Aameem, give me a light”, Bouazizi asked.

Aameen tossed him the lighter.

“Keep it Basboosa. I got others.” Aameen smiled as he showed off a newly opened box of disposable lighters to sell on his stand.

“Made in China, Basboosa. They make everything cheap and colorful. I can make some money with these.”

Bouazizi lit his next to last cigarette. He inhaled deeply. The smoke chased away the cool air in Bouazizi’s lungs with a shot of a hot nicotine rush.

“Merci Aameen” Bouazizi answered. He put the lighter into the almost empty cigarette pack and put it into his hip pocket. The lighter would protect his last cigarette from being crushed.

The laughter and shouts of the bazaar, the harangue of radio voices shouting anxious verses of Imam’s exhorting the masses to submit and the piecing ramble of nondescript AM music flinging piercing unintelligible static surrounded Bouazizi and his cart as he waited for his first customers of the day.

Bouazizi sensed a nervous commotion rise along the line of vendors. A crowd of tourists and locals milling about parted as if to avoid a slithering asp making its way through their midst. The hoots of vendors and the cackle of the crowd made its way to Bouazizi’s knowing ear. He knew what was coming. It was nothing more then another shakedown by city officials acting as bagmen for petty municipal bureaucrats. They claim to be checking vendor licences but they’re just making the rounds collecting protection money from the vendors. Pocketing bribes and payoffs is the municipal authorities idea of good government. They are skilled at using the power of their office to extort tribute from the working poor.

Bouazizi made the mistake of making eye contact with Madame Hamdi. As the municipal authority in charge of vendors and taxis Madame Hamdi held sway over the lives of the street vendors. She relished the power she had over the men who make a meager living selling goods in the square; and this morning she was moving through the market like a bloodhound hot on the trail of an escaped convict. Two burly henchmen lead the way before her. Bouazizi knew Madame Hamdi’s hounds were coming for him.

Bouazizi knew he was ******. Having just made a payment to his money lender, Bouazizi had no extra dinars to grease the palm of Madame Hamdi. He grabbed the handle bars of his cart to make an escape; but Madame Hamdi cut him off and got right into into Bouazizi’s face.

“Ah little Basboosa where are you going? she asked with the tone of playful contempt.

“I suppose you still have no license to sell, ah Basboosa?” Madame Hamdi questioned with the air of a soulless inquisitor.

“You know Madame Hamdi, cart vendors do not need a license.” Bouazizi feebly protested, not daring to look into her eyes.

“Basboosa, you know we can overlook your violations with a small fine for your laxity” a dismissive Madame Hamdi offered.

Bouazizi’s sense of guilt would not permit him to lift his eyes. His head remained bowed. Bouazizi stood convicted of being one of the impoverished.

“I have no spare dinars to offer Madame Hamdi, My pockets are empty, full of holes. My money falls into everyone’s palm but my own. I’m sorry Madame Hamdi. I’ll take my cart home”. He lifted the handlebars in an attempt to escape. One of Madame Hamdi’s henchmen stepped in front of his cart while the other pushed Bouazizi away from it.

“Either you pay me a vendor tax for a license or I will confiscate your goods Basboosa”, Madame Hamdi warned as she lifted Bouazizi’s scale off its hook.

“This will be the first to go”, she said grinning as she examined the scale. “We’ll just keep this.”
Like a mother lion protecting a defenseless cub from the snapping jaws of a pack of ravenous hyenas, Bouazizi lunged to retrieve his prized scale from the clutches of Madame Hamdi. Reaching for it, he touched the scale with his fingertips just as Madame Hamdi delivered a vicious slap to Bouazizi’s cheek. It halted him like a thunderbolt from Zeus.

A henchman overturned Bouazizi’s cart, scatter

You know what I realized? How fantastic a thing realization is. Like, nothing particular or anything. Just, that moment when you kinda stop in your tracks for a second and go, "Huh. You know what?" Even the simple things are revelatory and what a great way to accidentally give yourself an unexpected better day. Wow, you know what? Today, I was keen enough and let my busy mind relax just enough to touch the universe again, and in that moment touch myself from the outside so that I remembered something I'd forgotten or before had never known. What is that, like the human singularity? Feels like it. QUICK, GRAB ON COMMANDER AND ALL YOU SPACE CASES. **** IT, GRAB ONTO THE WORLD BY THE ANT HAIRS! DIG YOUR FINGERS INTO THE GRASS! Let go and fall because you know it's better for your eventual grip on the state of matters in the laundry list you ordered with tasks representing your life. Am I better if I have one, I usually ask at the grocery store, to myself as I bag and then I get distracted by the sign for $3.99 pizza.

I'm big
I suppose that's why my women always seem
small
but this 6 foot goddess
who deals in real estate
and art
and flies from Texas
to see me
and I fly to Texas
to see her--
well, there's plenty of her to
grab hold of
and I grab hold of it
of her,
I yank her head back by the hair,
I'm real macho,
I **** on her upper lip
her ****
her soul
I mount her and tell her,
"I'm going to shoot white hot
juice into you. I didn't fly all the way to
Galveston to play
chess."

later we lay locked like human vines
my left arm under her pillow
my right arm over her side
I grip both of her hands,
and my chest
belly
*****
****
tangle into her
and through us
in the dark
pass rays
back and forth
back and forth
until I fall away
and we sleep.

she's wild
but kind
my 6 foot goddess
makes me laugh
the laughter of the mutilated
who still need
love,
and her blessed eyes
run deep into her head
like mountain springs
far in
and
cool and good.

she has saved me
from everything that is
not here.

School was always humuorous to a degree in my opinion because of the underlying idea
that the more damaged you were, the cooler you were in the eyes of the rest of the school.
I have heard numerous conversations that began with something along the lines of, "Oh, you
think YOU got it bad, well my dad blah blah and my best friend blah blah and my life is hell."

I decided to get a little personal and share with you guys something I have never actually
told anyone in entirety yet. I am pretty sure the whole story is still only here in my brain.
I will, out of respect for these people, change their names.

It's October 31, 2012. It's about noon, and all of us sixteen to twenty-two year olds are just waking up.
Brianne woke up probably a few hours ago already to tend to her son, Aaron. He is adorable, one
and a half, blond hair, blue eyes. I have been living here for nearly two months. I am supporting her,
Aaron, and myself with food stamps. I get two hundred dollars a month to basically smoke **** and drink
on the government's budget. Trust me, I'm not proud of it either, and if I could I would pay it back.
Since Brianne is a single mother and an adopted child, she has a single-digit monthly rent (I was *******
baffled to hear this) and receives support from her foster parents. Basically, if I want to stay here forever
with absolutely no consequences save to miss out on a life of my own, I can.

Brandon is putting on clown make-up so he can troll the streets as a juggalo. I find this amusing as I always
liked to mess around with ICP fans, but he's a really cool kid so I let it go and I even help him perfect it.
I notice he has a bottle of Stolichnaya in his backpack and it's practically full. That, to me, is temptation.
I ask if he would mind me taking a few drinks here and there from the bottle and he says it's fine, so I proceed
to get a nice one p.m. buzz. It was always my favorite drunk, very light, and airy, almost like you're still asleep.
Something bogs you down, but it doesn't bother you, somehow it makes you lighter.

For the rest of the day, we hook up with a few friends, go out and trick or treat in the pouring rain, get soaked
and wait for two hours under an overpass while Brianne goes and gets her car. From there, we proceed home.

At this point, everyone is over at Breanne's and we're all making dinner and drinking beer and having a good time
(Aaron is with the grandparents tonight). I guess I started getting angry about the recent events (for about a month,
everyone in our group with the exception of Brandon have been slowly losing items...but they're obviously being stolen.
At a point, a few of us did some research and determined the only person who could possibly have stolen
a good deal of these things has to be Brandon) and I decided I was tired of sitting on the news waiting for no one to make
a move after a solid two weeks of being certain that we had our guy. So I called him out... and proceeded
to begin burning bridges slowly and very surely for the next few days. I am pretty sure a fight would have broken out
if Bri hadn't taken me into her room to relax. When I finally do, it turns out I woke up the upstairs neighbor,
her baby, and everyone in the house has left save for my friend Jeff and his girlfriend Marissa. This concludes night one.

I later learned that Brandon was not actually the person who was stealing from us (unless of course
he just happened to not get caught when we found out who had done most of it) and I feel bad for bringing the whole
thing up because I would have liked to stay in touch with him. We got along swimmingly and he actually did have
a lot of interesting things to talk about. Smart, nice, hilarious... Well, maybe he'll turn up one day.

The next morning, I woke up to find the house empty save for Jeff and Marissa in the next room, but where I am,
it simply appears empty. I don't know what happened but I intuit that I have been sleeping all night without
my girlfriend. This upsets me and I begin to weep like a confused child, which is exactly what you do when you're
helpless and too drunk in the brain to figure out how to pull yourself out of a helpless situation (trust me,
I own the handbook). Marissa walks in and begins to explain to me that I had scared her too much and she slept
on the couch and that she had left to go pick up her son. So I realize I need to calm down, but I can feel
Jeff is not happy with me in the slightest, considering he will not come and talk to me (this is extremely painful
because he is probably one of the best friends I have ever had, with a mind that vastly exceeds that of everyone
I have met save one other, and he's a different story). They leave and I decide to stay in the house all day.

This is a very bad idea. I stay home, watch re-runs of a show I have seen billions of times, and considering
that Brandon and I are no longer on good terms, like a complete *******, I drink the rest of his *****.

In walks Bri, it's around 7. She's not happy. She proceeds to tell me that the night before I asked out a friend of mine
and she said yes. And I was a bit shocked because I couldn't remember it at first. Then it all hit me.

A few days before, Aaron called me "dad." Now remember, this is not my child. I am dark, dark, dark, and she had this kid
about two years after we had any past relationship. I am extremely worried in my mind and I realize I am headed toward nothing.
That I am stagnant and can not even afford to go back to school. This scares me, so I drunkenly asked out Tanya.

Tanya...we had been friends for about five years, and I had tried to get with her so many **** times... she was like
one of those girls you see and you're instantly reminded of an anime character. Tall, thin, beautiful hips, perfect
proportions, lovely hair, eyes, voice, and a personality I can liken to a Disney princess/black metal lumberjack.
The kind of girl who has a tough exterior, but inside, she just wants someone to tell her everything is going to be ok.

After about two hours of pleading with Bri to let me stay, I finally send Tanya a message, and we hang out for the next
two days, whence I whisper in her ear that everything is going to be okay and we proceed to have quite passionate ***
for those nights, where I discovered the secret to making a woman ****** with my tongue (tip: if the underside of your
tongue isn't completely torn apart, you're doing something wrong). But alas, I could not stay.

This is the part I dreaded, because I know I have to go back to Jeff's house and ask him if I can stay there for a while.
And I got the answer I expected.

The words he used...

"I'm *******...extremely ******* at you, and disappointed." It was like a father saying it to you. And him and I
have a very interesting friendship built on such an extreme understanding that I knew exactly how badly I had been spiraling.
I began to leave and he gave me a slice of pizza, with that slight smile that told me "just go find yourself, we'll be fine."

I hobbled off into the night drunk, with one piece of pizza and all my food at Bri's, which could have lasted me another few days,
easing the transition into homeless. And it could have prevented a horrible occurance that took place the following afternoon. I
was crying, because I knew I was dying, but I didn't want to ask either of my parents for help, because this was the first time
I was out on my own and I was far too proud to give up and let the world make me its victim. So I walked...

Sixteen ******* miles...

To the next town. Took me all night because I was dodging traffic, easing into trees, avoiding on and off ramps, trying to stay
away from any police that may exist on the road. When I finally arrived in the next town (where I knew I may have one contact)
I decided to sleep until the morning came so I could have the energy to find my next venture.

It was five thirty am. I had 3 hours until sun-up, I had just walked enough to be burning, and there was plenty of whiskey in my veins.
I had left my sleeping bag with Tanya hours earlier, wishing in the park that I had not been so naiive as to think I would be allowed
back in the house. So I pulled out a pile of ***** clothes and put them over me like blankets, in some random corner of the local
park, under some bushes, hidden from cold and sight, with great hope...

Fifteen minutes pass. My eyes shoot open. I am freezing. The sweat has dried and frozen to my body. This is hell.

I grab my things and with the worst effort I can ever remember myself mustering, I drag myself to the toilet.
When I open it, the first thing I check for is cleanliness. It's spotless. I am so relieved. I sit in the corner of the room,
which my knees to my chest, head in my hands, wrapped in a leather jacket I had gotten from Jeff (ha, he really is my
guardian angel, though he would laugh to hear it).

I catch winks, occasionally looking up to check if the sun is rising. When it finally is, I get up, change my clothes (I had
ONE clean set of clothing and it had been rotting with the rest in the backpack) and immediately head to a thrift store where
a family friend is working.

On my way there, I notice in a little parking lot near the store a sight I had never actually come across but I always thought
would be the most amazing luck, and it was timed in such a spot in my life that it was the ultimate miracle...and a curse in
disguise.

In front of my eyes (this miracle appeared in my path as I was walking looking down, so it startled me) was the worst possible thing
for me: A half finished fifth of Smirnoff, and a half smoked pack of Marlboro 100 Reds. I open the pack and sure enough, the celophane
protected every cigarette inside from any water damage. I am ecstatic. This is not only amazing, but highly unlikely.

So I down the bottle in one go and take the rest of the smokes with me.

When I arrive at the thrift shop, it turns out I am there on a day when my potential savior is not working, so I get her number from the clerk
and head over to a payphone and realize... I have no money. So I decide to go on a quest for dropped pocket change.

Before I even leave the parking lot, I see a young man, no older than 23, sitting on a nice red classic-style Corvette and he's
reading William S. Burroughs. So naturally, I decide to strike up a conversation with the young man. Turns out he's the nicest guy
and his name is Jordan. So him and I got together and decided to go out for a game of disc golf (some may not know what this is;
Imagine frisbee but with a golf theme, so you need to get from a tee pad into a basket. Really fun, centering, and extremely popular
with potheads, Californians, beer-drinkers, and hippies) and before we go, he asks if I would like to snag a few beers first.

I tell him a piece of my story and he can tell I am down on my luck and broke so he decides to help me out. He buys us both some beer
and we proceed to disk.

Turns out he's an ex-****** and has been through quite a bit of hell himself, so we find that we're in a good position to help each
other make some better decisions in life. After the game, we go over to a payphone and he gives me money to call my friend.

Buzz (this the only name I am not changing because her name is ******* badass) answers the phone and unfortunately informs me that
though she would take me in any day of the year, she just moved in to a house with one older lady she takes care of, and its a single
bedroom apartment, so there is just no way it can work.

So I go back to his car and tell him the news, and he says he thinks he may be able to put me up for a few days until I can sort
everything out. We go back out to the store and grab ourselves a fifth of *****.

We end up in the park playing music, talking, performing standup for one another, and I begin to realize I am drinking too fast,
so I try to ease back a little. He was playing a version of a Radiohead song I had never heard before

"Everyone this way. Okay, get your hands against the wall. Spread your legs. Don't move."
The doors clanking, some ******* won't shut up in the next cell over.
More slamming of doors, someone rubbing my body all over trying to find my knives, no doubt.
And my AK 47 I conceal, and my ****, and my ... oh ****, I really did have **** on me.

"Move forward. Turn around. Alright, go to bed."

----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

"Get up. Come on, slowly... There you go. There's a few more coming in so we got to get you to another cell."

Clank, clank...

"Pick a bed."

----------------------------------------------------------­---------------------

Something is wrong. This bed is not covered. There is no comfort. It's just a mat. And I have no pillow. This is not a house
of any sort, my bag isnt what I am sleeping on. Something is very wrong here.

I am in jail. Oh of course.

I know the answer before I hear it, but I ask anyway: "What are my charges, ma'am?"

"Drunk in public."

-------------------------------------------------------­------------------------

I'm about thirty miles or so North of inner Seattle. Not a bad place to be. I'm working for a Safeway. It's somewhere around
the first of June. I receive word that Bri has been on ******. And I may have left at a crucial time in her life thinking
only of myself, but I needed to go somewhere I could be productive. Yet my decision left her in a position where she turned
to hard drugs...

I can't help but feel I am to blame. I am listening to the dull, stupid words of my ex boss, Rod, who is telling me
that even though I may feel like I need to help her, there is nothing I can do for her, so I should bury myself in my work
instead. He tells me this in about six hundred different ways before I leave the room after twenty minutes. Well great.
I may have no focus here at work today, but at least I killed almost a half hour of the day just listening to someone
*******.

I am at a loss of what to do here, but I eventually get a hold of her, and after a long time not talking, we come to
somewhat of a closure, and she is beginning to sober up herself. I realize we were both in incredibly hard times, and I still
wish with all my heart there could have been some way I could have helped her raise that boy and stayed and been her
love, and at the same time, still go to college, and progress and get a good job...but I was in a small Northern California
town. There was nothing left, all the old shops were out of business. It was time for me to move on then, and we have
all seen better days for it. She looks incredible these days by the way. She lost an insane amount of weight, and I know
a lot of it had to do with the drugs, but if she truly is sober like she says she is, she'll be getting much better.

A few weeks ago 3 people I used to know and hang out with died in the span of a week. It was a terrible tragedy, and I have been
thinking back on all the names of people I used to love very, very much before they got lost in some way.

There's Lorne Holly, who killed himself after a few weeks of detoxing from crank.

Layla Harmon, who died in a car crash, blunt head trauma, with a drunk driver (I have a tattoo for this, I will never drive drunk).

Heavy Eagle, who killed himself after years of drug problems.

Chaz Lipman, who died in a car crash as well.

Ren Rain, who I am still not sure about...

And of course, Tray Beraldi, who was my closest friend's cousin... I wish I were there to mourne with him...

Last night I got a text from my best friend, who said he couldn't sleep and he barely eats anything anymore, and he feels like his throat
is going to explode, and he cant swallow and his neck is killing him constantly. He has been this way for a year, and he is talking constantly
about getting a gun and blowing his head off. And no one believes him because he constantly talks about it because he is in so much pain.
No doctor can diagnose him so far, he has no idea what's wrong with him, he's been tested all over the place, he has no hope, he's barely
cligning and he doesn't know how much longer he can hold on.

All I really want to say is

Lord? What I have done? I don't pray, I never pray, I don't even know who I would pray to. But WHAT ELSE DO I HAVE TO DO?!

I bring myself across hell and I pull myself from the worst depression I h

He lays me down
For the first time
And kisses me gently.
His hand moves gingerly
Down my side.
He does his best to
Keep eye contact
while I'm naked under him.

I feel appreciated,
Respected,
Cared for.

I can tell I can open up to him
About what I'd really like
In this bed...

I want those tender lips
To part against my neck
And hips.
I want those gentle hands
Clasped tightly around my wrists.
I want his anxious eyes
To explore his lust with me.

And then I want him
To give in
To take me

Pull me
Grab me
Bite me
Scratch me
Pin me
**** me

I'll tell him its okay to pull my hair
And show him the best way to do it.
I'll tell him its even better with bruises
Tied down, blind-folded.
I'll be dripping with sweat
While you drip wax. And
I'll be soaking wet.

But we've only been dating for a month. Guess I'll keep secrets
Until they won't scare him off.

All of the memories came crashing
in like a wave
I reached my arms out to
         grab them
                 to catch them
                         and hold them close
but I ended up drowning...
              
                        -H.H.

When she's around... time slows down... almost to the point of complete nothingness... I look at her and think, is there truly anything more gorgeous?..

When She's around, I feel safe and that anywhere could be called home. Her eyes; a curious stare... my hand twitches, longing to touch her curlicious hair.

Our gaze's meet, and I find myself drifting... closer and closer to her feet. Her lips just within a leanings reach. Her dimples nearly touching my cheek... Her sent... 'Heavenly'.

I run my hand through her hair, and I hear her gasp, a sudden rush and a cool breeze changes the whole atmosphere. Her legs grab my waist and I stare into the pupils. She leans in, our eyes drift shut but our lips finally meet and I feel the grip of her legs tighten around my waist...

I walk forward until her chest presses against mine and her back makes love with the wall. I wrench her hair and kiss down her chest, real slow.

I mumble sweet nothingness into her ear whilst I caress her bare *******... Her legs decend and wrap around mine and I hear her begin to beg. The second my tongue makes contact with the nape of her neck her hips grind tight against mine.

This is not routine, she is trembling. Brewing like a steam pipe, compressed, ready to burst. I slip my tongue into her mouth and open it as I **** the air clean from her lungs.

It is at this point her legs curls inward and rips me back, causing me to fall and back crashes against the floor and she lands right on my lap. I grab her waist as she grips onto me.

The night is young, and ready to be explored. Our quest into each other will bring us beyond the star systems to a plane uncharted and unlike any other, ventured before. The night sky will bear witness to our event and the stars will weep out of sheer awe from beauty. Life, being made in a single dance of love and our moans, and wails and cries of ecstasy and desire, passion and Love...

and when it was all over.. we held one another.. and peeped into each others soul. It was love... Love.. Love of the Titans.

It was up in Minnesota
or was it South Dakota
It doesn't matter
we know how the story starts

It's friday, time to party
Some girl comes in dressed all tarty
With a body
That could break a thousand hearts

There's gonna be a storm tonight
A cat fight's on the way
You just hold on when it all starts up
And then you clear the way
You just know it's gonna happen
Something bad is in the air
Just grab your beer and hold it
Just watch the nails and flying hair

All the eyes were on her
You knew she was a goner
You could feel the tension
And hear the nails extract

In jeans of lace and denim
With perfect slits cut  in 'em
You knew that she was hunting
that's a fact

There's gonna be a storm tonight
A cat fight's on the way
You just hold on when it all starts up
And then you clear the way
You just know it's gonna happen
Something bad is in the air
Just grab your beer and hold it
Just watch the nails and flying hair

The band played loud and raucus
As the bar's all female caucus
Watched her close
As she went toward the bar

You could tell that this girl's reason
Was to hunt the men in season
And she set to take
the first one to her car

There's gonna be a storm tonight
A cat fight's on the way
You just hold on when it all starts up
And then you clear the way
You just know it's gonna happen
Something bad is in the air
Just grab your beer and hold it
Just watch the nails and flying hair

when the crowd split like the Nile
And there standing with a smile
was the girl of the
man this girl had claimed

Well, the bottles started flying
And though the bouncers all were trying
The fight broke out
Between the two I named

There's gonna be a storm tonight
A cat fight's on the way
You just hold on when it all starts up
And then you clear the way
You just know it's gonna happen
Something bad is in the air
Just grab your beer and hold it
Just watch the nails and flying hair

The cops broke up the rumble
Amid the debris and the crumble
Our combatants were
off to jail that night

Tomorrow they would be found
Back and out of impound
At another bar
And in another fight

So, It may be Minnesota
or down in South Dakota
But, no one cares
We all know how the game is played

So, when you feel a storm brew
And you know it won't involve you
Grab your beer
And watch...your night is made.

I pull your ******* to my chest
And feel your heart beating oh so fast
I cup my hand upon your ***
And mash your mound into my mass
I hold you captive in my grasp
As I spread you legs apart

I savagely kiss your trembling lips
And bite the plumpness I find there
I pull and tug upon your hair
Force in your mouth down with care
BETTER NOT CHOKE or I will glare
As you finish up with sips

I throw you over and grab your hips
And enter you from behind
You are gasping but I surely do not mind
I pound your rim and one more time
And *** once more as you reach behind
To touch my finger tips

I twist you around and grab your knees
And pull you into to me
I raise you up and sting you like a bee
And I put my thorn in so easily
I take my fill for free
And toss your shivering hulk back across the bed like you are nothing now to me

You lay upon the crumpled sheets
You lay used and oh so worn
You hair a sticky mess , that of a baby born
You lip bleeding softly , while I look on with such scorn
You slowly spread your legs like butterfly wings adorned
Saying,"Won't you come back and do it all again ."

You have always felt a presence coming from your knife
It called you
To use it

You take the blade
And you cut into your flesh
And the blood comes draining out

You feel as though
You want to drink it
But you refrain

You take the hand that bleeds
You smear your blood across the mirror
In your mind
You want something

Supernatural to happen

Nothing

You look in the mirror
Blood still fresh on your blade
You can almost see a smile

You start to cry
Because life
Is never like the movies
Or the songs
It's dull

How many times
Have you used this same knife?

It's over
Never again

You reach for a brush
And start combing your hair
Life *****

You get ready to take a shower
You go to the bathroom
Take off your clothes
And get in the shower
You decide
You want to take a bubble bath instead

You pour out the bath salts
And wait for it to fill

It's really warm
You place your foot into the water
It stings
You submerge yourself
And cover your body in bubbles
You feel down the outer part of your thigh
And scratch open your cuts that you made on your thigh

It feels rough and smooth
You relax and close your eyes
You're thinking of that dream you had
That nightmare

You start to laugh a little
You feel like crying
You just scratch
And cry softly
Not loud
Just
Softly

You wait there for a while
And you sit up
With bubbles across your skin
Slowly falling down
You reach for the plug
Pull it out
And just sit there
Until the water's all gone

You shiver a little

You get up
Open the curtain
Mirror's fogged up
And you squint at your reflection

You leave the tub
Approach the sink
Naked

Move your hands across the mirror
Squint again

Eww

You grab your favorite towel
And begin to dry off

You start to put the robe back on
And leave the bathroom
There's still a little blood in the tub
Slowly draining away

You walk back into your room
Shut the door
Lock it
Take off your robe
Place it here

Then your thigh is bleeding again from scratching it
So you find a band aid
And place it on your skin
It falls off

Meh

You grab an over sized t-shirt
Place it over your body

Lay down in bed
And check out your texts

Nothing

You kinda almost cry
You plug in your phone
And go to bed

When you wake up the next morning
You don't feel good

Ehhh

Headache
You can't think
You are just sitting up
Staring
At your door
With your robe by it

You breathe slowly
Depressingly
Like you
Don't want to leave your bed

You grab your phone
Check it

Nothing

Huh

You get out of bed
Sit down on the floor
Put your socks on
Then your underwear
Then you take off this t-shirt
Put on a kinda cute shirt
Put on some blue jeans
You forgot to put your bra on
So you take off your cute shirt
Slowly get it on
Wires start poking into your back
You need a new bra

Meh

Put your cute shirt back on

Head towards the bathroom
Walk passed your sister
You don't have any makeup on yet
Maybe you can skip that today

Ha

No

Open the bathroom door
Start applying make up
You mess up on the eyeliner
Have to
Do it again

Half hour later

Your brother's pounding on the door

Hurry up in there

Meh

You start to move slower

Hurry up in there

You turn to face the door

You think
I hope you **** your pants

You open the door
Your brother looks ******
You just walk by him
He slams the door
All angry

You're just shaking your head
You knock on the door
You say
Hurry up in there

I forgot my comb

You wait for him to finish

He opens the door
You plug your nose
And grab some bathroom spray and spray the hell out of the bathroom

You then have to go to the bathroom now
You shut and lock the door
You sit down
It's wet

You want to ****** him now
But you're too tired to ****
So whatever

You finish

You get up
You squint in the mirror
You see a zit

No

You leave the bathroom
Forgetting your comb

You meant to say brush
Not comb

Meh

Yeah
I say that a lot

Walking down stairs
You go to the fridge
No more mountain dew left

******

You shut the door
Making a funny face

Your mom says
Ready for school?

You say
No
Can I stay home
I'm not feeling good

She says
What's wrong?

I don't want to talk about it

She says
What's wrong
sounding out her middle name as well

Whatever

She doesn't like her attitude
She grabs her backpack
Puts her shoes on

And goes and waits for the school bus

She just stares down the road
And waits
And waits
And waits

I could fall asleep waiting

she yawns a little

backpack on the ground with strap in hand
Bus shows up
She gets on

Finds a seat
With nobody
Places her backpack down

And a guy asks
Can I sit here?

She's like
No

He says
*****

Meh

She opens her book
Starts reading

Do you know how she feels right now?

In the darkness
of an empty room,
I cry in the corner
seeing visions of you.

I want to feel your touch.
Feel your touch, feel your touch.
You held out your hand,
but I couldn't grab on.
These guilty pleasures
are held, in front of me.
These guilty pleasures
are taking a hold on me.
I can't break free,
Can't get back up
There are no pieces
left to pick up.

As I lay in the dark
of a nice warm bath.
Planning how to take my life away,
I breathe in deeply
drift beneath the water
Until I struggle to breathe
That is when visions of you
resurrect me.

I want to feel your touch.
Feel your touch, feel your touch.
You held out your hand,
but I couldn't grab on.
These guilty pleasures
are held, in front of me.
These guilty pleasures
are taking a hold on me.
I can't break free,
Can't get back up
There are no pieces
left to pick up.

Kneeling in the shower
praying to a God
that doesn't exist.
Don't know the difference
between reality and make believe.
As I look towards the shower head
I still can't see.
These scars that cover me
may need rebandaging.
He's a lost cause,
an abomination.
He's a disgrace
to the human race.
We've been here before
I'm all alone, in this empty room,
Crying in the corner
seeing visions of you

I want to feel your touch.
Feel your touch, feel your touch.
You held out your hand,
but I couldn't grab on.
These guilty pleasures
are held, in front of me.
These guilty pleasures
are taking a hold on me.
I can't break free,
Can't get back up
There are no pieces
left to pick up.

Oh, I've lost myself
everything makes no sense.
I think about the time
you said that you'd be there,
I'm not sure you even cared.
But your smile saved my life
a million times before.
I'm in need of you,
but this time you're gone.
Not sure I will survive anymore.
As I kneel in the shower
praying to a God that doesn't exist,
This razor penetrates my skin.
The blood trickles down the drain,
He falls to the floor,
crucified he cried
Crucify me tonight.

I want to feel your touch.
Feel your touch, feel your touch.
You held out your hand,
but I couldn't grab on.
These guilty pleasures
are held, in front of me.
These guilty pleasures
are taking a hold on me.
I can't break free,
Can't get back up
There are no pieces
left to pick up.

Oh! My star has fallen tonight,
If they were there,
he might still be alive
every night,
he died a little more inside,
my star has fallen tonight

As I lay in the darkness
of an empty room
staring at the ceiling
seeing visions of you
I see your smile
it puts my mind at rest
I fall asleep
knowing I truly was blessed.

©2017 Written By Benji James

Let America be America again.
Let it be the dream it used to be.
Let it be the pioneer on the plain
Seeking a home where he himself is free.

(America never was America to me.)

Let America be the dream the dreamers dreamed--
Let it be that great strong land of love
Where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme
That any man be crushed by one above.

(It never was America to me.)

O, let my land be a land where Liberty
Is crowned with no false patriotic wreath,
But opportunity is real, and life is free,
Equality is in the air we breathe.

(There's never been equality for me,
Nor freedom in this "homeland of the free.")

Say, who are you that mumbles in the dark?
And who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart,
I am the ***** bearing slavery's scars.
I am the red man driven from the land,
I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek--
And finding only the same old stupid plan
Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak.

I am the young man, full of strength and hope,
Tangled in that ancient endless chain
Of profit, power, gain, of grab the land!
Of grab the gold! Of grab the ways of satisfying need!
Of work the men! Of take the pay!
Of owning everything for one's own greed!

I am the farmer, bondsman to the soil.
I am the worker sold to the machine.
I am the *****, servant to you all.
I am the people, humble, hungry, mean--
Hungry yet today despite the dream.
Beaten yet today--O, Pioneers!
I am the man who never got ahead,
The poorest worker bartered through the years.

Yet I'm the one who dreamt our basic dream
In the Old World while still a serf of kings,
Who dreamt a dream so strong, so brave, so true,
That even yet its mighty daring sings
In every brick and stone, in every furrow turned
That's made America the land it has become.
O, I'm the man who sailed those early seas
In search of what I meant to be my home--
For I'm the one who left dark Ireland's shore,
And Poland's plain, and England's grassy lea,
And torn from Black Africa's strand I came
To build a "homeland of the free."

The free?

Who said the free?  Not me?
Surely not me?  The millions on relief today?
The millions shot down when we strike?
The millions who have nothing for our pay?
For all the dreams we've dreamed
And all the songs we've sung
And all the hopes we've held
And all the flags we've hung,
The millions who have nothing for our pay--
Except the dream that's almost dead today.

O, let America be America again--
The land that never has been yet--
And yet must be--the land where every man is free.
The land that's mine--the poor man's, Indian's, *****'s, ME--
Who made America,
Whose sweat and blood, whose faith and pain,
Whose hand at the foundry, whose plow in the rain,
Must bring back our mighty dream again.

Sure, call me any ugly name you choose--
The steel of freedom does not stain.
From those who live like leeches on the people's lives,
We must take back our land again,
America!

O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath--
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The **** and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain--
All, all the stretch of these great green states--
And make America again!

Grace.
Let it fall like an ocean
Let it rip through the skies
Let it fill up my heart and pour out my eyes
Let it gravitate my soul
Let it make me feel whole
Let it remind me of why I live
Let it remind me of all that you give!

Grace
Let my heart be made still and let mine eyes be opened!
Let me remember that my ears
were made to listen
And my lips exist for a lot more than just kissin'
Let me remember that these hands simply cannot do it all
Cuz see I wasn't made for that
I wasn't made for that at all

Grace
I was made to live and when I say live I think I mean give
But then I quickly realize I can only give so much!
And there's only so many lives I can touch!
Well how can I love if I can't constantly give
And how can I live if I can't constantly love but
Where's the hope in the God above if I'm the one doin' all the work?
And that's when I remember I accomplish the most when I just let go
And let You grab hold

Grace
Well what were these hands made for if not feeding the poor?
And what are these heart-wrenching feelings of constantly wanting more?
Why do my bones ache and my soul quake at the thought
Of living for myself?
Why do I worry so much about putting the marginalized on the shelf?
Why do I worry
about a life that loves hell?
Well maybe all this
is an unidentified desire to glorify God personified in Jesus Christ crucified

Grace
And maybe my soul's been singin' songs to my saviour since the day I was born
And maybe my saviour's been singin' sweet lullabies to quench the fear in my eyes
Maybe not all is lost
Maybe hope and salvation really come without cost
WELL TRY AND TELL THAT TO THE MAN LIVIN' ON THE STREET WITH NOTHIN' TO EAT
an'
TELL THAT TO THE CHILD WHOSE FATHER GIVES HIM A DAILY BEATING
TELL THE MURDERER'S AND RAPISTS THAT THEY CAN GO FREE
TELL THEIR VICTIMS...
Tell them what?

Grace
Maybe it's time I remembered I don't have all the answers
Maybe it's time I remembered I am a speck of dust in a rolling beach of existence
Maybe it's time I look at what's right in front of me
And not strain my neck as far as the eye can see
Maybe it's time to focus on living and not just surviving
Maybe thriving looks more like trusting than trying
Maybe all the answers to my questions aren't really answers at all
Maybe it's alright that my walk sometimes feels like a crawl
Maybe 100% of the wrongs I do are all my fault

Grace
Maybe God's lookin' at me like a child set free
Maybe God's not lookin' at who I used to be
Maybe God's lookin' right past all the bitterness and apathy
Maybe God really does look at the heart
And maybe He's been holding mine from the very start
Maybe this is all going according to plan and if it's not well then maybe God's still using it to help me become a better man
Maybe it's time I stopped trying to figure all this out!

Grace
Let it be felt
Tangibly

Loaded down with swag, you could say I got some baggage
Now tag me in your post - host server overload with traffic
Havoc, I smashed it I'm smokin on that hash **** its magic I'm laughin,
***** where the **** my brain go?
Oh I know **** I got so braindead before I wrote this
I'm monumental, moving boulders
Deport this *****, jumpin borders
Spit my lyrics so hot just like you was sippin Folger's
Burn your tongue? I burned my face,
You in a race?
Huh, ***** don't even try to run

Your nightmares are my fantasy
I make your dreams rip at the seams
Best believe it I'm the reason
You be losing sleep
Unfeasibly
Freddy who? Man **** that dude
This ain't no ****** "Elm Street"
11-12 Better check yourself
**** with me I killed it
You're in my world now *****

And grab your crucifix
Ha! AND PRAY TO GOD *****

Oh ****, break in the beat
I can't be defeated so don't leave your seat
So many drugs my heart feels complete
Lungs replete with the cloud of a thousand burning trees
Smokeapalooza, my brains on vacation
maybe it's a factor, all the inhalation
Snoozing you loser?
Got it going on,
Got more bombs than a marathon in Boston
AND IF YOU THINK THAT **** WASN'T A FALSE FLAG GO BACK TO SLEEP

I'm a self confessed bongaholic by definition
Cro-Magnon, I'm stone-age in terms of cognition
though hopefully I can get some ignition, generate some sparks
My colorful rhymes stand in stark contrast
against this black and white palette
all these so called artists paint with
Oh and blunts are great, ******* Wiz Khalifa
pearl another one and I'm feelin golden
withholding nothin, so I'm puffin til I'm huffin

straight baked like space muffins
something you can't relate or replicate,
so don't defame, or deface my status as
realest ***** in the rap game
no malarkey;
you have a better chance swimming with sharks b

breaking bad
take a line of that Walter White to my head
til my brains are frying like eggs at breakfast
hear just a little sizzling
**** bro I'ma wake up dead

David Banner he don't know swag
Lil' B holla that he own swag
Overflowin with all these newfags
I /b/ like :bitchplease: I ******* made swag

I'm beautiful man super cool
and all all the ******* love me
most popular boy in school
I have everything I want
it seems -
in my dreams,
******* **** me
My ADD is so infuriating
which is at least partially
why my primary hobbies
are screaming rapping and smoking ****

Forever avoiding me,
It has a mind of its own,
I reach out to grab it;
Always too slow.

My fingers once brushed it,
I thought I had won,
It consumed my whole body;
My face felt the sun.

Before I could bask,
The warmth disappeared,
It left me alone;
Confirmed my worst fear:

It's not mine to possess,
No matter how I try,
And I won't try to retrieve it
Next time it goes by.

There are some places that can't be touched and there are some places that can't be kissed and there are some places that need to be kissed and some of those places haven't been discovered. I'm a handbook. *** is like drivers ed. Am I crying, or shaking from pleasure? *****. Sometimes hands are there that aren't really. Sometimes fare fine linen fingers feel like brown bony paws that don't listen to "let go".
**** me. Even when my eyes get glossy and you're wondering if I'm still there. I'm there. Grab me. *** isn't always this way.

Sometimes I'm in charge, but it isn't freaky. Don't call me a freak, call me lovely. I can **** **** ****, but don't whisper that it's *****; it isn't "*****". Sweating and running make-up. Heavy breathing. Wheres my body, wheres my mind? Don't call it nasty. It's not "nasty". Grabbing, groping, grinding; it isn't lewd. Don't call me a ****.
Touch me and remind me that I'm pleasing. Touch me and remind me that there's only me. Touch me and enjoy it. Enjoy me.
I want the lights on. I want the lights off. I want you you you.

*** isn't always this way; sometimes I'm in charge.

Seven times I told you,
Seventy pins in seventy dolls on seventy dusty shelves in New Orleans backrooms.
Seven times I warned you
Seven hundred aches, seven hundred acres
I run across.
I outrun the burn and I outrun the grief
The witch in me, I race with her too.
Seven miles to run, seven miles behind.
And I pass that playful laugh of yours, grab at it
and stick it in my pocket, shove it deep, deep in my pocket.
And I pass that twinkle in your eyes
and I grab that too,
send it on a paper rocket flying the speed of light into seven universes far away.
I grab that last promise
the one that was slippery and hard to hold onto.
I grab it and hold it tight
And I run.
I told you I would
(you looked so surprised).
I run and my bones hit the ground with the rhythm and pulse of a tribal drummer
He drums out in my head
Run, Run, henny Run.  
He drinks my optimism from a cup, then beats his drum. Run, chickadee, run run.
He vomits my clarity at my feet all the while his brown weathered hands drum a ceaseless beat. Run, baby. He loves you not, run.
On the seventh day I run from you and
I find that I am made now from the down of your hair
so I run until I am bald.
I find that I am made now from  stalactites dripping from your tongue.
Celtic knot of assurances and reassurances.
I am made up of moments that I didn't make.
I am made up of your indecision. They bounce gleefully "I don't know, I don't know..."
they insist as they hit walls and corners.
They are lazy, I outrun them with ease.
Seven times I told you,
Itchy souls need to find a branch for stratching.
Seven miles between me and you
Seven hundred to go.

Sahn
6/12/14

He woke up
next to the empty spot
where Wonder Woman had been.
He puked in the toilet
slammed down a forty-ounce Miller High Life
and started putting the suit on.
boots
the gray and black tights
the gloves
the yellow utility belt
and the cape.
It was leather.
He put the cowl
under his arm and left his apartment.
It was a late start
nearly noon
by the time
the bus got him to
Mann's Chinese Theater.
He saw a lot of his
friends and colleges
as the bus went down to his stop.
It was a regular day
all the characters were
in their usual little groups.
Spider-Man & Captain America
two Mormon boys that had been
excommunicated from the church
they got caught **** *******
each other
now they were stuck in Hollywood
like everyone else.
The X-Men
or H-Men as most people called them
were a group of junkies.
One of them had a cousin at Fox
and they got four replica X-Men costumes.
So that's how they scored
their junk everyday
garnered pretty good tips from the tourists.
Cyclops, Jean-Grey, Storm, and Wolverine.
It was a good grift. **** good idea.
Then you had the impersonators
plastic surgery freaks
obsessed with Michael Jackson
creepy bald men dressed as Dr. Evil
and there was always
a lazy fat guy
that would do Elvis.
Not know any of the songs
and saying the catch phrases all wrong,
"Well, thank you Ma'am....thank you so much."
Those guys never lasted too long.
The cutesy cartoon characters
were almost always
pedophiles or ******* ladies.
The horror people were hands down
the most bat-**** insane of the lot.
They got into the most fights
they terrorized the kids
and they talked a lot of ****.
Would bate guys into fights.
Michael Myers would always start ****
with guys that had beautiful women with them.
It was ****** up.
The LAPD took away Freddy Kruger last month
for beating up a guy
right in front of his kids.
There was talk from the cops
about shutting down their whole thing down.
Making it illegal to dress up in costumes
and get tips.
'Panhandling' as the office had said.
But
Batman hung out with
Superman & Wonder Woman
while doing his thing.
The night before
Wonder Woman and him
had been drinking, smoking, and
they ****** once
before she asked him
what she needed to.
"We got two new guys starting tomorrow."
"What?"
"Yeah. They came up to me on the street today,
wanted to know if they could hang with us."
"Wha? What? Well...do they have costumes?"
"Yeah." She said, exhaling smoke, wrapped in the sheet on the bed.
"These guys got a Green Lantern and a Robin costume. Really good quality,
they showed me pictures. Hey, you finally got a Robin now! Isn't that great?"
"****...I don't know Diana...I was kinda liking our little *******.
"Oh come on, Bruce. It'll be good." She said, wrapping her arms around him
as he sat on the edge of the book, looking out the window.
"We can finally get the big, group tips. Like what the H-Men got going."
"Alright. That's fine."
And the next day
there they were,
Green Lantern & Robin.
Wonderful costumes, like she said
their hair color and overall appearance
spot on.
"Hey there!"
"Hello. Robin. Green Lantern."
Their gloved hands all shook.
They got acquainted and he couldnt help but like them.
Nice guys, musicians, Rockabilly guys, from Venice.
They went out into
the crowd of people
Superman's voice booming over the crowd
telling everyone that they're safe from
evil and wrong doers, blah, blah, blah,
the usual ******* that Superman always said.
Batman yelled to Robin over the enclosing crowd.
They were now fully entrenched by people
fat & sweaty
Batman's panic attack took over.
"COME ON!" He shouted over the rising crowd noise.
The dynamic duo
shoved & pushed
parting the sea of fat tourists
and breaking out onto the sidewalk.
"What's up, Batman?" Robin asked
looking up to him.
The size difference was just like in the comics
Robin was a little guy.
"I just needed to get outta there. Let's go take a lap
down Hollywood Boulevard...see what kinda cash we can grab."
"Okay, Batman."
They walked
up and down
the walk of fame
posing for a few pictures
making some kids day
with wide-eyed excitement
that will be with them forever.
They made forty bucks too.
"Alright, that's good for now. Let's grab a beer, Robin."
It was a small dive
on Hollywood Boulevard
they were two beers in
and Robin was learning a lot
about how Hollywood really was.
Some real talk from Batman to Robin.
"Yup. I moved out here in 1997. I saw that movie 'Swingers' and I thought...
I could do that, that could be my life, I want that."
"And what happened Bats?"
"Well...I came out here, went to film school, did everything I was told, and...
I still got ******." He said, taking a long pull from the bottle.
"Well what happened exactly?"
Robin's green glove, gripping the brown bottle
tilting it back, bubbles rising
"Well...ya see...when I was in film school, the instructors all told us...you either do your internship here in Hollywood or go to New York. Anywhere else and you won't be able to make it. That's what they said."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. So I did my internship here in Hollywood and it was for nothing. The whole two years that I was at Faramount, I was never allowed to even touch any film equipment. Well, just to dust it off and clean it. But they didn't even try to teach me anything there. I just did food runs at lunch, got them their Starbucks in the morning, and took out the trash. Swept the parking lot, cleaned the toilets, I was a ******* janitor at that place. And you know what happened next?"
"Huh?"
"One day they just fired me. Just like that. After two years of being their ***** boy. So now I have $50,000 in student loans that I can't pay back, and a degree that got me nowhere."
"****." Robin said, finishing his beer.
"Yeah. So what do you do?"
"I'm in school for audio engineering."
"Ah...the music business eh?"
"Yeah, Batman."
"Hmm."
Batman grew silent then, just finishing his beer, and staring into the mirrored wall.
He wanted to say,
"I have 117 scripts sitting in a stack next to my t.v. That's eight screenplays a year. Robin, I've been at this for fourteen years and it doesn't get any better. I never stop trying and I keep at it, year after year. But I'm done. Get out while you
still can Robin. This city will eat you, **** you, **** you. If you still have a home, I suggest you go back to it."
Batman sat there, his beer finished, still staring straight ahead.
Robin pulled out a ten dollar bill, smiling, calling for the bartender
with that sparkle in his eye
of youth and hope.
He didn't want to say all that ****
crush that gleam in Robin's eye
like he once had.
Those were the best days
the great days
the glory days
to be young, handsome, poor, and hopeful
that you could make it
that it could happen.
So Batman didn't say another word about it.
Nope.
There were things
Robin would have to learn all on his own.

kiss me
with bright eyes
tonight

look at me
grab my hand
very gently

i hold you
and try to be
what your eyes
makes bright

The barn is burning
The race-track is over
Farmers run out w/
buckets of water
The horse flesh is burning
They’re kicking the stalls
(panic in a horse’s eye
That can spread & fill
an entire sky.)

The clouds flow by
& tell a story

about the lightning bolt & the mast
on the steeple

Some people have a hard time
describing sailors to the
undernourished.

The decks are starving
Time to throw the cargo over

Now down & the high-sailing
fluttering of smiles on the air
w/its cool night time disturbance

Tropic corridor
Tropic Treasure

What got us this far to this
mild equator

Now we need something
& someone new
when all else fails
we can whip the horse’s eyes
& make them cry
& sleep
~~~

France is 1st, Nogales round-up
Cross over the border-
land of eternal adolescence
quality of despair unmatched
anywhere on the perimeter
Message from the outskirts
calling us home
This is the private space of a
new order. We need saviors
To help us survive the journey.
Now who will come
Now hear this
We have started the crossing
Who knows? it may end badly

The actors are assembled;
immediately they become
enchanted
I, for one, am in ecstasy
enthralled.
Can I convince you to smile?

No wise men now.
Each on his own
grab your daughter & run
~~~

“Oh God, she cried
I never knew what
it meant to be real
I thought all this was a joke,
I never let the horror, or
the sweetness & the dignity
penetrate my brain”

“Let me up to see
the window. Dark Riders
pass in the sunset
coming home from
raiding parties.
The taverns will be
full of laughter, wine,
& later dancing, later
dangerous knife throws.

Antonio will be there
& that *****, Blue Lady
playing cards w/silver
decks & smiling at the night,
& full glasses held aloft
& spilled to the moon.
I’m sad, so full of sadness”
~~~

She’s selling news in the market
Time in the hall
The girls of the factory
Rolling cigars
They haven’t invented musak yet
So I read to them
From The BOOK OF DAYS
a horror story from the Gothic age
a gruesome romance
From the LA
Plague.

I have a vision of America
Seen from the air
28,000 ft. & going fast

A one-armed man in a Texas
parking labyrinth
A burnt tree like a giant primeval bird
in an empty lot in Fresno
Miles & miles of hotel corridors
& elevators, filled w/ citizens

Motel Money ****** Madness
Change the mood from glad to sadness

play the ghost song baby
~~~

a young woman, bound silently, on
a hostpital table, obviously pregnant,
is gutted & rifled of her empire

objects of oblivion
~~~

Drugs *** drunkenness battle
return to the water-world
Sea-belly
Mother of man
Monstrous sleep-waking gentle swarming
atomic world
Anomic in social life

how can we hate or love or judge
in the sea-swarm world of atoms
All one, one All
How can we play or not play
How can we put one foot before us
or revolutionize or write
~~~

Does the house burn? So be it.
The World, a film which men devise.
Smoke drifts thru these chambers
Murders occur in a bedroom.
Mummers chant, birds hush & coo.
Will this do?
Take Two.
~~~

each day is a drive thru history

Zero.
One.
Two.
Three.
Fast asleep on my porch
in the middle of the day, dreaming my worries away.
Like how my doll broke and I’m still mourning the loss.
In my sandbox that doesn't have sand,
replaced with my most beloved stuffed animals,
I lay there not knowing what’s happening outside my world.
My mom shakes me awake with worry covering her face.
She screams at my father, how could he forget me here?
Four.
More fights.
Five.  
Dad’s never home.
Never has time for me.
Doesn't talk to mom much.
Red flags, brighter than a firetruck, I didn't see at this young age.
Six.
Dad’s moved out.
I have a new sister.
But at least I get a new puppy,
and whatever food and toys I want.
Plus more presents.
Seven.
Another sister.
This one has a different mom.
The fake mom is mean.
She thinks she's my mom but she's not.
“YOU’RE NOT MY MOM!”
I scream and cry until my dad comes back from the store,
wondering what happened while he was away.
He takes my side of course.
I’ve always been daddy's girl and always will be.
Eight.  
Things are changing a lot.
I don’t like it.
Nine.  
Dad got a house with her,
2 new dogs with her.
Of course my puppy gets neglected.
Favorites are picked and now I'm last.
This fake mom’s gone at work all day
while I look after my real sister and my fake one.
I grab my phone that I use only for emergencies,
and call my mom, my real mom.
“Dad’s sleeping…Fake mom’s at work…My sister’s are crying.”
I stubble over my words, not able to get them out due to panic.
“I'm coming. I promise.”
The fake mom hears it and grabs my phone.
“You can't call your mom while she’s at work. And where did you get this?”
‘Hurry mom.’ ‘My real mom.’
I run away, grab my bag,
make sure my real sister is good, and grab her hand.
It's only real if she has the same mom I thought.
My mom gets here thank god.
Ten.
Fights with fake mom,
fights with mom,
fights with me.
I hate dad's house.
I was first, now I’m last.
I feel out of place.
Eleven.
Twelve.
July 6th, 2019.
Less than a month after my birthday,
he left.
Left to live with this woman states away.
A woman that probably doesn't care about him.  
Thirteen.
I don't talk to my dad,
I guess it works out that way.  
Fourteen.
I wanna help, really I do.
(TW)
P!lls, dr!nk!ng, p@rty!ng.
No job, no phone, no contact.
I just sit and listen to my mom trash talk him.
I know he’s awful, but he’s still my dad.
I try to tune her out, keywords hit my eardrums.  
“Lazy.” “Selfish.” Worthless.”
‘But he's still my dad.’
Now.
I wonder what happened to daddy's little girl.
The one that would make him dress up,
or color while sitting on the balcony.
I wonder how it would have been if he stayed.
I have lots of questions to ask but I can’t.
Fear covers my body every time I  try to text or call.
No happy birthday this year because I was too scared to answer.
Christmas coming up and scared to ask for a simple thing:
To be daddy's little girl again.

Hello everyone,

  I'm so very sorry … I feel horrible doing this, but I have no choice. You see, I have published my first book on Amazon/Kindle! This piece (and many others) had to be taken down because they do not allow published material to be available online for free. (Go figure) I wanted to leave the shell of the posts because I felt compelled to leave all your helpful and loving comments. (Silly sentimental, I know), but I also didn't want to just have the pieces disappear without an explanation. I feel bad enough as it is!

  I owe ALL of you so, SO much for all of your reads, love, and support. It was YOU that gave me the gumption to FINALLY get off my **** and publish! Thank you all for the warm comments, camaraderie, and encouragement! I will still be here, reading, uploading and just being the Rascal that I am. How could I EVER leave you guys?

  The book is called “The Way I See It – FictionPhilosophySoul Food” and it will be FREE for the first few days on Kindle Select, so watch for it, if you are interested. I hope that you go and grab it. If you do, I would also hope that you find it worthy, you would leave me a good review. That will help me get in the public eye! Soon afterward (2-3 days or so), it will be available in paperback.

Find the book(s) here: www.amazon.com/author/jeff.gaines

Or find the book(s), and all about me, here: www.JeffGaines.world

  Soon after, I also hope to have my first novel (a supernatural thriller), called “Wanderer” available as well!

  Wish me luck!
Big, Biggest Love,
        Jeff Gaines

Yogurt.
"I begin the day buying yogurt in a small favorite grocery store."
Not pizza, nor gatorade.

Bananas
although they are imported from afar and grown in monocultures.
Attract fruit flies in August.

Peaches
locally grown with rainwater. I ate all the farmer's peaches alone
stacking them by the railroad tracks.

Water --
rainwater, tap water, distilled water, carbonated water, spring water –--
deep gulps, infinite sips.

Nuts
in moderation, or not, unsalted, raw, replacing chips. His bowl
of filberts, almonds, walnuts quiet weekday mornings.

Edible plant parts --
roots, leaves, stems, flowers, fruit, buds. In olive oil
or butter.

Potatoes --
look online how best to prepare. Baked or fried. With a little
fish or meat.

Tea and honey,
play and prayer. Swimming and running,
talking quietly.

Bread?
Bread's possible as the Bible. Each is liable
to bloat your thoughts.

Wine and dandelions.
Dandelion wine's Ray Bradbury's story. Cans in a pantry, books on a
      shelf
to the end of time.

Pasta
we used to call spaghetti, never noodles. I wonder if I can remember
      how to make
grandma's sauce.

Tomatoes --
cherry, grape. Grab God's eye
going by.

Could be I’m on a mission:
Convince the entire world
I am the World's Greatest Living
English Language poet;
Of course, genius such as mine
Goes generally unrecognized until
The posthumous crowd weighs in.
And yet, wouldn’t it be nice?

• BEACH BOYS LYRICS-Wouldn't It Be Nice-A-Z Lyrics www.azlyrics.com /lyrics/beachboys/ wouldntitbenice. Wouldn't It Be Nice Lyrics-Beach Boys www.lyricsfreak.com›Beach Boys

Yes, wouldn’t it be nice?
(The Nobel Prize,
Tribute at the Kennedy Center,
A MacArthur Grant,
The Presidential Medal of Honor,
Reverent BJs from hipster groupies . . .
The Poet Laureate in his vicarage,
Enjoying my sweet twilight celebrity.)

(Cue “Guys & Dolls” soundtrack: “What's in the daily news?
I'll tell you what's in the daily news.”)
23: Beheaded at Nigerian Election Rally!
Amanda Knox Gets Away with ****** Again in Italy!
Kung Pow: Silicon Valley Penisocracy Crushes Ellen Pao
German Crash Dummy Co-pilot Flies Jet into the Alps!
Hilary’s Emails Are *****!
Sierra Leone Ebola Lockdown!
Iran: Kooks with Nukes!
Sri Lankan President’s Brother Dies from Ax Wounds!
Saudi Diplomats Evacuate Yemen!
Stampede at Hindu Bathing Ritual, Bangladesh Kills at Least 10!
Simply put:  THE WORLD IS IN A STATE OF ****.

Perhaps it’s time we turn again.
Seek solace in poetry—
“Yeah, chemistry,” insists my Sky Masterson,
My “Guys & Dolls” alter ago.
Surprised? You shouldn’t be.
All poets are gamblers & moonshiners.
We polish our chemical craft,
Sweet-talking the distillation apparatus,
Getting us, getting at linguistic essence.
Cunning linguists are we.
(Colonel Angus, are you back?)
Oyez! Oyez! The gavel raps:
“The Curious Case of Sam Hayakawa.”
We open this hearing to determine
Whether or not S.I. Hayakawa—guilty of
Numerous crimes against humanity & other
Professional Neo-Fascist “entrechats.”--
Whether or not he merits a kinder, gentler
Wikipedia BIO.
(Wikipedia ( i/ˌwɪkɨˈpiːdiə/ or  i/ˌwɪkiˈpiːdiə/ WIK-i-***-dee-ə) Wikipedia)
We open this forum, focusing on his
Courageous stand against the
SDS & Black Panthers, part of
An unlikely coalition: The Worker-Student Alliance
& It’s rival, Joe Hill Caucuses.
Da Name of the Place:
(“I like it like that!” Hot Chelle Rae-“I Like It Like That” lyrics| Metro Lyrics www.metrolyrics.com Lyrics to 'I Like It Like That' by Hot Chelle Rae. “Let's get it on, yeah, y'all can come along/Everybody drinks on me, buy out the bar /Just to feel like I'm.”)
The name of the place: San Francisco State,
1968-69, the longest student strike in U.S. history,
Led successfully to the creation of
Black & Other Ethnic studies programs
On campuses across the country,
And, one could argue,
Gave the green light to
Osama Hussein Obama,
Our first Uncle Tom President.
But I digress.

ACTING SFSU President, Dr. Hayakawa—
Perpetual audition, the pressure on,
Feisty, independent-minded & combative,
Screaming at that skeevy student mob:
(Skeevy as in “He bought the thing from
Some skeevy dude in an alley.")
Declaring “A State of Emergency,”
Calling in the SFPD, whose
Inexplicable slogan says”
“Oro en Paz,
Fierro en Guerra.”
Archaic Spanish for
Gold in peace,
Iron in war, by the by,
For you holdouts,
Those of you who still
Think the “English First Movement”
Breathes life still.
I’ve got more news for you:
That crusade died long ago,
Locked up, dark & shuttered,
Bank Repo thugs, their thick
Neck muscles flexing from side to side,
Sashaying across the parking lot,
Like John Wayne on steroids,
Right up to the front door.)
The SFPD: San Francisco city fuzz,
(As they were known at the time) &
The California National Guard, as well,
Obstreperously, generously catered by
Governor Ronald Wilson Reagan,
(Early stage, Alzheimer’s at the time.
But still very much “The Gypper,”
Still chipper in Sacramento.)
Ronnie--keenly interested in
The Eureka State’s congressional clout,
Lassoes a seat in the U.S. House of Lords:
AKA: The U.S. Senate, SPQR.
It’s still hard . . .

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Still hard to believe that California was once
Rock solid in the clutches of the GOP,
Gripped tightly in the Party’s
Desperate talons. But the grip slipped,
Slipped in the slip-sliding 1970s.
It got harder and harder . . .

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Harder and harder to remind
Leroy & the rest of his ebony posse,
That it was Abraham Lincoln—
“The Great Emancipator” himself—who was,
Our first Republican President.
The Emancipation Proclamation:
That toothless rhetorical flourish,
Based solely on Abe’s
Constitutional authority as
Commander-in-Chief,
Not on a law passed by Congress.
It was just Abe blowing smoke
Up their ***** again,
Just an egalitarian blast from
His Old Kentucky past,
A youth spent splitting rails,
Busting his *** just like
Any plantation ******,
A stark plebeian commonality,
Too deeply etched to be ignored.
Poor Abraham Lincoln:
Probably a **** Creek crypto-Jew,
Neutered by the opposition:
His very own Republican majority Congress,
Another example of the GOP
Shooting off its own foot, right up there
With Mitt Romney’s "47 percent of the people,”
The rhetorical gaffe which cost him his
Second & final shot at the White House.
But I digress.

Senator Sam S.I. Samuel Hayakawa:
That inscrutable Asian fixer, is now U.S. Senator,
Republican, California, 1976-83
Pulpit-bullying his Senate colleagues,
Fiercely opposed to transfer of the
Panama Canal & Panama Canal Zone to
Panama: a diplomatic no-brainer; Duh?
Their freaking name is on both of them.
Senator Sam, obstinate & blustering:
"We should keep the Panama Canal.
After all, we stole it fair and square.”
And Hayakawa, later the driving impetus
Behind the Far Right “English Only” movement.
His co-founding an "Official English"
Advocacy group, U.S. English;
Their party line summarizes their belief:
“The passage of English as the official language will help to expand opportunities for immigrants to learn and speak English, the single greatest empowering tool that immigrants must have to succeed."
That’s how they sold it, anyway.
In sooth: just old-fashioned nativist
Anti-immigration hysteria.

Hayakawa: always the high achiever.
Hayakawa: The Great Assimilator,
Preaching his xenophobic Gospel:
“Immigration Must Be Reduced!”
Aryan rhetoric, of course,
A bi-product of radical authoritarian nationalism,
A movement with deep American roots.
Senator Sam: a Japanese-Canadian-American,
Always tried too hard to fit in.
Sam, comfortable in Chicago during WWII,
Not personally subject to confinement,
Advocated that Japanese-Americans
Submit to FDR’s 1942, Executive Order 9066.
“Time in camp, will eventually work to Japanese advantage."
Later, during the Congressional debate over
The Civil Liberties Act of 1988 . . .
(Passed the House on September 17, 1987 (243–141)
Passed the Senate on April 20, 1988 (69–27, in lieu of S. 1009)
Reported by the joint conference committee on July 26, 1988,
Agreed to by the Senate on July 27, 1988 (voice vote) and
By the House on August 4, 1988 (257–156,
Signed into law by President Ronald Reagan 8/10/88.
He opposed $reparations for WWII internment:
“Japanese-Americans should not
Be paid for fulfilling their obligations."
Some guys, I guess, would say, or
Do anything for Bohemia Club membership.
Plagued by night terrors, nonetheless,
His Manzanar nightmares, his vivid
Imaginary experience at other Japanese
Internment Sites: Tule Lake & Camp Rohwer.
Stalag (German pronunciation: [ˈʃtalak])
Stalags, infamous still,
“Stalags ‘R Us,”
Still palpable memories for
Issei ("first generation")
& Nisei ("second generation").
See: 323 U.S. 214. Korematsu v. United States
(No. 22: Argued: October 11, 12, 1944.
Decided: December 18, 1944.140 F.2d 289.
The opinion, written by Hugo Black,
Chief Justice Harlan Stone, Presiding.)

Hayakawa: a strange duck, of course,
But we mustn’t ignore his strong credentials,
And I’d like to disabuse anyone here
Of the notion that it was anything
Other than his academic record
That got his case to this Forum.
Oyez! Oyez! The gavel raps:
“The Curious Case of Sam Hayakawa.”
So begins this fractured Pardoner’s Tale,
This petition for forgiveness,
The Capo di Tutti Capi,
Presiding: the original Italian mafioso,
His Eminence--the Vicar of Jesus Christ,
The Supreme Pontiff
Pope Paparazzi of Rome!
Roma: the only venue large enough to
Dispense dispensation of this magnitude.

Hayakawa: everyone says his C.V. is “impeccable.”
But did anyone ever freaking Google it?
Just where did Professor Sam go to school?
Undergrad? The University of Manitoba,
Truly, by any Third World Standard
A great bastion of intellectual rigor;
Grad school? McGill and U Wisconsin-Madison.
He was a Canadian by birth,
His academic discipline was Semantics.
(As in “That’s just semantics,”
That all-purpose rejoinder in any argument.)
Professor Hayakawa, The Semanticist,
He taught us: “All thought is sub-vocal speech.”

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Hmmm? We think in words.
The medium of thought is language.
If you grok this for the first time,
Let’s stop to celebrate our enlightenment,
With a cultural nod of respect,
We salute our Islamic brethren.
Radical Islam: the new bogeyman,
Responsible for keeping lights on in Alexandria,
Paying the defense & intelligence bills,
Sustaining that sinister
Military-Industrial complex
Ike warned us about.
Hang in there, Mustafa, old buddy.
Like the Cold War, this insanity
Will eventually blow over.
Orwell’s Oceania will reshuffle
Its deck of global grab-***, and a
New enemy will suddenly appear.
Big Brother, as always,
In the full-control mode,
Simply put: on top of the situation.
So Hurrah!
Allāhu Akbar. “God is Great!
The Takbīr (the term for the
Arabic phrase: usually translated as
"God is [the] greatest.")

“All thought is sub-vocal speech.”
What a simple, yet profound insight!
Just a short hop, skip & jump to the
Realization that, perhaps, the clarity
& Power of our minds can be groomed,
Improved upon by mastery of—
In Sam’s case, anyway--the English Language.
Was this, perhaps, the germ of U.S. English,
The political lobbying organization
He co-founded, dedicated to making
English, the official language of the United States.
Hayakawa: a wooly conservative of his own design;
No wonder Governor Reagan loved him.

Dr. S.I. Hayakawa, a colorful and polarizing
Figure in California politics during the 1960s and 70s.
Can we forgive his daily afternoon naps.
Asleep on the floor of the U.S. Senate,
Leaving California so pathetically,
So ostensibly under-represented.
Senator Sam’s comatose presence at
Washington-on Potomac; the
District of Columbia.
A long time ago,
In a distant galaxy . . .
Far, far away.

TEAR GAS.
Alas, long before he got to Washington,
Long before ever setting foot off campus,
He called for tear gas to
Disperse those pesky college kids.
I repeat myself for emphasis:
He authorized the use of tear gas at SF State.
Tear gas: a lachrymatory agent?
Actually, a potentially lethal
Chemical agent . . .
(Yeah, Chemistry!
To wit: Sgt. Sara Brown,
Referencing “Guys & Dolls” again.)
Outlawed for use during wartime,
Banned in international warfare
Under both the 1925 Geneva Protocol; & the
Chemical Weapons Convention;
“Tear gas:  a weapon of war against
The people. We believe that
Tear gas remains a chemical weapon
Whether used on a battlefield, or city streets.”

Thus, history will be your judge,
You unleashed tear gas on college kids,
So I wouldn’t expect a rep makeover
Any time soon, Ichiye-san, my ichiban friend.

Here we are just me and you our emotions boiling like stew for each other as we gaze at one another. I approach you standing before you in ****** thought. Studying your beautiful **** figure so innocent in your taunting  poise. I give you my crooked smile with a raised brow. Wanting to show you if not everything I know how. Everything that's not allowed. Now I take you boldly and without warning close to me.

Pressing my lips to yours overlapping each others. My lips almost curl to yours as I enclose over your mouth like a puzzle piece fitting in place. I close slightly to interlock our mouths passionately head tilted to complete the exchange. My tongue exploring your mouth teasing your tongue to play. Ever so long we kiss as we wrap our arms tightly around each other. Not wanting to let go.

Inevitably my arms loosen only to grab your sides my hand slipping down beneath your pants swaying slowly as a tree limb in the faint wind. Fingers expanding apart into your ******* like the tentacles of a sea creature over your patch of ***** hair above the sweet lips of your ******. Longest finger going threw the folds feeling your **** harden. You start to moisten with every touch I give to you playing with your *****. I stop only to have my lustful kisses go to your cheek, on your neck my lips as a suction cup feeling the warm pules of the blood beating in your jugular vain.  Tasting the salty sweat on your skin ******* the blood to your skins surface I leave my mark as a vampire on your neck. My **** hardens unbarring wanting to escape the enclosure of my jeans. I push you on the bed of seduction caused by your temptress ways!  We feverishly tear off one an others clothes all while caressing and pressing ourselves to each other.

My eyes exploring your **** body every curve and shape it brings so lovely in its beauty. It's form can not be duplicated. I stare into your eyes hands at each of sides the prettiest face I've ever seen on a girl. I left your head close to me as I lay over you. My lips going for more of you. My body nudging between your legs you spread them apart slightly I balance over you as if I was readying myself for push ups. We can't stop making out I go to your ear kissing your lobe flicking and nipping the bottom of your ear with my tongue.

My body slides down a little further as I explore you. Going to the finest breast Ive seen. Shape just right I circle  my hand around and over it feeling your ******* hard between my fingers. I massage them firmly and lightly. Kneading them in my hand I start to Kiss and suckle them playing with your ******* in my mouth. Teasing them ******* on hard and softly with the hot and cool air as I breath and blow on them.

I raise up a little kissing further down your body as your legs spread more before me. I adventure to your belly kissing your belly button in a playful manner tickling you. Hearing your cute giggles laughing so soundly sweet. Now at the entrance of the ***** I french kiss your ****** in a romantically way. My lips pressed to your *****. Licking you rubbing my tongue through the folds and over the pearl that is your ****. Turning my head back and forth as I bury my face more between your thighs as you push my face up to it wanting me. You lift up spinning around to sit on my face. Sliding your self to and fro as your ***** mounted on my lips. Thighs against my ears. I Lick and lick  kiss and kiss in all manner of ways I **** on your ****. Turning over you grab my **** kissing up an down the shaft of my ****. Kissing the head of my ***** your mouth engulfs my ****. ******* on me rubbing me squeezing my ***** with your hand playing with me only as you know how. I continue to make out with your special spot while grabbing your *** cheeks and spanking you playfully. entangling around like two serpents mating. I have you down back on the bed.

My **** hard as its ever going to be in this moment of lust, passion, and ecstasy. I insert myself and enter you sliding my **** in the entrance of the begging of life. Giving you my love and tenderness. Feeling your warm wet ****** around my hot ****. You gasp and moan inhaling and exhaling with every push and release of me in you. Faster and faster I go exploring your insides every which way probing you with every inch. We are at a rhythm of love making. Kissing caressing my movements are like a crazed caterpillar crawling in its way. I tug at your hair as I'm going back and forth inside you. Pounding vigorously against you more and more.

We spin around once more to have you ride me. Back forth up and down. I buck you like a wiled horse. Lean up to you kissing you between your breast. Playing with them once more. In the moment of ****** you ****** uncontrollably scratch my back. We turn over and I lay you back down once more. Never exiting you keeping that good rhythm inside you. Alas I pull out as you can't take no more only to roll you over on your back side and protrude your tight ***. My **** swelling once more. You tighten your *** cheeks while I'm inside you again. I rigorously pound against you as I did in your ******. My hands massaging your back as I press against you. Leaning over to kiss and cress your back with my face. I pull your hair with one hand playfully. With the other I massage your neck. Now with both hands I go to your shoulders and pull your body closer to mine. I *** in your *** as I came in your *****. Our breath exasperated from the pleasures of love we muster up the very little energy we have to shower and cleanse one another. So we can lay and cuddle in our bed of love with a kiss to fall asleep.

And I'll try to delay what you make of my life
But I don't want your way,
I want mine

I’m lying, I’m so very far from fine

I don’t believe, in talking just to breathe

I’m here to give you words as tools that can destroy my heart

He thinks that faith might be dead
Nothing kills a man faster than his own head

*** nobody knows he’s alive

I want to crack the door so I can just fall out

I begin to understand why god died

And I want everyone to know that I am half a soul divided

Don’t be afraid. We’re going home.

We had to steal him from his fate so he could see another day

Am I alive and well or am I dreaming dead?

Where all your blood is washed away and all you did will be undone

We pick songs to sing remind us of things that nobody cares about and honestly we’re probably more suicidal than ever now

If we wake up every morning and decide what we believe we can take apart our very heart and the light will set us free

Please don’t be afraid of what your soul is really thinking

It’s time you pick your battle, and I promise you this is mine.

I know what you think in the morning when the sun shines on the ground

But there’s hope out the window, so that’s where we’ll go, let’s go outside and all join hands but until then you’ll never understand

Simply suggest my chest in this confused music it’s obviously best for them to turn their guns to a fist.

I’m taking over my body back in control no more shorty

I fought it a lot and it seems a lot like flesh is all I got not anymore

You should take my life, you should take my soul

You are surrounding all my surroundings

Fight it. Take the pain ignite it tie a noose around your mind loose enough to breathe fine and tie it to a tree tell it “you belong to me this ain’t a noose this is a leash and I have news for you, you must obey me”

It ain’t the speakers that bump hearts, it’s our hearts that make the beat.

I’m pleading please oh please, on my knees repeatedly asking why it’s got to be like this, is this living free?

Some see a pen I see a harpoon.

I’ll stay awake, *** the dark’s not taking prisoners tonight

I don’t hear those voices calling, I must’ve kicked them out

Why won’t you let me go? Do I threaten all your plans I’m insignificant

I’m afraid to tell you who I adore, won’t tell you who I’m singing towards

I know it’s dire my time today

Somebody stole my car radio and now I just sit in silence

Sometimes quiet is violent
I find it hard to hide it my pride is no longer inside it’s on my sleeve my skin will scream

There’s no hiding for me I’m forced to deal with what I feel there is no distraction to mask what is real

This time there’s no sound to hide behind

I find over the course of our human existence one thing consists of consistence and it’s that we’re all battling fear oh dear I don’t know if we know why we’re here oh my too deep please stop thinking

Peace will win and fear will lose

There’s faith and there’s sleep we need to pick one please because faith is to be awake and to be awake is for us to think and for us to think is to be alive and I will try with every rhyme to come across like I am dying to let you know you need to try to think.

I don’t wanna be heard, I wanna be listened to.

I scream you scream we all scream *** we’re terrified of what’s around the corner.

My brain has given up, white flags are hoisted

The stomach in my brain throws up onto the page

I don’t understand why everything I adore takes a different form when I squint my eyes have you ever done that when you squint your eyes and your eyelashes make it look a little bit right and then when just enough light comes from just the right side and you find you’re not who you’re supposed to be?
This is not what you’re supposed to see, please, remember me I am supposed to be king of kingdom, swinging on a swing, something happened in my imagination the situations becoming dire, my treehouse is on fire, and for some reason I smell gas on my hands. This is not what I had planned.

We’ll be on fire

We have romantic fantasies about what dying truly is

We all know somebody who knows somebody who’s doing great, I know some people who know people who are flying straight, but I’ll kindly enter into rooms of depression, while ceiling fans and idle hands will take my life again.

But I would rather sing a song, for the eyes to sing along

I’m holding onto what I know and what I know I must let go

Redemption’s not that far and darkness is going down.

Nobody thinks what I think, nobody dreams when they blink, think things on the brink of blasphemy I’m my own shrink think things are after me, my catastrophe.

Are you searching for purpose? Then write something and it might be worthless, paint something yeah it might be wordless pointless curses nonsense verses you’ll see purpose start to surface, no one else is dealing with your demons meaning maybe defeating them could be the beginning of your meaning friend.

They will play a game and say they know what you’re doing through and I tried to come up with an artistic way to say they don’t know you and neither do I

I hear a second voice behind your tongue somehow

They will not take you down they will not cast you out

Dear friends here we are again pretending to understand how you think your world is ending sendin signals and red flags in waves it’s hard to tell the difference between blood and water these days
I pray that one day you see
The only difference between life and dying
Is one is trying that’s all we’re gonna do so try to love me and I’ll try to save you

Won’t you stay alive I’ll take you on a ride, I will make you believe you are lovely

Your redemption won’t grow stale, we are now just setting sail, on the seas of what we fear, treason now is growing near to me, I’m coming clean, god hit me straight on.

I know, where you stand, silent in the trees
And that’s where I am

Why won’t you speak, where I happen to Be? Silent in the trees standing cowardly
I can feel your breath, I can feel my death.
I want to know you, I want to see, I want to say, hello

I don’t believe my ears and I’m scared of my own head.

Clearly I am dying, dearly I am writing

I’m lying cause I say I am fine

I’m so sorry but I do believe that all my bridges I have burned and I’ve earned a policy of no return

Today, day, I want to go away, way

I put my sock on my feet, just so that my soul would fall through my toes, And I walk through my door, just so I don’t fall through the floor.

So bold and fearless in the risks we take, laugh in the face of gravity as it’s laws we’d break, on trampolines so high, we reach for the sky, but I do not look up anymore and I don’t know why.

I take my face off at the door because I don’t know who they will take me for

I’m the son of all I’ve done

When we’re done we’ll all have made something new under the sun

“Where’s your home? Where are you going and why are you here?”

I will tell you what I can, but your mind will take a stand, I sing of a greater love, let me know when you’ve had enough.

When your father turns to stone will you take care of me?
I will make you queen of everything you see, I’ll put you on the map, I’ll cure you of disease.
Let’s say we up and left this town and turned our future upside down, we’ll make pretend that you and me, lived ever after happily.

Since we know that dreams are dead, and life turns plans up on their head, I will plan to be a *** so I just might become someone.

Taking my only, friend I know. He leaves a lot. His name is Hope.

I’m never what I like, I’m double sided

*** I’m twisted up, I’m twisted up, inside my mind

When the sun is climbing window sills, and the silver lining rides the hills, I will be safe, for one whole day, until the sun makes the hills it’s grave.

By the time the nights wears off, the dust is down, and shadows burn, I will rise and stand my ground, waiting for, the nights return.

I do not know why I would go in front of you na shied my soul, *** you’re the only one who knows it

I don’t know why I think I could lie, *** there’s a screen on my chest

I’m standing in front of you I’m trying to be so cool, everything together trying to be so cool.

I can’t see past my own nose I’m seeing everything in slow-mo look out below crashing down to the ground

A train from the sky locomotive my motives are insane
My flows not great okay, I conversation with people who know if I flow on a song I’ll get no radio play.
While you’re doing fine, there’s some people and I, who have a really tough time getting through this life so excuse us while we sing to the sky.

We’re broken people

I can’t take them on my own, my own, pa, I’m not the one you know, you know

Don’t wanna give you all my demons, you’ll have to watch me struggle, from several rooms away. But tonight, I need you to stay.

I am up against the wall, the wall, pa, I hear them coming down, the hall.

I want to drive away in the night, headlights call my name.
I’ll never be, be what you see inside, you say I’m not alone but I am petrified.

Is close the closest star? You just feel twice as far.

I’m so afraid, of what you have to say, cause I am quiet now, and silence gives you space

And the wrists of my mind had the bleeding lines that remind me of all the times I have committed

What kids are doing they’re killing themselves, they feel they have no control of their prisoner cells, and if you’re one of them then you’re one of me

Now the night is coming to an end

The sun will rise and we will try again

Stay alive, stay alive, for me.
You will die, but now your life is free take pride in what is sure to die.

I will fear the night again.

I hope I’m not my only friend.

There’s an infestation in my minds imagination

This not rap this is not hip hop, just another attempt to make the voices stop

This doesn’t mean I lost my dream it’s just right now I got a really crazy mind to clean.

Can you save my heavydirtysoul, for me?

If I didn’t know better I’d guess you’re all already dead

You’ve got one time to figure it out, one time to twist and one time to shout, one time to think and I say we start now

Death inspires me like a dog inspires a rabbit

I wish I found some better sounds no ones ever heard, I wish I had a better voice to sing some better words, I wish I found some chords in an order that is new, I wish I didn’t have to rhyme every time I sang

Now I’m insecure, and I care what people think.

Sometimes a certain smell will take me back to when I was young, how come I’m never able to identify where it’s coming from?

It would remind us of when nothing really mattered out of student loans and treehouse homes we all would take the ladder.

We used to play pretend give eachother different names

Used to dream of outer space but now they’re laughing at our face saying wake up you need to make money

I wanna stay in the sun where I find, I know it’s hard sometimes

I think about the end just way too much, but it’s fun to fantasize

I won’t fall in love with falling

I’d die for you that’s easy to say we have a list of people that we would take a bullet for them a bullet for you

Metaphorically I’m the man but literally I don’t know what I’d do, that’s harder to do even harder to say when you know it’s not true and it’s harder to write when you know that tonight there were people back home that tried talking to you

All these questions they’re for real like who would you live for who would you die for and would you ever ****?

I’ve been thinking too much, help me

I’m fairly local, ive been around, ive seen the streets you’re walking down

I’m evil to the core, what I shouldn’t do I will, they say I’m emotional, what I wanna save I’ll ****. Is that who I truly am? I truly don’t have a chance. Tomorrow I keep a beat. And repeat yesterday’s dance

I’m not evil to the core, what I shouldn’t do I will fight. I know I’m emotional, what I wanna save I will try. I know who I truly am. I truly do have a chance. Tomorrow I’ll switch the beat, to avoid yesterday’s dance

It’s the few the proud and the emotional

The world around us is burning but we’re so cold

Our minds change on what we think is good, I wasn’t raised in the hood, but I know a thing or two about pain, and darkness, if wasn’t for the music I don’t know how I would’ve fought this.

I’m in constant confrontation with what I want and what is poppin in the industry it seems to me that singles on the radio are currency my creativities only free when I’m playing shows.

Who would you live and die for on that list but the problem is there’s another list that exists and none really wants to think about this forget sanity, forget salary, forget vanity my morality, if you get in between someone I love and me, you’re gonna feel the heat of my calvary

He cranked out those dismal chords, and his four walls declared him insane.

I found my way right time wrong place

I know my souls freezing hells hot for good reason

But I’m not good with directions and I hide behind my mouth, I’m a pro at imperfections and I’m best friends with my doubt.
Now that minds out and now I hear clear and loud I’m thinking wow I probably should’ve stayed inside my house

I don’t know if this song is a surrender or a revel. I don’t know if this one is about me or the devil.

Help me out, my friends and I we got a lotta problems

Wanted to be a better brother better son wanted to be a better advisory to the evil I have done I have none to show to the one I love

Polarize is taking your disguises sepersting then splitting them up from wrong and right, is deciding when to die and deciding when to fight

I don’t know where you are, you’ll have to come and find me

We have all learned to **** our dreams

I need to know that when I fail you’ll still be here. *** if you stick around I’ll sing you pretty sounds and well make money selling your hair

I don’t care what’s in your hair I just wanna know what’s on your mind.
I used to say I wanna die before I’m old but because if you I might think twice.

What if my dream does not happen. Would I just change what I’ve told my friend. Don’t want to know who I would be. When I wake from a dreamers sleep

Scared of my own image. Scared of my own immaturity

Fear might be the death of me. Fear leads to anxiety. Don’t know what’s inside of me.

Even when I doubt you, I’m no good without you.

Temperature is dropping, I’m not sure if I can see this ever stopping. Shaking hands with the dark parts of my thought no, you ar wall that I’ve got no.

I want the markings made on my skin, to mean something to me again.

Hope you haven’t left without me, please

Who I am today is worse than other times. You don’t know what I’ve done.

Why I’m in denial that they tried the suicidal session. Please use discretion when you’re messing with the message man, these lyrics aren’t for everyone only few understand.

Hope you’re dead *** how could you sleep at a time like this

I’m the kinda guy who takes every moment he knows he confided in
Music to use for others to use it

Life is up here but you comment below And the comments below will become
Common motivation to promote
Your shows next episode
So your brain know to keep going
Even though hope
Is far from this moment but you and I know it gets better when mornin finally reads it’s head, together we’re losers remember the future remember the mornin is when night is dead.

My people singing

Be the one to take my soul and make it undone

Be the one to take me home and show me the sun

Where we’re from, there’s no sun, our hometowns in the dark
Where we’re from, we’re no one, our hometowns in the dark.

We don’t know, how to put back the power in our soul

We don’t know, where to find, what once was in our bones.

I look outside and see a whole world better off without me in it trying to transform it.

Listen I know, this ones a contradiction because of how happy it sounds. But the lyrics are so down.
It’s ok though, because it represents Wait better yet it is, who I feel I am right now.

I’m a goner, somebody catch my breath

I wanna be known, by you.

Though I’m weak, and beaten down. I’ll slip away, into this sound.
The ghost of you is close to me.
I’m inside out, you’re underneath.

I’ve got two faces, blurry’s the one I’m not

I need your help to take him out

Don’t let me be gone.

I can’t believe how much I hate.
Pressures of a new place roll my way.

Spirits in my room, friend or foe?
Felt it in my youth feel it when I’m old

I’ll be right there, but you’ll have to grab my throat and life me in the air. If you need anyone
I’ll stop my plans, but you’ll have to tie me down and then break both my hands.

You can learn to levitate with just a little help

Cowards only come through when the hours late and everyone’s asleep mind you

My heart is with you hiding but my minds not made

No we are not just graffiti on a passing train I got back what I once bought back in that slot I won’t need to replace

Sever all I thought I could depend on my weekends on the freezing ground that I’m sleeping on please keep me from please keep me down from the ledges

At least they all know all they hear comes from a place.

When everyone, you thought you know, deserts your fight, I’ll go with you
You’re facing down, a dark hall, I’ll grab my light and go with you

Surrounded and  up against a wall, I’ll shred em all. And go with you
When choices end, you must defend, I’ll grab a bat, and go with you

Stay with me, no you don’t need to run, stay with me, my blood.

They’re callin for your head and they’re callin for your name, I’ll bomb down on em I’m comin through

Just keep it outside

If you find yourself, in a lions den, I’ll jump right in, and pull my pin.

East is up, I’m fearless when I hear this on the low
Easy is up, I’m careless when I wear my rebel clothes

They will know that, Dema don’t control us

They wanna make you forget

Save your razor blades now, not yet

I’m flying from a fire, from Nico and the Niners.

What I say when I wanna be enough what a beautiful day for making a break for it, we’ll find a way to pay for it, maybe from all the money we made razor blade stores, rent a race horse, and force a sponsor, and start a concert a complete diversion, start a mob and you can be quite certain we’ll win but not everyone will get out.

Can’t stop thinking about if and when I die for now I see that if and when are trike different cries for If is purely panic and when is solemn sorrow and one invade today while the other spies tomorrow

If I keep moving they won’t know I’ll morph to someone else

I’m just a ghost

Defence mechanism mode

What are we here for if not to run straight through all our tormentors

Anybody listening?

This beat is a chemical

Lovin what I’m tasting
Venom on my tongue
Dependant at times
Poisonous vibrations

I’m running for my life

Hide you in my coat pocket

Felt I was invincible you wrapped around my head now different lives I lead my body lives on lead the last two lines may read incorrect until said

I despise you sometimes I love to hate the fight and you in much life is like sippin on straight chlorine

Grows while I decay

Can you build my house with pieces I’m just a chemical

My interior world needs to sanitize
I’ve got to step through or I’ll dissipate
I’ll record my step through for my basement tapes

Nice to my kind will be on my side

And you know you’re a terrible sight but you’ll Be just fine

Your exterior world can step off instead
It might take some friends and a warmer shirt but you don’t get thick skin without getting burnt

No I don’t know which way I’m going
But I can hear my way around

I never look for conflict for the thrill

For you I would get beat to smithereens

And my problem? We glorify those even more when they

My opinion our culture could treat a loss like it’s a win and right before we turn on them we give them the highest of praise and hang their banner from the ceiling communicating further ingravjng and earlier grace is an optional way. No.

What’s my problem don’t get it twisted it’s with the people we praise who may have assisted

I could go out with a band they would know my name they would host and post a celebration . My opinion will not be lenient

We don’t get enough love well they get a fraction they say how could he go if he’s got everything I’ll mourn for a kid but won’t cry for a king.

Neon gravestones try to call for my bones

Promise me this. If I lose to myself you won’t mourn a day and you’ll move on to someone else

But they won’t get them

Don’t get me wrong the rise in awareness is beating a stigma that no longer scares us but for sake of discussion in spirit of fairness could we give this some room for a new point of view and could it be true that some could be tempted to use this mistake as a form of aggression a form of succession a form of a weapon thinking I’ll teach them well in refusing the lesson it won’t resonate in our minds I’m not disrespecting what was left behind just pleading that it does not get glorified maybe we swap out what’s it is that we hold so high. Find your grandparents or someone of age. Pay some respects for the other that they paved to life they were dedicated now that should be celebrated.

I could take the high road but I know that I’m going low

I’m a bandito

This is the sound we make when in between two places where we used to bleed and where our blood needs to be

In city I feel my spirit is contained like neon inside the glass they form my brain but I recently discovered it’s a heartless fire like nicknames they give themselves to uninspire begin with bullet now add fire to the proof but I’m still not sure if fears a rival or close relative to truth either way it helps to hear these words bounce off of you the softest school could be enough for me to make it through

I created this world to feel some control destroy it if I want so I sing Sahlo Folina

I can feel pressure start to posses my mind so I’ll take this beat I should delete to exercise

No I move slow I wanna stop time I’ll sit here til I find the problem

This clique means so much to this dude it could make him afraid of his music and be scared to death he could lose it

You were one of those classic ones
Traveling around this sun

I wish she knew you

You were here when I write this but the masters and mixes will take to long to finish to show you I’m sorry I did not visit did not know how to take it when your eyes did not know me like I know you

Then the day that it happened I recorded this last bit I look forward to having a lunch with you again

I’m tired of tending to this fire

Embers barely showing proof of life in the shadows dancing on my plans

They know that it’s  almost over

The burning is so low it’s concerning *** they know that when it goes out it’s a glorious gone
It’s only time before they show me why no one ever comes back with details from beyond

In time I will leave the city for now I will stay alive

Last year I needed change of pace
Couldn’t take the pace of change
Moving hastily
But this year
Though I’m far from home
In trench inches not alone
These faces facing me
They know what I mean.

My twin flame here I am
Do with me as you please
I surrender to you
Other women complain asking
you why do you love me more then them and you replied...
"why do I not love any of you like I love her?"
"If a blind woman and one who sees are together in darkness, they are the same.
Light comes, the one who sees will see light. The blind one
stays in darkness."
I am yours beloved I see your light my teacher my guru Sage twin flame my everything!
Caress me dance me oh sing me
Lay with me among the wild
flowered fields and bunny meadow prairy land
Spread you my wings I am
in full array near our nudist hill
My Adam your Eve
Or skip this previews
just take me now
Touch me taste me
Climbing becoming one we do our Macchu-picchu mountain each time we touch
many a mountain we shall climb
I won't ever let you down
Reciprocate my lover
I am your true love
I've been waiting for your scripted promises of old for decades to manifest.
Help me bridge this old gap bridge the chasm with
a leap of faith
Help me come out of this world of unreality our old prenuptial script lets jump into life
Let me spill my heart to you
Spill yours and play some nice music no more sad songs
Its sunny and beautiful outside
What a wonderful world
Loving the outdoors
Loving you loving me
Lay me down under the sunny
blue sky by day, let the pine tree aromas after the heavy rains to heighten and sharpen our senses
the evenings long.
Let's lay us both down
under the pomegranate trees examining their sensual hanging fruits that get us so high
Feed me your ripe fruits
I so hunger for you love.
Embrace me gently or grab me
download yourself into my hybrid vessel your inter galactic antivirus, lets wait untill dark falls for the stars to blanket us all night long I am your star seed
ENTER ME the evenings mornings long.
You raise me up like mercury on a thermometer pumping me
Earthquaking me
Fireworks crackling us
Volcanic booms exploding
with each pump fly me higher and higher raise me up, and up
You are the perfect lover
Protective husband amazing father
To this truth I surrender to you
Mate with me jump into Karijinis's hole fly us a honeymoon trip to Australia.
Protect me from the wild beast there here guide me make me into your own image God of love heart of gold like me!
King of hearts
here I am your Queen bee 2
glued together baby two
plus eight more!
There isn't a tree a rose a
Hilton hotel a Travelodge
A Laundry's restaurant
a garden a mountain
Paris Egypt Australia Africas starry sky
Not any place on Earth
Where I can't find you
You are omnipresent in my world even crossroads and street lights define you
You love like I do your eye moves are my own!
your smile is my own!
There isn't a Space Center rocket
Not any Star System
That won't remind me of you:
looking at me, waiting
Longing praying
for me to understand you.
You were the only one who
truly loved me just for me!
Everywhere I look I see you
I died amnesic in Greece and Veracruz there I wished I was never born
we all have our ways
of jumping off cliffs.
I fell into the abyss and I died again when Nasus answered phone in our home in Kemah
saying you two had a son!
I believed her lie
Lover of  life!
Giver of life
Love of my life
Lord G* heaven i missed you all my life
I sing and dance for you
Lord son of G omnipresent
miss you my E.T divine
I surender to you
do with me
as you please.
rdd/pjc I'm bba/asg
remember me as
something very
dear and precious
you promed me
my true love
I love you adore you forever yours in
mind heart body spirit soul.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By: Karijinbba
All rights reserved:
excerpts from my first memoir

Sometimes the need to grab strangers by the shoulders,
And beg-BEG- for them to hurt me,
Pretend to love but actually hate me,
Romance me, only to ignore me-

Sometimes the need to grab strangers by the shoulders,
And ask for their prayers,
Spill out my darkest confessions,
Grieve my past self to them-

Sometimes the need to grab strangers by the shoulders,
And preach the importance of freedom,
Inform them of the world’s woes,
Bore them with politics-

Sometimes the need to grab strangers by the shoulders,
And demand they save me,
Pause my loneliness before it turns foul,
Accompany me during my days-

Sometimes the need to grab strangers by the shoulders,
And scream help, so the birds flee,
Becomes ever too powerful.

So powerful I recoil from human interactions,
Until I can perform the average conversation again.

Here is the inimitable Jeff Buckley's poem, "My New Year's Eve Prayer," which he performed live at Sin-é in Manhattan, NYC, in 1996.


"You, my love, are allowed to forget
about the Christmas you just spent stressed out in your parents' house.

You, my love, are allowed to shed the weight
of all the years before,
like bad disco clothes.
Save them for a night of dancing ****** with your lover.

You, my love, are allowed to let yourself drown
every night in bottomless wild and naked symbolic dreams.

You, my love, in sleep can unlock your youth
and your most terrifying magic;
and dreaming is for the courageous.

You, my love, are allowed to grab my guitar
and sing me idiot love songs
if you've lost your ability to speak.
Keep it down to two minutes.

You, my love, are allowed to rot and to die
and to live again,
more alive and incandescent than before.

You, my love, are allowed to beat the **** out of your television,
choke it's thoughts and corrupt its mind.
****! ****! ****! **** the *******
before the song of zombiefied pain
and panic and malaise
and it's narrow right-winged vision
and it's cheap commercial gang ****
becomes the white noise of the world.

Turn about is fair play.

You, my love, are allowed to forgive and love your television.

You, my love, are allowed to speak in kisses
to those around you
and those up in heaven.

You, my love, are allowed to show your babies
how to dance full bodied,
starry eyed, audacious, supernatural and glorified.

You, my love, are allowed to **** in every single endeavor.

You, my love, are allowed to be soaked like a lovers' blanket
in the New York summertime
with the wonder of your own special gift.

You, my love, are allowed to receive praise.

You, my love, are allowed to have time.

You, my love, are allowed to understand.

You, my love, are allowed to love.

Woman, disobey,
when little men believe;

You, my love, are Rebellion."

Verbalizing out her interests
attracted opportunities.

She planned to play with every insecurity,
learning, growing and blooming
with every opening.

She just had to take a chance
for the possibility.
Event hough she was dubious and stuttering.

But soon there would be rhythm and fluency
and there she would find unity in
a community.

She's looking out the window
A tear rolls down her cheek
She can't believe
what she had  just seen
The way he up and left
Slamming the door as he went
She called me on the phone
I said hello
There was a vulnerability
In her voice,
it was a conversation
In which I had no choice
And so I rocked up at your house
You opened the door
And that is when I saw

The pain was really aching
Inside your heart was breaking
I had to grab your hands
To stop them from shaking

It's okay girl
Let your mascara run
I'll hold you in these arms
As long as you need
It's okay girl
Let your mascara run
I'll clean you up
When you're done,
So let your mascara run

I sat you down on the couch
And looked into your eyes
There was a fire raging inside
But you didn't show it
Instead, you were breaking down
So low upon the ground
Tell me what happened now?
That's when you looked away from me

The pain was really aching
Inside your heart was breaking
I had to grab your hands
To stop them from shaking

It's okay girl
Let your mascara run
I'll hold you in these arms
As long as you need
It's okay girl
Let your mascara run
I'll clean you up,
When you're done,
So let your mascara run

She was staring at the ground
And I was running through scenarios in my mind
That's when you turned to me and said
He's met another girl
I saw him with her the other night
I thought I could forgive him
He said he'd make it right
Am I really that unlovable
Am I just not enough
Is that why he left me like this
Maybe I deserved this

The pain was really aching
Inside your heart was breaking
I had to grab your hands
To stop them from shaking

It's okay girl
Let your mascara run
I'll hold you in these arms
As long as you need
It's okay girl
Let your mascara run
I'll clean you up
When you're done,
So let your mascara run

You're always so quick,
To blame yourself
The blame is not yours
The blame lies with him
He obviously couldn't
See the perfect girl
Standing in front of him
You're loyal,
You never break the trust
That's why your heart
Has taken the fall
It's not weakness
It's a beautiful thing
It just means
You deserve better than him

The pain was really aching
Inside your heart was breaking
I had to grab your hands
To stop them from shaking

It's okay girl
Let your mascara run
I'll hold you in these arms
As long as you need
It's okay girl
Let your mascara run
I'll clean you up
When you're done,
So let your mascara run

©2017 Written By Benji James

is it new york i love
or do i crave being
near you; crave the
one in a million
chance that if we
were in the same city
we would run into
each other on the
sidewalk while i’m
on my way to buy
flowers and you’re
smoking a cigarette
dressed in all black
and i’d smile at you
and you’d grab me by
the wrists and scold
me for being away
for so long and then
i’d let you kiss my face
as you interlock your
fingers with mine and
you’d never let me go
again, you would
take me with you
wherever you went
and i’d never look back.

"A leisurely breakfast" their mother would admonish, "aids digestion and builds strong bones..." so what with the imposed inactivity every morning, boredom broken only by Sockeye the family Spaniel, whose want of table manners coincided very conveniently with mealtimes... as he paced restlessly under the table, slobbering indiscriminately in his daily scramble to devour every dangling morsel before supply and demand shut up shop for the night and went home, far tastier... he gobbled down the latest offering of egg white, than the remnants of his own dietary allowance, they just had to get the timing right that was all, or risk loosing a finger, or gaining one depending upon who was doing the dangling, or who was doing the gobbling... he gave an indignant sneeze, not so much a hint but more of a... 'what's with the pepper malarky...'  So that it was only with a good deal of snappy hand coordination, lengthy digestion and sturdy bone building that Rocky was finally able to extricate himself from the table and make the most of what little time remained until lunchtime, meagre time indeed for the Rocky's of this world to hang around with their dogs, leaving their little sisters to help mums do, whatever it was that girls usually did when they should have scooted out of the kitchen faster, when it would have been all so much simpler just to grab a handful of biscuits instead...  Meanwhile, laying in wait in the room above, flat out upon the bedroom counterpane, having recently had their insides stuffed to bursting with a full English breakfast's worth of beach and holiday apparal... and that was just the luggage.    

     The contents of which, up until a week last washday had been snoozing fitfully behind 'Do Not Disturb' signs, cautiously peeping out from the gloomier, more remote recesses of the bedroom dresser, or carefully concealed in cupboards and closets... and being in every other respect by no means readily accessible to public scrutiny of any kind... had been left to their own devices some twelve months earlier with a clear understanding to skip bath nights from that moment on and henceforth immerse themselves in the heady, camphorated pungency of mothball, vowing once and for all never to darken portmanteau lids again... but now, after many hours of arduous laundering and de-fumigation... were now being squeezed and unceremoniously shoe-horned into what had recently become nothing short of an overcrowded sanctuary for the dispossessed.  
              
     Meanwhile, all the luggage asked from life other than be detained under section four of the Mental Health Act, 1983 and be found cosy padded accommodation elsewhere... was to have their interiors vacated, their tranquility reinstated... and with a questionable wink from a dodgy Customs official, have their travel permits invalidated... irrevocably, for despite throwing a double six for a spot of well earned convalescence back on top of the wardrobe some twelve months ago, basking in the shade of a warm Summer Sun, striking up the occasional conversation with the floral decor, third bloom from the left currently answering to the name of Petunia, the still over extended luggage, seemingly with little hope of R & R this side of the letter Q, faced the perennial disquiet of vacational therapy, of being knelt on, sat and bounced upon and be specifically manhandled in ways that matching sets of co-ordinated luggage should not...
                                        
     Tina could be heard quite distinctly in the next street concerning her husbands lack of competence, whilst Red it appeared had become just as outspoken as his wife in that particular direction... as the local self appointed busybody, who lived well within earshot of the address in question would bear witness to as she put feverish pen to paper, writing to what had become a regular... and some would say hot bed of intrigue in the local tabloid concerning how vociferous the once tranquil neighbourhood had become of recent and how certain undesirable elements within the community were to be heard carrying on alarmingly at all hours, day and night... and as she diligently weighed her civic duty against simple household economics as to whether to send this latest block busting eye opener by first or second class post, their parents could now be heard broadcasting, if anything to a wider listening audience than the previous newsflash, some of the more sensational episodes of the previous twenty-four hours as to who was pulling whose suitcase zipper now... although in which direction it should be pulled, they both agreed, wasn't for public disclosure at that time... vowing to draw blood well before the day was out, as three lacerated fingers would later testify and that it was only because of the children that they were going at all... but God willing, they would be setting off very shortly with rosy smiles on their faces for the sole benefit of the neighbours, even if it killed them. 

     Spurred to fever pitch  by this latest 'stop-the-press' newsflash, the same public spirited busybody now threw herself wholeheartedly into further award winning journalism and for the second time that morning took to pen and paper, only now directed to the gossip column in the local Parish Gazette, followed by grievous lamentations of impending bloodshed to the incumbent Chief Constable as to how they'd all be murdered in their beds ere long before nightfall.

     By devouring his water bowl, thereby dispensing with the need for it to be washed and by its abrupt and mysterious absence, disposing of all further incriminating evidence as to where the abundant supply of liquid, now surging copiously across the kitchen floor had sprung from... the flash-flood was hastily making its own getaway beneath the kitchen units, leaving Sockeye to his own devices to carry the can on his own, ankle deep in what up until earlier that morning had been sloshing around quite contentedly in Eccup reservoir.

      Having inadvertently released the handbrake in a boyish gesture of bravado, thereby placing himself in sole charge of a runaway vehicle, Sockeye it appeared was not the only member of the Salmon family to have dropped himself right in it that day as Rocky, having unwittingly placed the following ten years pocket money well out of reach and back into the pockets of his parents dwindling resources, had to a far greater extent nominated himself for the same Earth moving experience as the one his mum would shortly be giving Sockeye...

      Having just been granted licence to do whatsoever it pleased, the vehicle began its leisurely rearwards perambulation down the long garden driveway and by way of small thanks for its new found independence took Rocky along for the ride where due to a certain lack of stature on Rocky's part, at no point had he ever been in the slightest position to influence the Holiday threatening train of events which now engulfed him, never thinking to reapply the handbrake... that would be too easy, he perched on the edge of the seat clutching the steering wheel and stretched out his sturdy little legs in an heroic, but futile attempt to reach the pedals as the family car, which up until any second now had been his fathers pride and joy, pitched backwards at what seemed to Rocky, breakneck speed and directly into a very severe and unforgiving brick wall.

     Almost missing this latest round of entertainment above that of her parents most recent exchange, River accompanied by Sockeye scampered outdoors and slap into what could only be described as the most fun she'd had all year as an unsuspecting "what was that noise" muscled its way through the open bedroom window and fell flat on its face in the garden below and which, if that morning to date was anything to go by, then the neighbourhood would soon be tuning in to the latest Salmon family's 'hot-off-the-press' breaking news bulletin.

     Opening her mouth River hesitated as she fine-tuned the speech centres of her young and delicate synapse into full vocal alignment, then adjusting shutter speed from f8 to automatic she closed her mouth... then opened it once again and informed her brother that if the tip of dads size 9 was an Olympic gold, then Rocky would be sure to take first in the 110 metre hurdling event with 'team GB...' and could she have his autograph... with those words of solid encouragement rattling around his ears like the last biscuit in an otherwise empty tin box, River went skipping back into the house to announce the latest newsflash of her parents next financial happening... which she felt certain would prompt further rounds of thought provoking front page journalism.

     A steady two hours drive away, over on the east coast, the inhabitants of a sleepy fishing community were gainfully employed, pretty much as any other, going about their daily business, one such denizen... a baby crustacean, currently marooned by the tide had taken up temporary accommodation in a beachfront rock-pool property of certain distinction, was as yet unaware of a completely different and obscure set of circumstances that would shortly be rearing his slobbering jowls and bring all four paws, the size of dinner plates, crashing down upon the unsuspecting seashore fauna... was determined while she waited to catch the next high tide home, that until such time that the right wave rolled along, would potter about in the little rock-pool, perhaps indulge herself in a leisurely bathe... and catch up on a spot of therapeutic knitting.

     So, placing the days events since breakfast into perspective...  [i]  the vehicle indemnity provider, henceforth to be named 'the party of the first part', who currently weren't cognisant of an impending claim to date, would shortly be laying eggs attempting to squirm out of all liability, due to  [ii]  the automobile, driven by a minor, fortunately for Salmon senior on private land and henceforth, the aforementioned to be called 'the third party, to the party of the second part...' which urgently needed rigorous cosmetic attention to the rear tail light cluster and surrounding bodywork so as to maintain a favourable resale mark-up price.  [iii]  Having been dragged kicking and screaming from the top of the wardrobe, the luggage had rapidly developed cold feet and cried sudden illness in the family, but were being taken to the Wake anyway.  [iv]  Wrapped around the hot water cylinder since the previous Summer, the various sundry items of holiday apparel stood united, resolute as a Union Picket line not be seen dead looking as though they'd never so much as seen the bottom of a flat-iron.  [v]  Both Red and his wife, Tina, despite wearing the same anaemic smile as the one show to the neighbours as they departed, travelling counter clockwise along the crescent so as not to unduly advertise their recent misadventure with the garage wall, were only going for the sake of the children, whilst  [vi]  River and her errant brother didn't want to go anyway dismayed at leaving the television set behind, were already missing their favourite programs, which only really left  [vii]  'mans-best-friend' who, when he wasn't actually hanging over the front seat giving dad big sloppy licks as though... 'are we nearly there yet' or perhaps... 'I need to stop and spend a penny... or you'll all know about it if you don't,' was more than content to be taking up the majority of the rear seating arrangements and with a delinquent wag of his tail, was deliriously happy to be wherever his family were.**

                                                        ­                             ...   ...   ...

a work in progress.                                                        ­                                                                 ­  1862

Tonights the night to party
Not just because I say
Tonights the night to party
Because it ' s the ending of the day
Throw up your hands
and yell yee haw
Grab a drink and hit the floor
Dancing without caring
That's what this party's for

The band is slightly out of tune
But, hey who gives a ****
They sound better later on
When you are really lit
By two a.m you'd think that they
Were Alabama and  George Jones
While you're trying to record them on
Your prissy little phones

This place don't karaoke
You're singing with the band
You're singing country music
It's the best in all the land
No running shoes, just cowboy boots
Will get you in the door
If you come in with a cowboy hat
Make sure it faces to the front
All the dude's they wear them backwards
And they look like a dumb c*

Tonights the night to party
Not just because I say
Tonights the night to party
Because it ' s the ending of the day
Throw up your hands
and yell yee haw
Grab a drink and hit the floor
Dancing without caring
That's what this party's for


You can listen for the steel guitar
It's there in every song
Hey man, this here's a country bar
And steel guitar , it just belongs
There's always background fiddle
Drums like Levon from The Band
Piano played like Jerry Lee
The floor's all blood and sand

You've come on out to party
Now show them how a redneck does
Knock back a few and get up here
And when you dance, you cuss
The music here will rock you
It's American through and through
It's a good old country party
It's all red white and blue

My life ***** im always getting bullied,
people kick me, punch me and hurt me,
this one girl punched me in the face,
i just want to go in my room and die.
i think a gun, knife, hang myself or jump off the cliff.
but my boyfriend stops me,
he said i cant **** myself he loves me too much.
he broke up with me,
i just wanna **** myself,
he cant stop me now.
i grab a knife, i grab a gun, i grab a chair, i grab a rope, i grab a cord.
i wrote a letter to my family.

" I love you all but my life is ***** tell my ex-boyfriend this is all his fault. Dad if you want to go **** him, I'll watch from above.".

Hey you
Can you grab a glass a water for me
Something is in my throat
tickling me like when you elbow my stomach
because I was tickling you too much under the soccer fields
the ones you played on as a kid

Can you grab me a glass of water
My throat feels like my heart is coming up my mouth
Twisting and squeezing and turning to escape my organs
Because my body, my mind, and my heart isn't good enough for you

Can you grab me a glass of water
I need to breath out all of the flames you created
Twisting my arm and shoving me in the room of sorrow
It's so dark in here because this battery you gave me is broken
You see you gave me more negatives than positives
Yet I still believed it would work
Because you said it would.

Can you grab me a glass of water
I need to wash my mouth
From all of the lies you have kissed in my mouth
Take it all back and shove it to all of the guys that you ****** for one night

Can you grab me a glass of water
So I can clear out any memories of you

Come to me, if you will
I need your body tonight
Grab you hard, you're my thrill
Use you bad, treat you right

This old man waited for you
Tell me, where have you been?
Exactly what did you do?
My punishment will be obscene

Your young body belongs to me
To order you how to play
You are my desire, my little mystery
I am the master, do what I say

Come to me, if you will
I need your body tonight
Grab you hard, you're my thrill
Use you bad, treat you right

Yes, those young men are your fun
But you're my fetish, when I call
You've returned, it had to be done
For you always need me, after all

Kneel now, await for my word
Trembling to feel my hard touch
Time for you, yes, time to be good
For both of us crave this too much

Come to me, if you will
I need your body tonight
Grab you hard, you're my thrill
Use you bad, treat you right