Whenever you think or you believe or you know, you are all a lot of other people; but the moment you feel, you are nobody but yourself.
-E.E. Cummings

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

I don't really know if this is cut out for me. I rather go to Colorado in my singing voice* how I wish I was your lover please_ let's respect one another....

Here are the
stage lights
If you cannot
stand the heat
Bud light
Other seasons
The Four Seasons
Sherry Baby

Delicacies
Diva and Don Perion
Dressed
Navy and bloodshot
Eyes maroon
The fire desire
Only made them
Moon up higher
legacy
The voices
appetizer

Pina Colada
Fireworks Bella Diva
Gondola
Sunrise Prima Donna
Between the Diva
Fireworks outside
Of Lady Madonna

(Moonstruck)
Havana
Fireworks at
her breast
hot singer
editorial
Designer Hermes
scarfed $
Diva she raises
money
Fill in her gaps
Gap Navy
So savvy Honey
Oh! Jesus
Another
genius
Fireman
Rifleman
Joplin
Baby baby
Baby

She stepped
away
from reality
What about
me Robin
I am a singer
World became
my Godly
duty
Miss Mom Judy

The music
All trends
addicted to
shopping
Men %% $
Those  Poppins
Pop stars
Robin bob bobbin
along
She's chicken
Avocado
Comando
Chief Fido

Fireworks top
crooks
The safe box
She cooks
crock ***
Aluminum Clad
Potheads
Australian lads
All spread out in
Chickenpox

Egg Foo young
Cream say cheese
Lox Hip Hop
Sugar Daddy
Pops
Collegiate
Quickie talk
((Chatterbox))
The made hit
singers paradox
Calm me, Colorado
Endless voice

Eldorado
Diva had too many
Stars at the sing sing
of Rosy®
At the check coat Sassy
Tommy can you hear me
Her mouth
mento mints

Extreme bossy
Deep-throat
(Juicy Pineapple
Dole) her

The singer sways
all over him
Dancing Glove pole
If this is the
last thing
we ever do

Designed for a
Diva with
Jimmy Choo, it's
not a
better life
for me and you

******* coo
Lana Turner,
Turntable 4 the record_
Tina Turner
What does
loving a Diva
got to do
with this!!

So tramped on
Diva devourer
He's the observer

Maxwell millionaires

Tantalizing tongues
The Canaries
Yellow Solo
Not the goddess the
Diva Luv-a sun
{Ralph Polo]
Little darlings
Vampire
Diaries
The mad
librarian
BLT Diva VIP
The hell of
tinnitus

D=F ****-Fun
in" D"
Devilology
Diva Fireworks
sanitarium
Disney
aquarium

My sign the
Aquarius
So Forestal Crystal
Forest Hills US
open tennis

We are the
champions
The  sexter pistol
wedding ring
Go, Crystal
He compelled her
Divas revolver
Wild thing makes
my heart sing
And his boxers
make me  
so closer

Diva solver
Frenzy firecracker
pleaser
Who is ready to vote
Songs wanted
love pusher

Diva's eyes
  Maybelline
Maybe all lined
Stadium of voices
titanium
The Diva to
be resold

Too many songs
were sold
Wife trophy
Platinum had
a voice tone

Diva Grand
Marnier
He's the
connoisseur
of mouth's
experimental

Mentally
He tricks you
Singing horse
you just know
won't trick you
A singer is like
a horse

Wizard of Odd
Moms many colors
performances
This land is your
land from
California but
the Diva Islands
flipping
Las Vegas

Nothing is
guaranteed
((Lady GaGa))
Your out
Haha
Stay upright
lights down
out of sight

*Brooklyn Blackout
Cake Ebinger
We were eating
Singing and Guessing

Diva sucker
lollipops
Panic at the disco
To run him over
What R the odds
Getting even road
Steven the Cosmos

The singing
highway
project
Robin was
from Bayview
Project
All Adultery
Bills
Clintons Mastery
No Susie
homemaker
Hilariously singing
Shining like the
shoemaker

Sitting at
the pub
She ordered a
hot steaming
Spa voice
The Egyptian
grains
of love sand
Medler
Fergie Google
Ben Stiller
Singer just
pill her
burlesque

So Cher-like
if I could
change back
the time I would
do it anyway
Jumping Diva
Kangaroo  pouch

Too much Diva
Ouch----
Joe DiMaggio
fireworks of *****
Big wiggle
Opera
Marilyn Monroe
The Phantom
Of *** appeal
Propaganda
Blowing off
competition
nails

But__ dying inside
like a deadlight
Sparkle me
*** lights
That voice
signals
"Neon Nights"
ooh la the
Eifel tower
bowed her
Moonstruck
striking
wallet high Kicking
wages
Got her voice back
to be shot in stages

Her revolver
eight days a week
The real voice
never take
for granted

Genie
The Diva Luv
in her SUV
She was still
singing
And he wasted
his
whole
dinner

But I got
my voice back
Singing
She let her heart out
He turned his head
He said  what a stunner

Free concerts
are full of potheads,
they get all in your ear
and start talking about
the land of milk and honey,
DENVER ******* COLORADO.

The beers cost
15 bucks
for pisswater
and barely a pint.

The girls
all wear pink spaghetti straps
sagging acid-wash jeans,
and a smell like
old milk.

The old people
dance.

the old people dance;
there wrinkly
pterodactyl arms
flapping as they swirl the air
with bad knuckles.

The air smells,
like sweat.

Sweat smells like
toilet water.

Free concerts are usually outside,
so hope to ******* Gaia that it doesn't rain,
because you're stuck there,
drunk and yelling
dancing and laughing
******* and falling.

Matt, Dang and Me.

We spent our summer going to free concerts,

because the girls that go to free concerts
think tattoos and finger-******* and toilet humor
is more ****
than money.

The old people dance with you
performing some type of necromancy
in the air
that brings dead things inside of you
back to life.

And the bud,
it's so ******* sticky,
and it causes a hacking
paroxysm of coughing
to the point that you can
taste the blood in your mouth,

because those people from
DENVER ******* COLORADO,
really know their ****.

I'm A  Poet, Writer Of The Highest Order. When I Put Pen To Paper, There Are No Borders.
I Can Introduce You To The Amazing, Vaccinate You With Hope.   I Can Clean Your Thoughts Like Pope-On-A-Rope.
I Give All Of My Innards My Deepest Insides, All Of My Tears And My Purposeful Pride.
Thoughtlessness Is A Common Malady, You Should Think Twice Before It Infects Me.

At the party,
I saw faces
    painted passionately
In  smiles and laughter;

Eyes sparkling
          like Crystal
In every hue of inebriation;

Hands clapping
     Extended waves
Of cheerful celebration;

Lips smearing
      lavish layers of
Love on captive ears;

Friends toasting
   The Life
With Ciroc, Moët and beer;

Hollywood wannabes rocking
     Bootlegged Ray-bans
In the dark;

Buzzed ex-lovers
         waging battles
Of the heart;

15's smashed
      into 10's,
Flashing rolls of flesh;

Uncle Johnny
    in his Walkin' glory
Stumbling way past 'when';

'83 Hustlers
         in furs and fedoras
Feasting on free treats;

Soul Train rejects
    moon-stalking
On two left feet;

iPhones and Samsungs
     Making memories
For the curious web;

PotHeads
   in the smoky loo
Getting bloodshot red;

At the party,
  The  living colors
   of life
Piqued my creative core...

And
   I saw
poetry
      in motion...

~ P
(#AtTheParty)
3/3/2014

The youth of our nation,
Modern civilization
Young people dying in every city
Reflections of their own self pity.

It's sickening...

Friends selling each other deadly drugs
Pillheads roaming around giving fake hugs
Cokeheads blowing out their mind
Potheads in search of their next find
Tweekers wigging out for no reason
Junkies living in the same dark season
Crackheads stealing even a cent
Addicts never paying rent
Mothers giving up their kids
Selling them like an auction for the highest bids
People ******* for their next fix
Prostitutes on every corner turning tricks

Next thing you know,
It's almost the end of the show.
You are broke, homeless, and full of disease
Can't wake, can't sleep, only cough and wheeze
Your body is aching
While family and friends' hearts are breaking.

All this wasted youth, for what,... another high
Just to get you by
Yet another day,
Should you live this way
You will next be seen six feet deep
Forever is your place to sleep.

It's just sickening...

All this wasted youth.
WAKE UP!

A screaming pierces the serenity of the river valley.
Overturned wreck of a car and splattered, shattered, scattered glass.
A fresh-cut gouge in the dirt embankment where he clipped it
and in retaliation it flipped him on his roof. 
He staggers from the chaos
moaning not from pain, but from the Jaeger, Keystone, and regret
of totaling his mother's car. 
He flees the scene with his homies, his fellow drunken cronies
and the witnesses are left behind, scratching heads and raising brows. 
I among them contemplate the carnage
and I try remembering a different time, ten years ago or so...

This place used to be so beautiful
before the partiers and potheads and Varrio Locos took it over. 
Shallow waters filled with algae drifts and interspersed with boulder bridges. 
Sandy beaches, nature trails, wild grapes, and fishing holes. 
The last free-flowing, undammed, undamned river in the state...
Now it's bloated with beer and blood and bad decisions. 
Not a bare rock face remains, each one caked up in graffiti makeup. 
And the air, once frequented by the heady scent of sycamore
is far too thick with marijuana anymore.
Santa Margarita, choking on smoke and dope and disrespect,
once my heart and home and refuge, now and forever a cheapened wasteland.

That smell is almost as entrancing
as it is disgusting
and the roar of the freeway
that never seems to leave

Hearing a lot of things
that just aren’t there
and I sat in my seat
and felt the building
fall to its side

Hallucinations
are skipping outward
from our dreams
and quickly into our waking life
surely they’re quite friendly

I was once chasing a man
that I knew never existed
and he could run from one closet in my mind
and into the opposite corner of my eye

He dropped his hat,
confused, bewildered
(more or less psychotic)
tripping over it,
my sanity
falling through the
hole in the ground

Right, running:
I was sprinting, actually
my arms are red from the
fences I climbed
barbwire tangled on my ***

Never run through the
wilderness bleeding from
the hands:
mosquitoes
sharks
hungry bears
(agitated potheads)

I chased the man
through the woods
and onto the street
of his apartment

Tackling him
on the
stairs
and burning a large candle
over his feet
so he wouldn’t move

Duct taping pills to his mouth
and trying to keep his face
from getting *****

Jogging from his
body
and to the new stand
quickly grabbing a magazine
I was going to capture him in

Unfortunately
he left his legs
on the
stairs
and crawled into his
room

So I lit his hat
on fire and prayed to gods
that I was now freed

An obvious homage to AG*

America it is time for an update.
I am still sick of your insane demands,
just shut up and try to listen.
America, it's 4 AM. November 5th, 2016
and you have become a shambling giant
crushing us all as you stumble on.
America we have come to a parting of the ways.
America your founding fathers
were rich white men who sold their truths
for power and then ***** their slaves
and whipped the People into shape.
America Clinton and Trump
really are the best you have to offer.
America I am voting NO!
I no longer accept your vicious lies.
The Wobblies and anarchists were right.
To rise from the ashes something
must first burn and die.
America I am holding a Zippo.
America I am thinking about you.
Your cities are scoured by ******;
your heartland drenched in ****.
Your jails overflow with potheads.
Your police have become assassins
who cry like little girls
when their victims shoot back.
Your banks have stolen
all the money in the world
yet I am broke as usual.
In the 60s I actually thought
there was some hope of redemption.
Youth and drugs create such illusions.
Now I live alone with a sociopathic cat.
My friends are dead or scattered.
I am a poet in a country that can't read.
America your brainwashed minions
stare into their TVs, awaiting further orders.
America I don’t own a TV.
America we are well and truly ******.
America once I fought a war for you.
I would never do that again.
America you have turned your guns on hope
and devoured it, feathers and all.
Now that is a Thanksgiving dinner.
America don't you ever weary
of eating your citizens' dreams?
America let me get to my angry point.
I am declaring my independence from you.
I am in you but not of you.
Stick your baubles up your ***.
You have enough slaves. You don't need me.
So long America. I gave you an honest chance.
America, don't call me, I'll call you.

I woke up and looked back at my life
When I went from being dead to alive
A guitar geek on the brink of losing all hope
Nowhere to go, he’s at the end of his rope

Born and raised in a town he called his home
He grew up with the feeling of being on his own
With no direction or hint on where he should go
He left his home to pursue another one that wasn't so slow

He found himself in a rotting city that’s burning down
With the winos and potheads that were never found
The red lights that flash at the A.M hour
With Christ’s last hope hanging by the tower

He met this friend who taught him to laugh, at everything that went wrong
He gathered pieces of his life and put them all into this song
She showed him the light and everything it had to offer
Everything in his life enlightened, its going for the better
Even though she helped him out, no words can express
What it means to be complete mess

He never use to smile until he met this girl
A loud happy go lucky girl who always smiled to the world
Her smile caught on to him and now he’s crazier than her
He’s proud to be an idiot and cheer up others
She brought out something he never had and made it grow
And that’s the story of how Retid became to be known

I take a look back at my life and realize it all went well
I wouldn't change a thing at all
I found a piece of heaven in this so called hell
And now they’re hanging memories on my wall
I wake up and thank God for this life
I wouldn't want it any other way
I went through hell to get to paradise
I found peace at mind and now I've got nothing else to say

He skated the streets and he practiced the guitar
He would sit in his room, hoping his talents get him far
The words would leak from his heart into a blank sheet
Soon the words would be the people that he would meet

Bored at school, 3rd period was the worse
But then he saw a loud girl who loved to curse
She made him laugh, she was an inspiration
She made his head work in different complications
She got his attention and made him never give in
It’s hard to believe cause of her I let my revolution begin

3 years have passed and a lot has happened
He fell in love and got lost in distraction
His friends are the lyrics to the songs
Without them who knows where he could have gone

17 years old his life turned around and he started a band
Some friends came and some of them has faded away
Those friends who stayed seem to give him a hand
That lucky ******* is singing this song today

The morning light ignites my brain
as i ignite my bowl

The only way that i can rise
and climb from slumbers hole

Through rain and rays i hear birds sing
Their notes dance in my head

But fog rolls in
On brain and whim
And potheads back to bed

I always forget
that Bourbon takes longer
to hit me than any other
type of libation, including
palm wine and fermented mare's milk.

This is possibly why I never
drink Bourbon when I'm in public,
except for those few major mistakes
which always resulted in near death.

The problem with near death experiences
when completely wasted,
is that you don't realize it at the time
so that you don't get the adrenaline
rush which you were looking for to begin with.

All that's left of that sort of night
are the moments of sheer terror
in between retching into the toilet
when you remember bits and snatches
of a bar fight or racing a Harley down
A1A in your beat up Honda.

It's moments like that when I wonder
if maybe I ought to have chosen some
other, less egregious drug to ruin myself
with, something mellow like ****** or
au'natural like ****, but the potheads I know
only ever spit up cheesy rap, and let's face it
****** just makes you nod off while ****** your soul.

We all have our vices, I've said before
and personally, I'm okay with mine sometimes.

Much rather have my own personal demons
than ones that I don't know so well.

I still think it's strange when people
tell me that I intimidate them,
always have and probably always will,
especially when women tell me that,
because by being able to say
exactly what I mean and how I feel
is threatening somehow?

I've been thinking about this lately,
the disparity between how I interpret
myself, and how others interpret me;
betting that if I could take a poll to
those that had some fire for me,
they'd agree with Angela that said she
cared for me mostly because I didn't judge.

Who am I to judge though?
It makes no sense to me, for people
to think that just because I stand up straight
and can speak well, I'm sophisticated or superior?
I know my own history, the things I've done
and more importantly not done, so then
how can I look down my nose at someone
whose shoes I've never walked in?

I guess I'm getting to the part that
should have been written about a
while back, should've been examined
and accepted rather than have the manly
thing done to it and buried like a dead dream.

I did care, I could have loved,
probably should have now that I
really think about it, could have had
something worth fighting for in a
place never expected or looked for.

But I'm good at walking away,
too good at cutting people out of
my life when things just get complicated
and frankly, complicated equals very painful.

This is the life I've made for myself,
much as I may hate it, I have nobody
to blame really, since we all have our
choices and we all have to live with them.

So I'll take another shot
and smoke another Camel
hoping that I made the right
decision to walk away once more,
but knowing deep down that
the only reason I ever did
was complete and utter *******.

Trees we hike dark coal
"Horror"
He whispers blade eyes
Cut her not to like
White drizzle wedding
ghostly take a hike
Her bare skin shivers
Knocking on heavens door
Those skinheads hit her floor
Life's cruel wicked costly
Silver bullets hit the smoking
potheads
Chattered teeth hearing sound's
He shifted so close desirable
( tasty mound's)

The Stranger  Billy don't B fool
joker
  Dark-love complicated **** it
Computer slammed her fingers
All Choked up Elvis twist

Deep-house music strangled rope 
 seated,
Touching a nerve dead-beat
Harvest-hair Rocky horror seat
Trembling in your
 Rocking Chair
No flair black tears red tip check
of word fears
Elevated you deadly crumb's
in a row nothing to show

Blood was dripping
Someone's eyes pop-out fixated
Dark brain felt polluted
white chalked her stalked
You were being watched
Eye's stalked daggered

Rows and Rows
Cosmic dark Gothically
Webs caught in webs
black tears
satanically
Parasite horror website
Bood ***** bite
Loud drips from the sink
discolored
Wrinkled Hand's Slime Sticky
Her long neck lastly tricky

Rocky-Road yellow brick
lightly pricked Emerald city
Eye's melt fingers slipped
The poppy, eyes I tripped
He's no lover of mine cheaply.

engaging the clutch
smoothly transitioning through the gears
easing the accelerator
speeding into a new experience
dust trail follows behind
holding the past
in a fuzzy grasp
clinging
to lost ideals
fading in the rearview
unknown curves lie ahead
dangerous slides
rocky passes
potholes
filled with potheads
trading progress
for papers
pushing through the normal modes
I find myself in uncharted territory
new lands
strange formations
exciting prospects
prophetic
seeking unridden waves
and buried caverns
I explore my new surroundings
as a university graduate

I'll pass the joint another time around,
5 years gone by, I can't even frown.

The piles gets larger,
The arguments few and far between,
Life is getting easier,
Maybe it's just me.

Cause in my head, this plant is What I got,
But Bradley died young, I can't give up.

All my friends are potheads, my family gave up,
just another year, stuck in that rut.

Get down rock round and round
Love to her you moan mm girl thats the sound
Dap a pound
Feeling so ****** pick me up off of the ground
Feel the bass up in my chest
Music calling me this ain't a test
If you think you better boy give it a rest
Only got 3 tatts
Spurs hats
Living big you should know it says it on the mat
Of my crib when you first walk in
You know when I walk in the party has begin
We gonna get ****** up all night there just isn't an end
But to much just got me in the morning sick
Them girls saying they want me and want me ****
But I don't wanna **** I tell em to keep them jaws thick
Swerving them lanes
Turn off the lights when I see a gang
Drive pass by and my glock goes BANG
Purple smoke not original dank
All purple even my drank
We call ourselves potheads ***** what the **** do you thank

I don't need
to borrow strength
and confidence
from alcohol,
in fact
I drink
for it
calms me.
it is my
tranquility
for I am
naturally
a
madman.

Hey there, Maurice
This man could take the **** outta pistola
Tall as Yosemite
and twice as wild

Then here's Greer,
Man's... a little queer.
Drinks carrot juice with carbonated soda
Says its good for joints and inertia.

Don't quite know what that means,
But here--You don't gotta know a thing.

We smack the back of railroad tracks
Zoom down the 8 to the 102
And great! Who can we appreciate?

Pretty ladies and dancing lights
red eyes our fill of delight

These guys walk with a gun to their stride
claim to humane:
use hollow-point.

Infused with botanicals
Drinking gin
Beefeater talking heads
Drowning sins

You laugh at them now?
Bunch of rowdy gamblers
Playing dice with life
Spinning their chambers
Faster than you probably could.

there they are!
On Downey street
The place where the hackers and potheads meet

They deal in prose and green cloth!
words and promises and fear of light,

Man, these guys are outta my mind!

And I hither to and fro their
Business stand and hated flair

Told me the world would set me free
That perhaps we'd all get there eventually

But in that mean time
Hollow-points hang their claim
Grasp for cloth and modem dollar
Shackled by a diamond collar

Dreaming of fancy little rocks
A yacht of metal, a house of blocks

I dream of simple things
Of green and flowers and Poppy seeds
Wherein I find that happy guy
and revel in warm alibi

Maurice and Greer
Me and her
She and I,
We'll be there

And there is here,
There I despair
And watch awake with placid eyes

The drain choked with misplaced hair

I can't talk
even if I could why would I?
no seriously, give me a reason.
I mean, when I'm high I can give you every reason in the world,
but in times like these, the lows, I just don't know.
It's like all of a sudden nothing matters except how beautiful the world is
and how badly I wanna **** everyone in it for ruining it.
But that's school shooter talk, my friends already think I'm suicidal, well, they know I'm suicidal.

Sometimes, well times like this, it scares me to know that most, if not all, of my happiness comes from a drug.
Not just any drug. But the most harmless drug of all time, which is illegal for some reason.
I'm not dependent though, I can live without it, I just don't think it'd be very healthy for anyone around me.
I don't want to be another liberal who ******* at society for not accepting what I'm going through and pandering to me,
but it would be nice if you did.

I mean could you imagine it? a world full of people like us.
The "bad kids", rebels without a cause, just chaotic for no reason.
The potheads, loners with the mind of stoners, shaggy and ****** almost every season
The weirdos, multiversal misanthropists with our hearts so mischeavious
The killers, scared kids who just wanna be left alone, but the world keeps ******* with us.

Weird;
first time I'm talking to you and not sounding like a love sick puppy.

I mean everyday I get closer to the voice in my head, the good one, the one who wants me to **** myself
and I can feel myself getting closer to that state of **** it, where I actually do it and take a classroom with me
guess that's why I've been typing this whole thing with my middle fingers.
but I'm not that evil...
...yet.

She used to flaunt around with whispers of whiffs of **** and cigarette smoke sunken into her sweaters and wavy locks.

When she left, he longed for the smell of what he once had, so he started hanging around the potheads and chainsmokers of the campus

But soon, he realized that it was not just the smell of scorched planty fibers that he longed for,

It was the smell of her without and before the addictions,
How sweet and sticky it was in the late summer nights,
How her breath toyed with the hairs of his neck.

But he mostly just missed the presence of another being that could make him realize he is

still here.
Still alive.
Still able to be.

I could have any troubled girl I wanted
They’re just through a phone screen

I could have any stupid girl I wanted
I would just have to sell ****

I could have any unconscious girl I wanted
They’re just at a party lying face down *** up,
from holding too many glasses up,
I mean who could that pass up?
What else do you think a frat does?

Umm gross...

I’ll just stay at home
Which is where?

Halfway through a bottle is a warm place to be
Buds make good friends,
And trees hug back if you’re lucky
The real danger from cigarettes is a rotator cuff injury
From repetitive motions
Ignore the choking
And feed into the cancer machine

If I only had the money
A depression nap at a friend’s house is all I need

I could have any high-school girl I wanted
But now they’re too simple
Just put Chicken nuggets, Veganism, or puppies on a tinder

Or learn your anatomy
And it’s all in the strokes
One size fits them all
And it all becomes rote

I could have any relatable girl I wanted
But now it’s only for the ego
Which is cracking up as I plaster up a new soul-fixing placebo
Confidence from compliments
And I wish I was narcissistic
But just in case you missed it

My facade is splitting at the ******* seams
Dichotomy is our nature
Hitting covers off the *****
We need to chase our dreams

What will lay waste to a mind that never stops is insecurity
Not knowing your value makes it easy to get flirty
Makes you feel twice as *****
When you make someone feel the way you wish you felt inside
But then you take it back to spare them from wasting anymore time
Your brain stuck on overtime, and slow-mo rewind, and the music you listen to mixes with it and all plays back on the same ******* channel

But then you take it back to basics and start ******* around with psychedelics again
Who ever knew that pretty girls wouldn’t always be a head-trip?

I could have any normal girl I wanted
But now I just want a dark room
And silence
If only I didn’t have to open up and make out with her inside it

I could have any girl
If we just breathed in silence

I could have any girl
If my thoughts weren’t so violent
If I didn’t picture insanity
Whenever I look in a mirror and find it
Behind eyes I know have been capable of it this whole time

They have that curios ember
A white flash in a chocolate amber
With that faint ring of purple
And a pitch black center

I wish I could stick a needle in and take that silvery glint out
it’s white hot like the flash of a flint against gun powder
It just wants to make trouble
It adds bubbles to the puddles of personality
And in actuality it’s the only thing that keeps me alive when I wake up

I could have anybody
Except parents who cared, someone who understands,
And people I always made sure stay put
Like a shelf full of dolls
Like that outdoor playhouse
Like I play God

I think the problem through
I have human nature figured out
Almostly
I have myself figured out
Just a novelty
I’m incredibly cheap
Since philosophers are just writers without jobs
And jazz musicians are snobs
Former potheads are slobs
And God is still lodged in the eons of thoughts
When I wish I could take a break from this,
Part-time atheist
But I still can’t ignore he exists!

I could have any face I wanted
But I’ll just press mine up against hers until I feel better

I could have any pillow.
I still favor her sweater

I could have any romantic moment
But instead of love letters

I write poems
And I write them for me.

There were better nights than this. Better than cropping people out of your photos and throwing everything that you are into a cardboard box you lit on fire and watched burn, and coming to the decision that the ******* that hurt you was never going to do it again. You can't do **** about that. But what the **** do you know because by the time you were twelve years old you'd never actually been a child. Since the time you could barely walk you've been on a sinking ship and it was every man for themselves. You would rip your hair out and then cry about it, you've been clinically depressed for ages, your parents had been long gone strangers, and you moved more than any military family you knew of. You didn't see a point in making friends so that made you a ****** person but you didn't know how to be an unshitty person because you've never met an unshitty person. You knew potheads and people who did ****** and never thought anything of it because that was all you knew. That was how you were supposed to grow up. You'd never "found god" like a lot of people seem to. And school just seemed to make you even more of a *******. Everyone you had ever trusted bailed or snitched so you just stopped giving a **** about anybody else but yourself, and you didn't care if that was selfish because you were just trying to survive. There were better nights than this.

There’s no good men out there, Mamma says,
then yammers on ‘bout my dear Daddy who left us
for ***** and other women.  Never even phoned
once in those twenty-odd years before he dropped
dead of cirrhosis in a ****** downtown hotel.

There’s no good men out there.  Big Daddy
beat Gramma. Knocked a tooth out once, called
her “Dumb Swede,” ‘fore he ran off with a girl
of seventeen.  Then Andy who lied, spent Gram’s
job money.  Third one was a crotchety, mean drunk.  

There’s no good men out there.  Great Uncle Harvey-
never the same after the war.  Nothing but a dirt poor
farmer.  Strayed down to the gin mill most nights.  No
indoor plumbing, all those long winter nights racing out
to the old outhouse, dodging piles of chicken ****.

There’s no good men out there.  Sister used her long

string of them as good example:  potheads, speeders,

one musician, and that Mamma’s boy vet who hears

choppers overhead and needs five Jim Beam’s
for “medicinal purposes” ‘fore he can sleep nights.

There’s no good men out there.  Doctor made me recall
a few jokers of my own: G. who hated working, oh yeah,
and Rob with his 6 DUIs.  Surfer dude, Joe, high on fiberglass,
that well-heeled tight ***.  When Doc called my latest
nothing but an animated *****, I laughed so hard I ‘bout cried.

There’s no good men out there.  Seems like every gal I know
says there’s no good men out there, anywhere.  Maggie’s John
screws any babe who gives him a second glance.  Sue says her
Frankie might as well be mute. every man alive's a dumb ****.

But hey, all’s I need is one.

From the outset I was cynical
perceiving he feigned dominical.
Deceiving, he reigned as principal
of the high school- ordained invincible.
Father Tully, tall with a big belly
flocked to the jocks
“hungry for their *****”
we potheads did mock
Evading his attention, we outfoxed.
He openly patted their *****
boys from all the classes.

I at sixteen once again in trouble
was sent to his office on the double
- his sacrosanct bubble
just for me and him - an unlikely couple.
He pretended kindness bluffing pardon
but intended vengeance stuffing a hard-on.
His simulating a comforting smile
was just guile churning his bile.
His arm around me in a faux embrace
peering up to his face seeking his grace
I realized this wasn’t my place.
His hand lewdly moved to my buttocks
his countenance drowned to a treacherous frown
his tongue slivering - a lecherous clown.
With his mouth agape
thinking an easy ****
but oddly lulled
that I was expelled.

Jeffrey Schmitz

time and time again
i catch myself attracted to
good for nothing potheads
small time criminals
boys with daddy issues
(sometimes even mommy issues)
boys that don’t want to be better while i’m around
boys that want to dig themselves deeper
boys that’ll be better for a girl that matters
and i’m just not that girl

The Billy Goat barley wine went down like a lead zeppelin  
in concrete shoes. Fog crept over the world and words-
were tumbling out of extroverts as the party bedazzled
on the spacious patio, with the forever Christmas lights
and the gas grill and a workhorse keg.

Everybody's darling and
the potheads ponder
in indiscrete pods of
perpetual laughter-
sipping jaeger and pabst
in tribal tattoos.

My mind wanders off
as I lean on a pillar of cedar-
facing a sunset seam that
lay upon the horizon
like a lost dog.

I thought i might listen to my friends from a distance
and glean the hieroglyphics of their posture
to gain a sober understanding
of their shenanigans.

Thereby affording me
a vantage point
with a point
advantage.

But alas, always-
a wallflower in a hammock
doing calculus
with chatter and
variables….

like Everclear in
Pineapple juice
or Colossal *******
like Chad.

I don't do drugs
The jukebox plays my tune
As the uncertain potheads steal my flute
The neurotic mother is still after my case
When will I get my own flower vase
My girl doesn't stay forever
My home is for the lonely wanderer
Who belongs nowhere
He just wants the money for the next day
The usurious politicians are killing me
The burning forests are dying
The government hasn't spoken
To stop me from speaking
They cut my commerce