My mom and I went out
driving around from bar to bar
a lot
looking for my old man.
Usually we’d find him pretty early on
the drive home, with my mom yelling at him
while my four-year-old *** sat in the backseat
having to listen t it all.

Those were the
good nights,
the easy & calm nights.

But this one night
I remember
better than others.
My mom went inside his favorite bar
with me on her hip.
The bartender told her he had just left.
with some blonde lady.
So we sat in the car and waited.
His Harley was parked out front
so we knew he’d be back.
My mom chain-smoked,
sipping at her icy Mountain Dew
from her green metal thermos.

She had fire in her eyes,
gasoline in her veins.
My mom was really gonna let him have it
and that blonde *****, too, she said.

The bar was next door to a 7-11
Two lowlife ******* were
Standing around
They saw my mom and I sitting there,
One of them yelled at her
“Whatcha lookin’ at *****?”
“I ain’t lookin’ at you, shut the **** up.”
My Mom spouted back, flicking her Marlboro.
They didn’t say anything,
Just started walkin’ away.

Out of nowhere though,
the ****-talkin’ lowlife was next to her window.
He reached in and grabbed my mom by the arm.
I was really scared, I remember.
“Whatcha got to say now? Huh *****?”
My mom reached for her pistol
With her free hand
While the lowlife kept
talking, threatening to **** her in front of her son.
Within a matter of seconds
The black 9mm pistol
Was unholstered and shoved into his nose.
His eyes were as wide as they got.
His hands now up in the air,
he was shaking & trembling.
My mom pulled back the hammer,
it made that terrifying click.
His eyes shut tightly when
that sound came.
“I AM a *****. The WRONG ***** to **** with tonight.”
Be cool lady. Becoolladybecool. Don’t shoot, don’t shoot.”
The gun was now pressed into his sunburned, pockmarked, cheek.
“Get the **** away from my car.”
And just like that, off he ran into the darkness.

I had fully expected her to
blow his head off, right there in front of me.
She asked if I was okay.
I nodded yes and she kissed my forehead.
She stood outside the car then
Next to his Harley
Pacing back and forth
Her adrenaline really pumping now,
smoking and drinking soda
from that green metal thermos.

I don’t know how much time passed,
but eventually
a little red car pulled up.
My dad and the blonde got out.
When he saw my mom he sighed and said,
“Ahhh **** me.”
scratching his big biker beard
with his brown hands.
The blonde tried to go into the bar.
My mom blocked her entry saying,
“Uh ah! What the **** were you doing with MY man, *****?!”
The blonde looked to my dad for help.
“Danny?” she cried.
“Rhonda, nothing happened. I just got some coke from her. That’s all, now chill the **** out...”
“*******,” she yelled.
The blonde again tried to go into the bar.
And again my mom stood in the way.
Now the blonde was ******. She screamed in fear & frustration,
“***** get the **** outta my way."
“You ******’ *****,” my mom shrieked,
smashing the green metal thermos to her face.
Then she dropped it
and began throwing wild punches to the blonde’s face and head.
I unbuckled my car seat
and leaned out the window
watching my mom & the blonde
roll around on the ground.
My dad let her get in a few good hits,
then pulled her off.
The blonde’s face was
red, swollen, and bloodied.
My mom wore a lot of rings.
The blonde stumbled to her feet
and finally ran inside.

My parents argued all the way home
The old man stuck to his story,
that it was just a drug deal.
She wasn’t having it.
They told me to go to bed,
but I stayed up
peeking around the corner,
watching them argue.
The old man was too drunk & coked out.
He wasnt making any sense, the **** he was saying.
Finally she got tired of arguing in circles
and just threw a hard right
layed him out on the kitchen floor.
I ran as fast as I could back to my room.
I could hear her say,
"See? You ******' *******! This is what you get!"
as I pulled my Batman blanket up to my chin.
****.
My mom was tougher than Batman.

Stuck in a ditch
and crying for help
would be so embarrassing
because it is obvious
that all the eyes looking down
hold no interest
in lending a hand
so crying for help
would only show
how much of a lowlife
they make me
out to be.

"Her Name Is ******"
The first time I met Her, I knew right away, She'd be in my life forever. The first time I met Her, She introduced Herself and I couldn't breathe. The first time I met Her...never had I slept so deeply in my life.
The second time I was with Her, it was a dream of bliss and happiness come true. The second time I was with Her, my eyes lit up with excitement and my heart simultaneously sped up and slowed down. The second time I met Her, I knew I would love Her forever.
By the time our relationship became something I craved and lusted for, I realized that I hated Her. I didn't want Her in my life but I couldn't tell Her because I needed Her. And I would do whatever I could for Her. I would steal from anyone I could for Her. I could lie to anyone I knew or loved for Her. I refused to be without Her and nobody would stop me from being with Her.
By the time a year and a half had passed by, and Her and i had now had too many dates for me to count, i awoke one day to stop and look down to where i held her in my arms, held Her in my hands. I stopped and realized i had forgotten Her name. It was something that had been happening lately, my memory just wasn't as sharp as it was before i met her. I looked down at Her and said, "um i seem to have forgotten your name, could you please tell me it". She looked at me and said to me with a twisted, evil smile and a voice like someone who had been smoking their whole life. She said "why Sean, how could you forget my name? Baby my name...is ******. And you love me very much don't you?" I looked down at her, the square piece of foil in my left hand and the pen with which i had de-constructed and now used to catch Her breath in my right, was the woman of my dreams. The black, oily, rolling demon to whom i spoke to, was the one who i had given my soul to.
But she was right, i did love Her and would do anything for Her. I loved her more than the job i lost for Her. I loved Her more than, realizing and knowing that i hadn't showered in days and didn't care. I loved her more than my guitars i used to speak what my soul sings, which i pawned, with no hope of regaining, for Her. I loved Her more...than the woman with whom i was in a 3-year relationship with and who i loved very much with everything i was. But, because of ******, i was nothing, but what She wanted me to be. I did all of these things just so i didn't have to feel the pain in my bones when i didn't have Her. I did all of these thigns, so i didn't have to feel the aches in my muscles when i couldn't get Her. I did all of these things, so day in and day out i wouldn't have to deal with my reality that was crumbling around me. I did these things to numb the pain of catching my girlfriend cheating on me with my best friend. Numb me from the hurt of her kicking me out to move him in and marry him. I did this to hide from the reality of moving back in with my parents and feeling like i was a child again. I needed her in my life to eventually **** all my feelings when, my parents kicked me out of their house because I wouldn’t do what they wanted and later kicked me out of their home and didn't care where i went or what happened to me.
My reality, had become my parents telling me, as i was walking away, tears in my eyes, curses in my mouth, and a ******* machete jammed through my heart, them telling me that i was nothing but a lowlife piece of trash and i deserved to be out on the streets, living behind dumpsters, and that i was a thief and now, since I had come back in to their house with her, it felt tainted and evil. My reality was, my parents telling me that the next time they saw me, would be at my funeral.
My reality was so consumed by darkness, and so consumed by pain, and just so consumed by the reality that i couldn't actually FEEL anymore and all i had in my life was Her. She was always there for me. To take away my pain as i slept behind a grocery store and was jumped and beaten by three other homeless men. She took away the pain of being utterly consumed by the lack of not being able to feel anything except for the overwhelming urge to just die. That after 3 weeks on the streets, and an almost 3 year relationship with my sweetheart, ******, i was so incapable of feeling anything, that i just wanted it all to end. Because everything inside of me that made me human and alive, had already died long ago, and She was just my life support, but i was ready to pull the plug.

When you are nothing but a hollow shell, and doing the same routine of: wake up, smoke H, go beg for change so i don't have to be without my darling, ******, but haven't eaten in two days, so i go to the dumpster where i have a buffet of half eaten sandwiches and old rotten fruits, just so i don't have to FEEL the pain of not having at least Her in my life. I had gotten to the point where i asked my self 'what's the point of living anymore? Why go on?"

And, my friend, it is these things. Life is worth living because after being clean i have a new found sense of purpose and self-value and self-love. Life is worth living, simply, for the sun setting behind the mountains and, for a few minutes the mountains are just a silhouette against the rainbow of colors that is the sky, and it looks like the most beautiful painting that nobody ever did, and i weep. Life is worth living, to sit in a park while you're going through the worst part of your withdrawl from Her and all you want to do is get high or end your life because, that would be so much easier than having to put up with this suffering. When suddenly, you notice the wind move across the grass and bushes, up into the trees and then hear a choir of birds singing, and for a moment, just a moment, you forget about your pain, you forget about your suffering, and focus on something amazing and beautiful and. Life is worth living, for all of the people who suddenly, came into your life and help you and support you, even though they didn't know you before, but don't care because, they see the potential in you and remind you to see it within yourself. Life is worth living....because you're a beautiful human being. And yes, you've made mistakes in the past, but I’m here to tell you, when-ever you feel like you're all alone. When you're sleeping on the streets, or roaming them to try and figure out a way to get a hold of that ***** ******, when you feel like you have zero support. Know this...Know that you at least have me in some way. Know that i support you as a human being, and that i would help and will help you if i can because I’ve been there, roaming the streets, eating out of dumpsters, wishing I would just die, I’ve been there. Know that, even though i don't know you, or that I may have never met you. I love you and have hope for you.
Because, you're more than ******, and you’re more than any kind of drug/ vice. You're a living, breathing, human being with feelings and hopes, desires, fears and dreams. YOU are a human being and you deserve to be treated like one.

It was the December of '91,
and Larry asked me to come with
him and some ladies he knew
from Cameron Christian to
some **** yogurt shop on
Dead Dog Ave.

Three brunettes and a blonde;
at the time
I didn't care much for brunettes,
but god, god, god,
the blonde
with the crystal grey eyes,
the wrinkled floral print dress,
an optimistic ***,
and shaky feet
every single time
I made the eyes.

Sarah and Jennifer (two of the brunettes)
smelled of Glade-Feces-Blanket-Spray,
the third was far too young
to undress,
and I nearly strangled my beautiful blonde
when she mouthed, "Eliza."

I kept talking up the
fact my dad had just kicked me out.
I told Eliza I had the most magnificent
apartment
a bachelor could buy,
she kept averting her eyes,
shifting subjects like
playing cards,
my hands kept clinching,
clasping,
aching,
"Be right back, purty ladies."
I headed for the bathroom
leaving Larry to ******
Jennifer Glade.

I looked in the mirror,
I remember giving myself
a pep talk,
but I can't for the life of me
remember anything I said.

I remember pulling a dwindling
bottle of Black Label from my jacket.
I had taken it from my ******* dad,
the night he yelled, yelled, yelled,
until I was in some low-income complex
with a bunch of lowlife, ******
fuckups.

I ****** off the remnants.
Combed, recombed my greasy hair,
went back in,
just in time to hear
Jennifer Glade spout her stupid mouth,
"Larry, I told you I have a boyfriend."
"He's a ******* idiot."
She started to whimper,
said something like he was a regular sweetheart.
The regulars are so boring.

Larry stood up,
accused her of leading him on,
the acne cashier asked us to "pipe down",
I directed my stare into his acne-framed
irises.

I walked quietly toward him,
I could feel Larry and the girls
tracing my every feature.
"Just leave him alone,"
said my blonde little sweetie,
I turned back to her briefly.
Her skin looked like milk,
I wondered if it tasted like milk,
I kept my feet on track,
redirected the gaze,
back to my heavy-breathing cashier.

I got eight inches away from his face,
he fumbled some words,
that left a bad taste.
I could see my reflection in his retinas.
I looked clumsy and circular.
My milky, blonde Eliza would
never go for a circular **** like me.
This conclusion
coursed through my veins with
irrational speed.

I shot the acne cashier.
Right in his stupid, acne-framed iris.
The gun had been my grandfather's.
He had killed a black boy in the '30s with it.
Got to love legacies.

The brunettes were screaming.
I think Larry was trying to reason with me,
or maybe he was throwing up-
somebody threw up,
anyways,
I shot the young one first.
She had annoyed me most.

Then Sarah Glade.
Then Jennifer Glade.
Eliza began to run.

I jogged after her,
she frantically searched for a phone,
and my milky blonde
found one.

I stopped at the doorway,
rested my head on the frame,
listened to her cry into the handset,
begging for the police.
I opened my lids,
silently strolled up behind her,
with my left hand
I grabbed her optimistic ***,
with my right hand
I pulled the trigger.
She splattered onto me.
I felt successful.

I walked outside.
A silent,
still Austin night,
not even a dog on the street.
Larry was crying.
I told him to shut up.
They were *******.
Asked him for his lighter.
He opened his car door,
dug in his center console,
buried under 6-feet of cigarettes
was a lighter,
he popped the trunk,
I grabbed the gas can.

I erased Friday's mistakes,
and found Larry had driven off without me.
I walked to my low-income home.
I had a lazy Saturday.
Read an interesting story in the Guardian on Sunday.
By noon on Monday,
they were pointing cameras at me.

feeling sorry for myself again,
surprise surprise, I think a lot
they say don't it's bad for you,
surprise surprise, I wonder still
feeling sorry for myself again,
like some crack-addled *****
frustration at every turn, as I see
the corridors of my mind; a dead end
every time, and maybe the migraines
are a true sign of recent times
pain for days, a complete sense of contempt
seeing myself so low, I must mount my eyes
high up in the trees, stitched into leaves
to look down on everything so

feeling sorry for myself again,
surprise surprise, I think a lot
they said don't it's bad for me,
surprise surprise, I wonder still
feeling sorry for myself again,
like some lonesome lowlife
I understand the kettle's whistle,
tormented and brought to boiling point,
tortured by the very talents that give it purpose
am I a kettle or a joke to you?
pain for days, a complete sense of contempt
seeing myself so low, I must mount my eyes
high up in the trees, stitched into leaves
to look down on everything so

He was born on the wrong side of the tracks
a ruffian, lowlife, wastrel
probably addicted to drugs
taking from a society
which was never there for him
"don't end up like him son,
he's on the fast track to nowhere"
born on the wrong side
the bad side
the hopeless side
sitting at the bar
he ponders life
in a glass of whiskey
"where is the right side?"
he asks
to no one in particular
he doesn't understand
why he seems to be trapped
every city it's the same story
always caught on the wrong side

but that question got to me
what's better?
to be a ruffian
lowlife
wastrel
addicted to drugs
or the other
over privileged
a smile bought
at a great bargain
wrapped in plastic
ready to be shipped off
used and used and used
worn out
but there's always a replacement

submission or punishment
these are the lives we pick
and regardless of which side of the tracks
we are born on
we've all made our beds
we're just trying to accept
that we have to sleep in them

We must never **** the spiders
While, they wove their words into the likeness of thunder
You only watch the news to find out
Where the con artist stands,
He opens his mouth and nonsense comes out
He twitters like a bird and the sound of a dog bark echo,
Lowlife, unhinged, bigoted, racists, misogynist,
How do one goes from eating at his table:
To coming in through the back entrance,

And whether it matter to us or not;
We got to see what division can do to us
Some might even say, salacious and ridiculous
I think it’s a game change, with the wars of words
Bishop and knight checkmate!!
your move my dear..
and by the way :
You are fired!!

Laws that get me in trouble.
Mostly for public intoxication
After wandering aimlessly down
Lost streets.
Love I never receive; or gift anyone with either.
Liquor that takes the pain away
If only temporary.
Love fades,
Feelings change,
And the hangover the next morning
Reminds me of why I hate myself
After downing my first shot of alcohol
The night before.
So I start drinking again for breakfast
And the next morning will play out the same.
Endless truths hide behind lies
And luck has never been something I’m  good at.
Life is a game and I can’t ever seem to win,
I lost. I lose. I’m losing.
Over and over again
People call me a lowlife and say I’m going nowhere.
Liquor cures the lonesome for the night
And men tell me they love me.
I believe them.

I hate the word “love.”

Dear Ms. Di Prima,
I really,
Really,
Think that Alchemy—Alchemy--Al-Chem-EEEEE
Is a
Nifty
Topic.
But,
My mother has a ring
Of gold.
Standard Gold,
No lead. None.
Or had,
Until our house was
B-R-O / K-E / N
Into
By some lowlife scumbag with
Too much ability
And
Not enough intelligence.
With Alchemy
I could make a shitload
Of Gold (wasn't that the point?),
Provided I had the
Lead,
And not that
IMPOSTER
Crap in pencils (Graphite. My childhood was a shambles.).
But it's only valuable
Because
We're willing to pay so much.
Like with Diamonds.
Or Japanese Akita.
Or Wagyū.
It's not a lie.
Just a trick.
Making you think you want things that you don't need because it helps someone else who you've never met make more money than they'd ever be able to use in a legitimate way
                                   (HOOKERS AND BLOW).
All of these things are synthetic.
With the exceptions of
Gold
And
Graphite.
So,
       Maybe,
                      Alchemy did work out alright,
Just not in the anticipated way.
We can make all sorts of things.
But they become coveted only when they exist.
Just ask Swipey McStickyfingers.
It actually wasn't gold.
You just got a bunch of painted junk,
And passports.
No rubies.
We weren't international crooks,
Renowned and beloved
By jealous zealots.
It was purely sentimental.
But you can't understand.
You can't fondly look at the earrings as the last reminder of a deceased parent.
You can't flip through the identification booklet and be flooded with memories of your first trip out of the country.
You ******. You can't even cash the savings bonds that were bought to put someone through college.
No. He got a box of documents and some cheap jewelery.
But still. Probably called for celebration. A successful heist
Because his brain is still in his head.
                                                           ­     We create people as well as objects.
                                                   ­                                       Ms. Di Prima,
In the end,
      Some people will always be
     Clasping *******.

It was a Saturday night  in the park
his trees were singing
out of tune
his clay pigeons needed to come out
of his closet
for he was parked
on a stool
at his favorite watering hole
amongst a full house
where pairs beat singles
and there he was
shooting blanks
drowning in his sorrows
on his nine lives of lowlife
hoping for a sitting duck in despair
the kind that waddles right up to the Romeo's
with suspense in their hearts
and spontaneity in their wings
a cackle
that he can tackle
to take home
to his garden bed
for him to be fed
but what he got
was for not, naught, knot
wistful thinking
sitting in a bar sinking
for the jukebox played a broken record
finding love in the wrong places
and the joke squarely was on him
for thinking, he could round the bases
looking no further than the escape of his glows
or a crutch of decoys
and sitting ducks
for he was no Romeo
yet
there he was still, like steel,
a stole away in society
forlorn, preserved
like mamas mothballs tucked away
in basement storage
squandering the forage
for there were no triple treats
tonight for him
or forever sounds grim
for his reality check gone dim
or
no eye candy
for his heart beats
no picnic
for his ****
and all the bottled whiskey
could not drown out his pain
as his eyes were slain
as the sitting ducks turned
from his fantasy corner
phantomlike
and though
he's sitting at the bar, a loner
reminded that in cards of life
pairs beat singles
and in his worn hand
familiarly holds a lonely joker
for it's like he tries
and its
like his sitting ducks
are like hoofed deer
and his little sweets,
are spooked
hoofing
away from his
now darken forest
like red ants at his picnic
and the gleam in his eyes turned
to the poorest
its
its
as if his life and watering hole
was condemned
his garden bed cut at the stem
it is as if he has a red vest on
and a rifle don
and all the hoofed deer
panic
looking at him in fear
like he's manic
or maybe it's his eyes
that hold dark skies
he orders another double
trouble
for what else is there to do
on his Saturday night
than to sit in a bubble
forever sounds grim
but sing him a sweet hymn
he says please
to wit as he steals peeks
at the bartenders triple treats
like a bee to a hive
his joker still strikes a beat
if only he can find a bolster
for his gun needs a holster
and a deer in the headlights
would be hard to find
the confession now told, tolled, towed
through tears
the guy in the bar window
is me, sitting
resigned

Logan Robertson

10/18/2018

Come to see him
when you have no right to
Come play daddy for a day
does that make you feel good?
Run and tell your friends
that you're a father
because you like the title
Put on a happy face and smile from ear to ear
Talk like you know him
for everyone to hear
Talk like you have always been there for him
Hold him as if he would recognize your touch
Watch him through your lieing glazed eyes
and hug him way too much
Kiss him and tell him how much you care
Tell him you love him before you disappear
Turn your back and walk away like he never meant a thing
Tell him your his daddy
when he don't even know your name
I see you swell with pride when you call him your's
when you play with him like you're the one he adores
You're the definition of fake
You're a lie and nothing more
and your son knows not who you are
So tell him that you miss him
And that you'll see him soon
Lie to him again and again
Make empty promises
that will never come true
Laugh at all the silly things you watch him do
Act like your something big
Like your doing something good
Does it make you feel like more of a man?
Does this feel good to you?
Hug me before you leave and tell me that you're sorry
Hold me like you really care and
Tell me you still love me
but don't dare look me in the eye
Because you know I'll be able to see nothing but true lies
You're a drug addict
A lowlife in it's truest form
So go back to your shameful life with your *****
light it up and take another hit
Let it burn and try to let yourself forget
Wallow in your self pity
and hang your head real low
Cry until you drown yourself because
You won't see us anymore
The damage you have done can never be erased
So live with the few memories you have of him
that are burnt inside your head
then close your eyes and sleep with your pride and regret
You have made this bed and in it you will have to lye
Waste yourself away to nothing
as you slowly dissipate
You are nothing to him
and you're nothing to me
so overdose on us as you take your final hit!

Copyright © 2013 by Ashley Rodden

For give me mothers if I take another son away
The ***** shouldn't a tested if my ****** wouldn't spray the K
2 the face
2 the point
Hollows in yo temple *****
Leave 2 dents in yo face like some dimples *****
+
Ugh
+
The devil told me that I'm coldblooded
Semi stoic look on my face n these hoes love it
Ain't got it on me when they shoot imma road run it
Never put trust n no ***** cuz these hoes covet
+
Ugh
+
Im like the black mclovin
Wit a wrap sheet 4 days
Tell yo mans cuz he shovin
N if low keep pushing imma have 2 start bussin
'Nother dumb ***** dead in the streets over nothing
Agh
+
My mama say that idk about the struggle but she don't know half if the **** a ***** toggle wit
+
She only know about a 5th of the **** I did
+
N if she knew me she would call me the apocalypse
+
Cuz I done did mo dirt then a Lil bit
+
N if this rapping don't crack imma cop a brick
+
These ****** say they were its at but the fulla ****
+
Cuz we the only mfs really taking risk
+
When I was 17 I ****** a ***** n she was 30
+
They call it statutory **** but I was hella flirty
+
I know some ****** out south that'll do u *****
+
Razor blade 2 yo face like that ***** birdie
+
Ugh
+
I gotcho sis on my lap
N yo fix in a sack
Text books on my back
Imma lowlife pirate I ain't even gotta act
N my ****** on attack
Lowlife just relax
Ugh
1+2

N I mean that ****
I was blind 2 it all now I c that ****
Imma show u mufuckaz that u can get rich
If yo friends turn 2 opps n yo main chick flip
Ugh
+

His words resounded and echoed
Again and again in my heart.

"I'd rather die myself to save you."
"Of course ... I'm already dead."

My lungs felt suppressed,
And I could hardly push them apart.

"Are you really going to risk yourself
To keep me from the clutches of Oblivion?"

His eyes looked up from their place on the ground.
I knew his answer before it came - "Yes."

For a moment, maybe two, our eyes
Spoke with each other, embraced.

I could hold back no longer. I ran to his black figure
And wrapped my arms around him, the guide to Nothing.

Then those arms, that had held so many souls
Doomed to die, came around me.

How could this master of many
Feel anything for a lowlife like me?

I knew the answer. Because I am the only one
Who has ever loved him.

You may think it's twisted, loving
A master of fate, who keeps Oblivion on a chain,

But,

I cannot help myself.
I suppose it's destiny.

"Take me with you." I whisper softly,
"Don't leave me in this world- I don't belong to it."

I could hardly believe I had said those words.
Yet, I meant them with every fiber of my being.

His eyes searched mine. I could feel
Them trace every line, every curve inside of me.

"You will be subjected into the same job,
The same task as me."

"As long as it means I have you."
I was sick, I AM sick, of the earth.

His voice shook. "We have little time. Already
Hundreds of souls are wondering why it's taking long."

"Please." I whispered. "Keep me by your side."
I needed him, as I still do.

He broke our embrace. "If that is what you desire,
Then first you must meet Oblivion."

I took a step back. "Is that how you gain
Your power - you get it from that beast?"

"This is the only thing that you must do.
Then, we will be separated no longer."

"I am willing to take the risk." Though he inspires fear,
I am determined to stay with him.

Suddenly, I could see the ropes that tie him
To the greater force were pulling, straining.

"I must go. Before I leave, I have one last thing
To tell you. It's important."

"Hurry then. Tell me," I said,
Even though I wanted to keep him there.

"The Meeting of Oblivion can only happen
At the height of the full moon. That's in three days."

"I'll see you then?" I whispered, trying
To keep my voice from shaking.

Wind was back again, whispering
Urgently into my ear, flowing through my fingers.

"No. You will only see Oblivion. But,
After the joining takes place, we'll be together."

He was starting to fade. Desperately,
I grasped at his fingertips. "Don't go!"

The last thing I heard, were his whispered words,
"You know I must" and "I love you."




Now I'm sitting here waiting
For the full moon to rise.

Oblivion and I have never gotten along. To others,
Oblivion is a release, and Death is the greatest fear.

However, I've fallen for one of the greatest
Questions humanity has known.

About ten minutes left, according to Darkness.
Perhaps a bit less, if you believe Night.

If I had realized Death's eyes were on me
Earlier that night, would I have chosen differently?

In some ways, I wish I would have,
But my strange passion keeps me from sensibility.

As I sit here and ponder, and
Tell you my words, I can't help
But think of all I'm giving up to
See the one and only master of my heart.
I see the roses from the past, the mustangs,
The laughter, the mist, the unspoken emotions
That riddle the romantic atmosphere of Night.

It will all be worth it. I'm going to join him.
My only regrets last for a moment, maybe two.

With three minutes left, I'm giving
My farewells to my comrades Night and Darkness.

I whisper to Wind, to tell him I'll miss
His uncontrollable mood swings.

I whisper to all, to tell Ice, when he comes,
That he was my greatest friend.

I know I'll see them all again,
But never in the same way.

Is it worth it -
Going to Meet Oblivion?

I sure hope it is,
For the full moon is at its full height.

Farewell.

Suicide should only be committed once*
So why the hell do I try every couple months
Something's up with the water
I don't feel the rush like I used to
There's no happiness tutorials on YouTube
I laced together my shoes, through them on a wire and convinced myself to sit and think
The kitchen sink's dishes stink
But you are what you eat and I had a helping of insane

Low key lowlife, broke and high under a spotlight
No ice so there's more drink at the drive thru window with my eyes suspiciously low
I'm ridiculously close to laughing what's left of my mind away
I forgot how it feels to feel fine today
It's either *love or hate and there's no areas of gray

*I wish I had a thousand hours to sit down and figure out exactly what the **** that I've been running from
I wish someone would stick around long enough to identify with the place that I'm coming from

Ever scar is a story
Ever ***** has a name
Ever devil has a heart
All I ever knew was pain

N im dressing like a only child
Dressing like a salad *****
Tell if u can relate
Welcome 2 the ballet *****
+
I use 2 wonder if a dream was just a cloud a smoke

Wonder if religion n belief was just some kinda joke
+
Tryna make it but my spirits running kinda low

Never did I wanna have 2 post up at the corner stow
+
Man **** it
Its life n I gotta live it
They never offered me nothing so I decided 2 steal it

N if u ever would wonder
My ***** I am the realest
These others prolly is sick but ***** I am the illest
+
Ma im sorry I couldn't b what u needed
U wanted me wit a future
But I was tweaking n fiending
The city made me a monster
U tried 2 make me a genius
I guess I ain't get the message
Im sorry mama
I mean it

I cast away my narrow waist
Whale bone my rib cage
You open me up to demolition
My voice is silent

As you split the seams
Of a world I was far too fragile for
Living, the flash of liquid light
Turns the horizon on it's end.

The lies you fabricate, a master
Storyteller by design
A lowlife criminal
With overwhelming needs

Don't allow yourself to close your eyes;
To sleep or rest, to look away.
You see, you know,
They all lied to you.

Existence;
Immersed in it's ambiguities.
Meaningless suffering,
Life is unjust.

Left behind.
Drowning in real
Refusing to ignore,
It's killing you.

It is all truly there,
It is all that there is.
Onerous to accept it.
You're creating a war with a reality
Who only seeks to destroy.

Nearly lost elation,  
Thoughts transmitted in times of joy,
Hope at times afforded.
Faint memories of it will linger,
Just try to hold on.

-

You think so highly of such a lowlife as yourself,
Or are you it?
Are you it?

why cant i cry without you being the cause
why cant you leave me
dont try and fix your mistakes
you know my name , not my personality
i show you my fake personality so that i can protect my self from you entirley
your not my mom
you can yell
you can critizize
you can call me names
to everyone else yuor a bad ***
to me you are a lowlife trying tom make herself feel better
i find it amuzing
that you think you can hurt me
that you think im crying because i want to be you
weel im not
im crying because you are so jelous
that your trying to replace my mother
one of the only exzact copys of me
well everytime you call me names
you are just hurting yourself
because i know that i am 3 times younger than you
and still the more respnsible mature reliable trustworthy person
and the only thing important is that i know that
so go ahead try to get me
try to make yourself feel better
because every word
every thought
every smirk
makes me the better person
you cant break my heart because i have a shell
a fake personality
only my blood know the real me
the secrets
the things that would crush you
thank you for making me stronger
thank you for being so low that you make a druggy seem sky high
i was only 10 when we met
but now im only 13 and i feel like im thirty
ready
ready to take on the world
im only a kid
but thanks to you im emotionaly a full grown adult
you need a script
but all i need is my mind
i play it real while you are always trying to be plastic
your blood son already hates you
i hate you
the boys hate you
what more do you want
you drove us away
are you really so low as to drive my dad away to
then the only thing you will haVE
IS A DISGUISE
the only thing youll have
is the lies that you tell everyone
your own mother is under your spell
but im not
im free
on my own
go ahead  do it
lie
because i know the truth

Its like I sit and watch the world go by cruisng to oldies,
feeling new inside, but outside is a face of a man who will attack if you dont know me.
gut instinct is below me homie, piece of mind,
dont change your words if you cant cash the truth but besides that...
See im not perfect I lost ties and made knots that made me fall from my own tension with no intentions to stand even if I can, I cant, im grounded by my mistakes that relvolve around me, reminding me what I did made me what I am.
AS I stay subsiding in a position thats clearily hiding,
binding my chest compressed against my last breath , to save what little life I have left in a world where title nor status mean nothing when your an ******* to those you called your best interest I do confess im that lowlife as i cruise still music speak to my esscense releiving me for those seconds im just a person again but after that im back at it again

..I dont write for pitty so let that be known, im just here to vent this steam that once stood ablazed passion for a love that is now a shack of memories in my head of your smile and gestures a feeling I onced called home now ruins from what i ruined, foolish I am.
Clueless more than anything to let many so many slip away im the worst fisherman of love.
because I use my soul as bait, and little by little i let the big ones escape an take chunks of me away to a place I can never retrieve it, so believe it im that space
im that vessle ive became the shell of a hermit , hollow and skirmish.
Tarnished, and used,
debri left as rubble to make roads,
but none to pave my own cause I have no resources
cause im that alone....****,
maybe I can just leave it for those who wish me back if I do something foolish like giveback the life Ive live, for a plaque and a name and a date?
or should I just lookback and keep cruisin passed the bruissin and showin scars of my mistakes as a human,
all I know is....nothing,
and thats why I stay cruissin, freedom of the road and music,
away from the world and my ruins.



-Deep Though aka
Linguist Musician
aka Emmanuel Hernandez

I have a fear.
It’s something called “philophobia”,
The fear of falling in love.
Some may say that love is a blissful experience,
But I know better.
I see the people surrounding me,
All that fell in love one way or another.
My mother, who fell for a cheater.
My sister, who fell for a lowlife.
My best friend, who fell for the one that could never reciprocate.
I see them hurt and fragile,
Love doing them no good.
They’re on an emotional roller coaster,
Going high and low,
But never coming to a stop.
I fear of ending up like them,
Weak at my emotion’s hands.
So I keep my heart guarded,
For love is something I do not welcome as freely as others..

would you be surprised to know i still dream
of *** treasure troves and storms at sea?
when it's black out and the earth is humid,
waves rush in and strike me down like cupid.
i remember jupiter and selling stars on the boulevard.
whoever you are; my lover, my ****,
call me your good girl and kiss my tears away.

pegasus dancin' as savages ravage my rose garden
and tell me i got everything i wanted.
raspberries litter the ground of my home;
asphyxiating on the smog of a roach.
tell me you love me 'fore my heart can roam;
tail-lights like rubies dash past my eyes.
the sun dies in neon, but what about me?

so bathe me in red, white, and blue.
why can't i forget to dream of you?
killing me softly with your bare hands;
never felt as loved by any other man.
you're so much larger than life,
murderous rage disguised as love while i smiled wide.
i laugh while i cry so i don't feel so low,
but tiger stripe bruises will never fade.

well, everyone loved me until i went rogue.
now they're spray-painting outside my home.
blood drips down slow, molasses and sweet;
the village i roamed now cowers under my feet.
please, mr. rager, won't you spin me a story;
tell me again about your days of glory.
sing me something pretty as i drink 'til i ache.

Mama always told me that he was a no good,
rotten, lowlife
son of a gun

And everybody knew to stay away from him
when the alcohol was running
through his veins

Really though
It was all my fault
For tripping down the stairs

And miscarrying the baby
A bright blue baby boy
Came out silent, so ****** quiet

He was still and tiny
It broke my heart in two
seein' his tiny blue hands

We buried him under the oak tree
In the back yard
right under the swing

I loved that swing

My husband loved his alcohol
and hated my incompetence
and liked to leave some marks on a woman

But I loved him
with all of my aching heart
even with all the bruises that shaded my skin

He was the best thing
that ever happened to me
I took all the beatings and the nasty words because of it

But when he brought home that woman
Well, you'd guess I was pretty upset
But I refused to go down without a fight

So that night I lit a few candles
Put on my best nightgown
Waited for him in the bedroom

Even managed to clean all the dirt
out from underneath my fingernails.
I was in the garden all day

After all it was hard work
digging myself up from under
the old oak tree

Art is an obscure excuse for a lowlife to vent,
speak of how one's perspective is wrong,
as they do not ideas circumvent,
because they are too busy singing their song.
Art is a way for someone to withdraw,
live in their own world,
creating their own law,
complaining of how everything is world.
And with this ponderous excuse that is art,
we become something.g different,
revolving away from the start.
With the beauty that is art,
we can state *******,
to the ones who tore us apart.
With the significance of art we can relate to each other,
appeal to the masses,
but not be a bother.
And lastly, with art, we can learn how to live,
through showing our souls,
With this art that we give.

Slutty *****.
Not enough.
Emo cycle.
One of the regulars.

Deadbeat lowlife ******.

You're a liar.

Decadent. A thief.

Harlot, lowlife, general ****.



You, sir or madam, bring ****** to bed.

You are a drunkard in the street.

You beg, when you have enough.



You, my good friend, have greed and avarice that surpasses all.

Please, take my money and my soul.

You pig.



Any assorted profanity could describe what you are.

You lowly

little

speck of dust.



I can't bear myself to be near you.

You might start to leech off me.

You parasite.



What? Me? What are you talking about?

I'm none of those.

I'm just a hypocrite.

What are poets made of?
is it luck and charm?
or dreadful heartache
that causes them self harm?

What are poets made of?
is it love and dance?
or a soul that withers
from one lost love romance?

What are poets made of?
is it tweenkly feeling from inside of chests?
or a hurtful silence that reeks of deamons
those dark,lowlife pests?

what are poets made of
i'll leave that puzzle unsolved
i'll just say it's a feeling
that make their words revolt

Such was him
Behind those bars

He knew of a much further land
Sun red as blood, snow not that white

Not an inch of dust would filter through
Not a single memorie would find him,
there where he was,
deep down.

Though, he coud have, somehow,
might have asked,
"what shall be my sin, dear guard?
That, the one, to me unknown,
which my dreams far away from me hides?"

"Never mind" said the armoured man;
"why should know such a lowlife,
why should know such a piece of trash,
values him nothing more than living, the clues to
his crimes?"

Might he never be back to his country,
might never again see that red sun,
though for sure

Shall he never rest among dust.

Here we go with more minerals

What have I done to myself

Yes I understand its bad for my health

It's just that I am infatuated with the body's chemistry

My entire existence is just bonding

I feel like a walking science project erupting

When I can't sleep I drink a little diphenhydramine

I lost myself with no where to hide

My mind is everywhere its gone for a ride

Another unsolved mystery from the land of the free dream

Don't pay any attention to me

Just a lowlife in the depths of debt

I do not charge here just free exhibiting

Skipping through scenes for a sneak peek

To avoid nasal congestion I'll spray some oxymetazoline

Drinking distilled spirits that cause impair judging

I can see my heart beat through my stomach

To release endorphins I swallow a blue dolphin

Walking distance between realms when I poison my stomach with fungus

Do you hear that?

The loudest noise in the room

Close your eyes and sync with my scripture

These poetry particles are my brain acupuncture

Cloak yourself like that alien predator

Rest in a piece of earth Grandpa I'll speak to you on the Ouija board later

They told me death was only the beginning

That means the last stage of a human being is not an ending

Life is to live. die. and repeat

I know these poems don't make sense

Everyone can read

Everyone can write

I'm more into making my readers feel
the words just right

Summon a tingle at the tip of your spine

I can not draw you a pair of graphs of paragraphs

Maybe assist you with your own parallel habitat

Adrenaline rush when my deficit attention disorder attacks

I can't speak a spoke of words and I'm stuck

Cold sweat and I'm out in the sun

Take this serum to compress your depression

Don't forget your coupon for the governments vaccination

Frying pneumonia for tonights digestion

This isn't a rap

This isn't a flow

This is not even poetry I'm not Edgar Allan Poe

I'm just like you looking for acceptance in a world of neglection

Addiction offers so many
Glamorous ways to die.
It’s total wonder to me
Why everyone doesn’t try.
You can get almost all of the
Diseases known to man.
No other kind of dissolution
Gives what addiction can.

There’s diabetes, and then gout
And pancreatitis too.
All these devastating kinds
Of hell are there for you.
You lose your toes and hands
And maybe you go blind
Or maybe your very guts
Begin to commit inner crimes.

You lose all morality
And rob those you love.
You hold the drug you take
About fifty miles above
Any care or real concern
For those you may destroy.
You become a liar and a thief
Just a typical growing boy.

Nobody trusts, they run away
And leave you to suffer alone.
Life then turns itself into
Your personal Twilight Zone.
Suddenly your companions are
Just as ******* as you.
You are the lowlife you ridiculed
Back a just year or two.

So go right on calling it
That drinking game you do;
Partying and social stuff
Until you know you are through.
That may not be until they throw
The dirt over your casket.
For now, have fun on your trip
To hell in a hand basket.

she hadn’t been his wife
because her religious family would never
allow their sweet treasure
to marry a lowlife like him

But she had been his girlfriend because
she needed to rebel
against her family somehow

But very little of that mattered now
She was no longer among
the living

and it was her own choice

Enforced by two fistfuls of pills
and half a bottle of 65% proof *****

Her family was beginning
to forget her
now
Suicide was something not even Jesus could
forgive

“I’m stronger than Jesus himself then!”
he shouted in the
hand mirror she left behind
at his place. “I forgive you! And I
still love you.”

He smashed the hand mirror against the wall
and knelt amongst the
shards

They watched him from below
with crimson eyes

Eyes that reminded him of hers when she was
crying in his arms,
talking endlessly about her stupid family who
won’t take mental issues like depression
and anxiety seriously. They said
it was but a phase
and she just needed to grow up
and pray some more. Also, her lowlife
boyfriend needed to go

If only that last
rule wouldn’t have been in place…
She would’ve been here now,
he knew

He reached for the
largest shard,
not breaking contact with the crimson eyes,
and stabbed it deep into
the wrist of his left hand

“Haha,” he said, still looking
at the eyes. “Just like when you took
bathroom breaks from the sermon to video-call me. I… still love you, babe…”