Garments stripped from worn bones and weary mind
Feet dragged on tile; hands grasp plastic veil
Stepping into a tub; near swoon divine
A pure, naked self emancipation,
before the squeaking running metalware  
that erases the daily equation.
Dancing, singing tunes of own devices:
Cupid, Shooting Star, Sister Golden Hair
Rocky Mountain High, American Pie
****** bosses gonna kiss ***** here
Astronauts, cowboys, and rockstars meet here
Best yet, the individual is here

Although merely hidden by a curtain,
all for your view is but a damp shadow.

I get accused of a lot of things at first glance

"You're simplistic, you're hiding something

You have no convictions, you don't think deeply"

Usually by those who I consider to be on intellectual crutches

If you're gonna come up to talk to me from a religious context

from a spiritual context

from a hierarchical, metaphysical, eat this **** popsicle mindset

Don't expect me to swallow

Don't expect me to talk

You won't like what I have to say

Because really you just want me to agree with you

If you want me to respect your framework

When you have nothing but the claims of quacks

and the feelings you gleaned from your last psychedelic trip

to back you up

While I have to sit back and listen to how I'm close minded

Close minded for wanting some real truth in this universe

unfiltered, raw, verifiable, and in my hand

and that anything other than that is a spray paint over

my true awakening

Then I guess I'll just have to be that *******

to die for these intellectual sins

The Eldest Son of Matt, hater of pretense

Hypocrite to the highest level

Build me up into a figure of idolatry

Just like you do with the rest of your ego cases

Priests, Gurus, Rabbis, Rockstars, Poet sensations

Tell me how wonderful it is to listen to them

Tell me how I should be more in touch with a tree

Tell me how I don't dream

When all my life is but that

Tell me how I'm not deep when you make no attempt to learn

Who I am, and where I have come from

Misinterpret my teachings, and claim me to feel

As if I was the newest son of god

When all I want is for people to get beyond blinders

and love each other, and to get beyond the metaphysical rat race

Tell me that I'm supposed to live and let live

While you jam your beliefs down my throat

and expect me to respect getting philosophically tea bagged

******* to the crucifix

and asking me to repent for my search for truth

rockstars break hearts.
they write about feelings
everyone has.

you want so badly to tell them
how much those composed
lyrics mean to you,

but there's so many other innocents
out there who want to do the same.

you want them to really know you.
you want them to know that connection
that you have with them.

the only way you can meet them
is through a stupid meet and greet
where every other "fan"
tells them the same.

all I want to do
is smoke a cigarette with you
and thank you for the lyrics
that saved me.

but I simply can't.
not being able to meet you
simply breaks my own heart.

-*KM

Hall of fame
For the poets whom have left and came again, to those who
Write by the wire.
Cell phone
Tablet, computer
Laptop hot shop aquire.
For you who sleep and write
For those that write and fight
For you who are ordinary marksman like me
Hall of fame-your all in it you see.,
And the most incredible thing.
Is how incredible and awesome you all are
Poetry's greats! 2016s rockstars.

it were the city nights I fell for, the cheap parfume you smelled like

if life was for the living and living was for the dead
than what is the space inbetween.. hate and love are not the same thing
and maybe a long time ago someone should have told me that

feeling like an outcast was like sitting in a train with no destination
you always felt useless, rain was falling that day, like it always did
the times when she was sad, she was so miserable, she felt nothing.

the childeren of the light always were afraid of the darkness
we were never afraid of the darkness because so far as we knew
we were the dark, the kids to be afraid of, the bad youth, the wolves

nobody ever wanted us and thats why all we ever had was each other
and the rockstars who sang along the broken words of songs with us
the tragic melodies were the only sort of comfort I found at night..
when you my bestfriend just as wasted as I am was sleeping..
I needed them, my idols, their voices, the music, to keep me breathing

and maybe we lost her that night for a reason wait no many reasons
it was all meant to be, the shouting and crying, the need to die..
it was a bigger part of our lives, all of that than she will ever be

the girls who had to much alcohol in their blood at night, to much fun
were also the girls who cried to many tears at daylight, to much sadness
we never knew how to handle ourselves, just seeking for aception..
a person who would give a **** about us, someone who would care

life was sad darling, you were so sad, I was so sad, everything was sad
but all the sadness never stopped us from having an amazing time
we needed each other to be happy, I needed you so much..

now it is just us again, you and me against the world
and I think it will always be just you and me, just us
and for me that is okay

because I wouldn't want to make all these memories, these adventures
with anybody else but you, my bestfriend, my sister, my everything.

I remember when MTV was in its prime,
A new voice to represent the new boom
Babies growing up since the 80s
Louder still through the troubling decades
(Maxed out credit no head room)
After —the punks in nirvana and rapping clergy
It was the only channel on
Youthful rebel yell —honest news
I remember it pretty well
Shaping us generation x y and Personal Jesus
New wave good bye to when
Childhood then without pain of malnourished
Africa or nukes threatening our
Cruel summers
Were we happier then?
So what happens to the music
Rockstars rip van wrinkle
Geriatric hall of fame

(No one lives forever
Reruns with the ****** & mr. Ed
Now that old neighbor’s dead)

Television
Nowadays
Seem more gangster
School shootings terrorists
On the train, kamikaze planes,
It’s all the same ole
Bling kablam oh bits
******* please
Redirecting our attention
To WMD
***
Where the hells are we?

I remember back then
On MTV —Nicki Minaj says
Between the hysterics of police brutality
She said Happiness is living your life
Without struggle,
That stuck with me
Because we all watch the tube
We all search for meaning
Sadly defining what happiness
May look like
Real World and paradoxical reality
TV
Para socially defunct
Clarity
Conditioned to continuously
Stay tuned
Brief message of empty
Hypnosis a pure form of business
Wall Street
Boulevard of broken dreams
I want my

Happy. What do I mean
To be?
Life ***** lately
The human condition
Talking too much
Refusing to see
No more talking heads too much
Bla bla *******
I want my
MTV . Happy .
My generation
We are the world
freedom And yes, Peace.

Man kindly as one
Symphony
And street, a melting ***
Of diversity

I remember the music
The future
I had hope to see
Behind the shades
Circa 80s 90s
(Fossils)
What time is it then?
When will we
Begin
Again

Don’t worry be happy
Run Forest run!

he is poisonous like cyanide
his voice is like an angels
mixed with the devils
so beautiful and pristine
the way he strums the guitar
like a music machine
pulled me under the sound of his song
letting me drown in between piano keys
he slicks back his hair, with those perfect hands
then plays a rock and roll tune once again

Sipping from a glass
wearing a false label -
dining with kings -
but at the wrong table.
It started off holy -
it started off right -
they never noticed
the light fading to night.
Girls in short skirts -
beauty of face,
added to the pride
that seeps in the place.
Take the stage,
forgetting who you are -
just wanna-be rock stars, worshipping guitars.

During my second trimester I felt like getting some fresh air.
I went out cycling through town in the warm sunny day.
Observing the comings and goings of people all around.
The flower cart on the corner, lent a lovely lilac scent to the air.
The street preacher was shouting out his testimonials,
trying to recruit believers to his cause.
Further on as my pedaling took me, I saw a group of boys.
They were pantomiming their favorite rockstars.
Strumming the air for all they were worth and
Jamming to the silent music in their heads.
Down the block past the Bakery, smelling of cinnamon buns,
was the museum.  My favorite place to stroll on a quiet day.
The gregarious doorman always wished me "A fine  day, Madam!",
as he ushered me into the foyer. He always wore that silly hat that makes me smile.  
And, of course, he kept an eye on my red bicycle by the door.
Making my way through the corridors, observing the sculptures, paintings and artifacts.
Wondering at the archaeologists dinosaur finds, mounted above and behind the glass.
Finally, on to see Pandora and her ill-fated decision to open the box.  
Letting forth into the world all manner of toxicity.  And then, again, opening the box
she set Hope free so we could cope in this danger-laden world.  
Ending my museum tour, I contemplated my coming child
and what he would find to make him cry or hope or love
in this world, as I slowly pedaled through the spring infused day.

So you're riding in this car, and you feel this kind of feeling. Like the wind is softly caressing your skin as curtains drawn over a freshly opened window on a spring day, blowing in soft spurts up and down your skin, subtely undulating to the ryhtym of natures heartbeat in harmony with your own. At a stop sign, it's second nature to stick your cigarette out the window and flick, but at full speeds you should have known. You should have known that the sheer movement all in one direction would be enough to wipe that ash straight away, revealing a new and beautiful burning ember, bursting with life and oxygen, beckoning up at you with the long lost pleasures of your most recent inhalation of life into those black heavy lungs. You stop to think and realize that life, with it's many shortcomings and speed car races, is a mysterious enigma, with an ultimate prize when you solve the puzzle.



But that last puzzle piece, oh how elusive it remains over the years. Be it love? Or loss? Perhaps musical inebriation or an exceptionally deep relative conversation with a complete stranger. The kind that leads to dancing eyes and an incredible variation of ****** expressions that you hadn't even thought possible from the tiny muscles below your cheeks, pulling the strings from somwehere up above to show you the right complexion to wear at any given moment or pause.



I still think that love must have something to do with it. More intoxicating than the ripest wine from the most exotic vineyard. More majestic and mystifying than the school bus ride with your fresh smelling brand new pleather/plastic superhero backpack and matching shoes on your first day of school back in 1995. More powerful and tumultuous, yet unpredictably moving, than the first time it hit you like a ton of bricks remembering in mid adulthood that some place, some where in time, you had a real home, with a real family, with real holiday tradtitions to celebrate and commiserate about each and every year, but that's all gone and done for. Yes, love must be involved some how, the invariably escapable little *****. She must be hiding somwhere amongst the tree lines and leaves, the rivers and valleys, the shooting stars and comet tails brightening the dull black of night. Yes. She must be somewhere.

Maria Yuryevna Sharapove
Cuantos amore y tu?
De Donde eres?
Soy de Estados Unidos, un poco en la Florida.
Es muy bonita aqui, Yo pasar vivir en Tampa, FL.
Currente en Orlando, FL.
Sus ojos me gusto muchas.
El feo es muy beauty-full.
Las flores de unas manifestaciones have certainly done their NUMB3r on me.
Die.
Fur.
Ewigkeit.
eternity.
Everlasting.
eruptions.
Elliter­ation eh?
wet Yet?
I bet you sweat for a Poet?
I certainly hope you adore an actor.
I beumse you to be a mused by musicians musing over you alone.
Marriage isnt so tough when you I toughed it out this long.
Have Your Veins ever felt like Runaways?
Meow.
Me, OWWW?!
(;
peace//love
X//0
sugarpova?
sharapova?
more like supernoavs!
excuse me
supernovae
eh?
I could do this alllllllll day (:
Wuv youuuu
Lov u?
I wish I knew russian
Yuryevna is the only world I need to understand.
The sun swirled my whole life
Arent you the sun incarnate
and
immaculate of course.
we gloridifed all the benches
killed all the 'rockstars'
I Am augustus, antony, another one?
it goes on
ad infinitum.
I have a perfect soul.
So do you.

'I want you to notice when Im not around. You're so very specialllll :(

I wish I was Special

But Im a 'creep?
Your the creep!

Your the ******.
But its okay
I like 'Polka" dots.
Ill 'CRUCIFY' you wink any ******* time you want. BELIEVE ME.
Now
Testify

Run
Run
Run
RUŃÑŃ Uhm
Are we done yet?
Nope

"Whatever makes you happy, whatever you want, a child as soon as possible of course. Youre beaitful. The most beautiful princess a 'prince' of 'peace' could corrupt. (;

Lets Let Love LIE, Live.

Everything in its right place Maria.
I know Im a Tangential Thinker, diagnosed by Grace itself.

Ive been through prison, kail, solitary confinement.

and guess what

it wasn't all for you
but it was and i never knew

My lost lenore.
Quoth the Raven.
ALWAYS.

Wake up on the bed with three girls sound asleep
Stare at the ceiling for an hour
The Whiskey bottle lies near my face
Best get up and get a shower
The syringe lies on the floor
My arms are white with dots of red
It's a miracle I suppose
That's my hearts not decided it's dead
Rehearsing at five this evening
I'll throw the ladies out then
Then go and see the wife at home
She has a bad taste in men
My father has left me a message
Telling me I'm such a disgrace
Well wait till we have a hit again
Wipe that smile of his fat ugly face
Pastor James Jackson what a lovely man
Hypocrite on the quiet
The things I could tell about him
Would cause the press to start a riot
I remember when I came down for breakfast
And he held my mothers head in the sink
Told me to leave the room
He was hurting her I think
I'm depressed thinking about it now
Last years bike crash was a near miss
But today I might just end it all
And then give my lovely mother a kiss

somewhere in hollywood along route 66
stood a cheap motel—
an asylum
for rockstars and their groupies,
artists and and poets and strangelings alike.
the morning only saw its residents,
drunken and drowsy,
and its black-tiled pools as dark as the night;
yet the nights were its prime
when the artists would gather
in the name of music, dance, recklessness.
the syringes would pierce their skin
and the alcohol like ocean waves
washed out the most of them,
and events too unspeakable were the norm.
the motel never attained 5-star ratings,
but it become the playground
for fleeting moments, wild nights,
brewing grounds for creation.
these nights were so loud and colorful,
but only remembered in hazy visions
and muffled sounds.

and so all those nights end here, today:
at the south of The Strip
where some modern, ordinary hotel now stands
once used to be the mess
that the likes of Jim Morrison
and Tom Waits called home.
its guests would have burnt it down,
but they would've wasted their money,
and who has the time anyway?

ladies and gentlemen, the tropicana motel—
a stop over where
wild minds and wild hearts would meet
and eventually go their way,
the place where these legends
of music and madness
came to play.

the first time i went to a real concert
i thought my heart was so full it was going
explode all over the speakers.
it was a ******* patronus moment,
you know the kind of **** that’s gonna drive away
all my demons like thieves in the night on buses out of town
when i think about them now.
and you know how hard it is to find somewhere
where the people don't make fun of you
for singing the wrong words?
because listening to the same music is sort of like
instant camaraderie, all of us singing off-key
to the same beat,
even the jaded twenty somethings
who complain about how all the music theses days
just has less words and more synth.
we’re all hearts without ribcages tonight,
and i didn’t care what they said because
i swear i didn’t even feel the broken bottles
under my shoes when i was walking home after that show,
i was so far on cloud nine.
it was like the best kind of high
only i was sober as **** and i didn't need to
take anything i was offered
because it felt like i already had it all.
and i knew what to do with my pain now:
take it and dress it up in it’s friday night best,
make it into something everyone will know the words to
and suddenly it’s a lot harder to hurt you
when it’s not still rattling around in your chest
like parasites disguised as butterflies.
and maybe i’m not punk rock
enough to rock a mohawk,
because to be honest the only band
i’ve ever been in is the marching band,
but i still got **** to say even if it doesn’t have a chorus
and my pen’s bleeding ink all over my kitchen sink,
because i’m not afraid of myself anymore
and i’m not afraid of being alone anymore.
and i never had a punk rock john
or any type of pete wentz guru in my life
patching up my knuckles,
just the music
and it was enough.
so i think i’d rather watch people cough up
their hearts onstage
and come home smelling like *** i didn’t smoke,
X’s still on my hands,
than cough up mine in the bathroom,
in my bedroom, all alone like i used to.
just because i’m not afraid of being alone anymore
doesn’t mean i really want to be
and kids like me we want immortality so bad,
why else would we write?
why else would we go to concerts,
spend all our money on experiences?
so maybe that’s why
i’m spending all my money on concerts tickets
because i know we either grow up to be rockstars
or parents sending our kids to their shows.
there isn't much in between.
and i want to scream myself hoarse
before i run out of breath.
because tonight we’re all just kids at a concert,
pressed in on all sides and dancing even though
no one has enough room.
we’re all just singing about the same things tonight.
because life is a lot like crowd-diving,
it’s scary and i’m not sure i’m cool enough for it
and you can’t be sure anybody’s going to catch you.
because when you’re fifteen,
i think everybody thinks about
getting the hell out of their veins at one time or another.
when you’re fifteen,
i think everybody thinks about
disappearing at one time of another.
and i think inside we’re all kind of still fifteen sometimes,
whether we’re twenty-one or forty-five.
no matter who you are, sometimes you wake up
and you’d give anything to be somebody else.
and sometimes we’re all kids about to get trampled in the mosh pit,
but you know the rules:
when you fall down
somebody’s gonna pick you back up
if you don’t get back on your feet yourself,
i promise.

Fifth of March,
Innumerable things could have been done....
Belly dance classes,haircuts,shopping...
I could have gotten a tattoo...
Taken a random bus to a random city,
Could have fallen sick,got killed in an
accident,
Visited friends,gone to a
pub,a movie,a play...

But,I didn't do any of this...

All I did was come to you with a Thank you...
With sweetness,caring,courage and smiles...
And you did the same...though not needing the courage...
But you made me nervous with your words...
You spoke like you were doing the world a favour...
That it was a privilege you bestowed on a lucky few...

How Rude! I thought...such arrogance and yet so alluring...
I felt like a fool...what was i thinking?
How could one be arrogant and alluring at the same time?
With the same intensity...?
But then I remembered who you Were...
And i started to travel back in time.......
Inscrutable eyes,spellbinding sounds,nimble fingers...
Liberation....from the cycle of rebirth...Salvation...

Fifth of March,
Among the things I did was that I saw You...
and saw things i never thought i'd see again...
But this time around the eyes were tender and caressing....
The sounds still bound you....the words left me wanting more...
and the fingers...Aah! still nimble and expert...
And I realised that You would always be the same...
despite changing the landscape of life....
A Rockstar...and such...

"I wouldn't know what to do; I think I would just rot in a corner," replied Zandra Rhodes when asked if she plans to retire anytime soon. The 76-year old British designer who was down in KL (it's her fourth time here now) for the recent KL Alta Moda held at Starhill Gallery where she showed a collection of beautiful songket pieces alongside her signature chiffon print dresses, shows no signs of slowing down even after an extensive six decade-long career that has seen her dressing both rockstars and royalty.

Dressed in one of her designs – a stunning midnight blue, tiered kaftan dress covered all over in gold squiggles, huge pearls and her trademark fuchsia bob, red lips and blue eyeshadow-rimmed eyes, Rhodes maintained a spirited, bubbly cheer at Ritz Carlton where we finally sat down with her after stealing her away mid-tea with the crème de la crème of Malaysia's society.

What's the story behind the collection that we've just seen?

We did a collection initiated by Dodi Mohammad – one that really focused on songket. We chose lovely iridescent greens and pinks, and various groups of clothes. Then I designed and worked on the weaves to make suits and short dresses. It was really to give it another look. Three quarters of the collection are made up of Malaysian songket weaves.

What about the archive looks that you included? How do they relate to the new collection?

I had students who couldn't believe how people were copying the things that I've did in the past – like the pink dress for Princess Diana or the gold dress that Pat Cleveland wore dancing at Studio 54. They suggested that I produce the collection again in a new look, so we did that for Matches Fashion in UK.

Your AW16 collection is said to be inspired by Studio 54 back in its heyday. Would you be able to share with us an interesting story of your own at Studio 54?

I remember with shame going to Studio 54 when they reopened. I sat down in the corner and I was so tired, I fell asleep. I'm sure I was the only person who would fall asleep in Studio 54. I also remember lots of times it was like the parting of the Red Sea when you went in there with Bianca Jagger or Pat Cleveland.

Could you tell us about the Hieronymus Bosch-inspired prints you created for Pierpaolo Piccioli's first solo collection at Valentino?

That was one of the most amazing experiences in my life. He flew over with two of his assistants, opened the Hieronymus Bosch book and said he wanted the collection based on that. And I'm thinking, "Do we want naked people all over it?" It was a fantasy look that I was completely overwhelmed with. I came up with five or six initial ideas and he would look at the things I did and say, "I like your wiggle" or "I like this." Finally, he looked at one of my designs – a lipstick design I had done in 1963 – and said that he wanted daggers and hearts, so we turned that into daggers and hearts and it was wonderful.

Is there anyone else on your collaboration wishlist?

Oh gosh, that's difficult. I think I really just pick and choose. For example, we're currently working on the idea of me doing a print for Anna Sui who is going to have an exhibition in my museum in London. We're going to do the print here in Malaysia using Malaysian fabrics.

Your dresses have been worn by iconic stars from Princess Diana to Pat Cleveland. If you could design an outfit for a current It girl, who would it be for?

I would love to do something for Princess Kate. It would be fabulous to do something for her. She always looks good.

If you could describe Malaysia as a print, what would it look like?

Mad Malaysian houses! I love looking at these tall blocks with curved roofs. I've done a Manhattan print but I think I should do a KL print. You'd need to put the Twin Towers in. I think there's room for a lot of things.

What projects have you got lined-up for the future?

At the moment, I'm designing for the Turandot opera, which is about a mad Chinese princess and a pair of lovers that get beheaded. It's wonderfully mad. It's due to be out in San Diego in 2018.

You've been working since the 60s, any plans of settling into retirement soon?

I wouldn't know what to do; I think I would just rot in a corner.

What inspires you?

Wonderful people. I think it's one's friends. It's very important to do something and exchange ideas. I also love traveling when I get the chance. It's really a case of seeing how far my adventures can take me.

What do you think has been the key to your longevity in this industry?

I'd say longevity is the result of hard work and enjoying what you do. If you do something and it doesn't succeed, you pick yourself up and have another go. You never give up.

Describe yourself in 3 words.

Pink, short, makeup.

What would your hair be if not pink?

I think it will be several different colors. I see all these people with all these different colours, I think I might try that next.

What's your hobby?

Cooking and gardening.

If you weren't a fashion designer, what would you be doing?

I don't know, I don't have time to think about that.

What's the best advice anyone has ever given you?

Oh, good one! Be careful who you step on going up, cause you might have to lean on them going down.Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/one-shoulder-formal-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/red-formal-dresses

There are                no teeth in my apple
                 and my lost love takes pictures

                                     with backgrounds that I spy
saturation in. She misses me,                                 I know it.

  The litanies of street performers, and go-go rockstars--she shares the same
plea.                          But I do not know if she uses the same words.
                                  But I hear their rhythm throughout the film.
        Graffiti dollars nestled in the dark of my wallet--preparing for the rocks.

Spinning sights and broken tongue,
Buzzing mind and punctured lung,
Blotted ink and battered word,
Confusion nearly all absurd,
Incomprehensible speech,
Brain draining leech,
Lost in each second I stand,
Breaking the land,
Earth-shattering sounds on repeat,
Static shock in the feet,
Losing all my stability,
No more time feeling free,
The gear don't grind the way they once did,
The thoughts and the pain of which I cannot rid--
Myself of inside,
The rippling has died,
I use the same rhymes,
The same sounds are my crimes,
I can't find anything fresh,
The old and the new just mesh,
An endless war in cycle,
The past holds on as a barnacle,
Dead and decrypt--
Yet a living enigma the bites,
These are just not winnable fights,
I hear the tunes and raps each day,
The same beat comes back to stay,
I ramble and shoot the time away,
The loss of cognitive play,
Running myself deeper in dirt,
The spotless stains on my shirt,
Coating all spots with sugar sweet,
Hiding the blatant signs of defeat,
No holding back this noise anymore,
The bide developing more in store,
Inside it all begins to roar,
More and more until it hits the floor,
Inspirational deficiency sets in--
The internal daemons begin to grin,
Power beyond uproars a din,
Edging closer to the ending fin,
Rockstars crash and singers scream,
Sun will shine and moon will gleam,
The spectrum of emotion--
The pyramid of devotion--
The dictator of feeling--
The reaper of stealing--
Glass cracks to shatter//
Rings clink to clatter//
Cars crash to crumble,
Players pray to fumble,
Runners fly to fall,
Underdogs lose it all,
Dark horses seem to stay in last,
Dreamers hold close to the past,
Daredevils cheat the very laws--
That haunts us all within out flaws,
We can't keep on the cleared path,
Hidden roads hold heavy wrath,
Silent soldiers protect the shy,
Outspokens embrace the lie,
The sky is green a color so few--
Can see that grass is blue,
Like tears of the ghosts,
The lost on the posts,
The graffiti is art on the street,
A cunning feat,
The masterpiece of unknown,
Now to all optics shown,
We hide in sheep skin,
All in the lost and found bin,
The wolves are shot down,
The cities are made from town,
Built dreams on land of soils,
Gleaning earth of all spoils,
Vampiring dry the life of other one,
Conquering totals sole for fun,
Parasitic beasts roaming free,
Nothing here that I can see,
All is lost beyond the creeds,
Damaged souls pray to their beads,
Pleading to the heaven power,
Silent gods chose hell to shower,
Nothing free in all my vision,
Temporal lobe incision--
Lobotomized and clueless drone,
Rusted metal on broken bone,
WORDS WORDS WORDS//
Unbreakable wooden boards,
The words are inundating my life,
Sparking repetition and strife,
The double edged blade of a knife,
Out forth the bleeding is rife,
There's nothing left to say//
More will come another day...

I never think of you
No, that's not true.
I think of you all the time

When I'm listening to a song
A movie
Or a show
I wonder if you’d like it

When I’m just sitting
Sometimes, I wish
You were there with me
(So I could make you laugh)

When you don’t text for a while
I try not to worry
(it doesn’t work)
And I hope nothing is wrong.

I say I never think of you
Because there are no fantasies
Of us in a movie
As superheroes
Spies
Or rockstars

I don’t dream of what it will be like
In ten years
Fifteen
Or twenty

I am so enamored with
What we are right now
Who you are
How you’re changing

I don’t need what-ifs
Or dream worlds
When what I’m living
Is better than anything

That I could have ever
Made up
In my head

We don't talk all that much these days.
In fact, we don't talk at all.
But I'll never forget
When we were kids
And our secret dream,
To run away together.

The dream grew brighter
When it turned into a plan.
We had our bags packed and ready to go.
A pair of jeans and a sweater,
My guitar so we could busk,
One **** dress in case times got hard,
And the money
Your mother hid in her dresser.
We'd take the train,
Get the hell out of here,
And never look back.
We said I'd cut my hair,
So they would never find us.

We never quite knew
What we were running away to be.
Rockstars, hookers,
Crackheads, or movie stars.
We didn't care.
We were young and wanted an out,
And the city
Was calling our names.

We never did run away.
I guess I knew all along
That we never would.
But I don't regret any of it.
Any of the planning,
Any of the dreaming.
Because that dream,
That hope of an out,
The idea of there being an escape
No doubt kept me going.

I still think about you often,
And our run away dream.
We were dreamers alright.
Or maybe we just hated this town.
Maybe we were just young.
Maybe we read too many books
And watched too many movies.
Or maybe it all goes back
To that same song.
The one where he stands outside
Her bedroom window
And begs her to come outside.
"Come outside,"
He'd say,
"Come outside.
Out the window,
Down the fire escape,
And run away with me."

I am from...
...Endless falling from a sky of no sleep and rockstars.
...Backyard barbucues full of no one i know but everyone i'm supposed to.
...Vast wastelands of metal and glass death traps holding lots for most, but nothing for me.
...Ringing sound waves from a freshly broken wooden spoon from hitting my pan too hard.

I am from...
...The clensing pain of surviving by myself.
...Sock monster fights, ripping, arguing, bruising.
...Shouting, loud, bright spartionan battles.
...Broken guitar strings, strung too tight, couldn't hold under pressure, weak.

I am...
...A broken down car with no hope of ever running again.
...A cat trapping a mouse in a corner, smelling its fear, enjoying the game.
...A stryofoam peanut, stuck to the ones around me, never letting go.
...Fighting for my right to live, sad for when the fight is over.

Do I crave stoners...?
the pink hair...black..
weird *** rockstars
?...
it all feels weird
almost facaded...
i feel like anti barbie
fake and miserable yet somewhat alive
...i feel
.......
it feels like....
......
nothing
...but again something
like you were hit
but with nothing
or with something but didnt get hurt
...its like all in my head
its a made up feeling
....but from where i ask
from where i.......
ask
is it insecurity
....is it....
idk....
insecurity it is
is that you...
hiding in that corner
casting a shadow over me
...come out i declare you out from the shadows
....and tell me
....what i did to deserve this crap
....what did an innocent girl like me ******* do....
huh
yu miserable little *****...
its like i crave happiness?
but i dont know how to give that to myself truly...
and is it even something you can give to yourself?
because its a state of being...
its a state that comes and goes...
a feeling
not a thought...
yes i have control over my mind
...but my heart man....
a battle
only for God

Music books and old guitars lay scattered on the floor
The whiskey bottles empty, you won’t need it anymore
Posters on the wall of rockstars, playing to an empty room
No one lives here anymore in this dark and lonely tomb

Tortured soul, you sold your soul but you felt you had to quit
Why’d you have to ***** the fire of a torch that was barely lit
You know you meant the world to those you left behind
If only you could've talked to them or gave some kind of sign

Your fingers were still calloused cause you practiced every day
You tried to learn all the chords so that you could sing and play
Now silence fills this empty room where the music played before
It’s such a shame you took your life with a rope over the door

Tortured soul, you sold your soul but you felt you to quit
Why’d you have to ***** the fire of a torch that was barely lit
You know you meant the world to those that you left behind
If only you could've talked to them or gave some kind of sign

Your fans will never know how good you could've been
Since you took your life, and put that rope over your chin
You had to see what was on the other side of death
I wonder if you found peace as you took your last breath
There was only one way to end the pain and strife
Now you play to an audience in the eternal afterlife

don't you ever wonder about the fact that even rockstars sing about heartbreak?
i realize it now.
it's not so much about who you are or what you can do, it's more that you're human.
so, instead of looking for a nice house, like the one i used to rent, I'm going to settle for a cabin in the woods.
I'm fine with nothing, because with that, I'm guaranteed to keep it.

I received it in a letter
with gold parchment prints
I ink my fingertips just a little longer
To hear divine disciples moking
Chanting raspy chatters for a foul stanger with mistaken steps
Steps that leave prints on blackened sand littered with promises of another scam
I dont believe anything that comes from envelopes
Because return addresses from Hades makes me lose all hope
patience becomes shredded to petty pieces peeked through a microscope
If you look a little closer you'll see this life is quite like a kliedoscope
Because were like rockstars with crucifixes
Just diguised as normal folk

Almost three in the afternoon, and I’m barely on my second cigarette
That’s the best I’ve been all year, and it hasn’t been easy
The days feel like a forever, just as the months sift through my fingers
Started reopening old wounds, reliving the post trauma of past disorders
Me and sobriety tag teamed against my addictions is never a fair fight, not for us
So to fight the night, I play the war cries of my past life
But it also triggers a tornado of flashbacks that may prove harder to escape
Just so happens, the storm drops me into the wasteland following High School
This post puberty, postmortem gutter i had trapped myself in
A time of mutual disruption and inspiration, which often go hand in hand
I found myself wandering the wilderness with a rabid wolf pack from the suburbs
This crew was crazy… and not in the “seen too many movies” crazy
We’re talking smoking crack in an Indiana cornfield at three in the afternoon crazy
Leading rebellions in a midnight diner, flipping tables and calling everyone a Communist
Getting beat down and thrown out of a ******* for sticking a finger into a stripper’s -
LISTEN, crazy ****, okay?
They were Lost Boys, Wild Boys, Rockstars, Freedom Fighters
Allow me to set the stage for most nights down this rabbit hole
A run down foreclosure filled with delinquents and refugees
The basement is ten decibels too loud and ten degrees too hot
The entire shell of the home pulses from the energy beneath it
We enter through a side door, and everyone nods us in
Down the stairwell, all you can see is a blood red fog striped by laser beams
It looks alive with its own toxic attitude
It beckons us further down, with an evil laugh and an angry drum
We crowd into a VIP room just off the basement dance floor
Several lines of happy powder cut by a razor peak across a Green Day album
The room stinks of smoke, sweat and stress… but don’t judge us for our lifestyle
If you’ve never altered your state of mind, how the **** do you know you’re in the right one?
As I smile at that rebellious thought, a blue haired temptress catches my eyes, and smiles
She makes room for me on the couch, and we trade names
She was dripping in *** appeal beneath her studded leather jacket, and beneath that… her true beauty
Her mind was a well crafted musical instrument, of which she played only for the Devil
Maybe that’s how she was raised, maybe that’s just how she got attention
Trust that I know what love is, better than most who have claimed the title
But sometimes, it’s the absolute last thing that you need or want
So I countered with my own Satan’s fiddle
It we’re speaking maturity, I was nowhere near the age of consent
She said I had some point of view issues, and I said,
“You mean how my view keeps pointing me in the wrong direction?”
“******* little boy, careless of the crimes to come?”
Sensing a dead end, I looked for my crew, but they were nowhere in sight
Yep, those are my friends, my kin, the ones who abandoned me
We made out for a while before she stopped me with sad eyes and a pearly grin
“Sorry darlin, but there’s just something twisted about you...”
She would die from ****** a week after telling me that, and it hit the tribe hard
I kept that dagger she pierced me with close to my chest long after that
Next time I saw the leader of our pack, he was far from the warrior he once was
Less than a shadow, barely a voice, with a needle in his arm
I left his house after only an hour, and cried for an hour after that
I sat in my car, in a Chicago December, freezing my nuts off
Because I forgot to turn the car on, because I was too busy mourning the loss
of so many visionaries, so many poets
These beautiful individuals who inspired me, they were dead… gone forever.

After that, I pulled the headphones off, and lit another cigarette to ease my mind.

"moving on & moving in"

Charlotte sighed as she looked around her bedroom in the attict. there had been nothing left for her in the small town anymore. nothing but haunting memories, dark and blurry. reminders of her losses. & all of the things that could have been, should have been, and now never would be. memories that she used to treasure, now almost non-existant. & she hadn't been sure if it had been from all of the partying, or if it had been her minds way of trying to protect her from them. charlotte sealed up another box with tape which read "posters". so far charlotte had packed 8 boxes, 6 of which read posters aswell. all four walls had been covered with them, posters of beautiful places, song lyrics, and all of the rockstars that she adored. shaun morgan, kurt cobain, aaron lewis. joey ramone, alice cooper. she had basically spent all of her time there since Charlies death. listening to music, getting lost in the words of her favorite artists and authors. or poems and stories that she would write herself. when charlie died, charlotte checked out. almost as if she had died right along with him.

that poets are all but forgotten
but, at the same time it is more
a noble quest I guess
nowadays

poets used to be rockstars
and have all kinds
of money when they got
famous

there is a sad part about all
of it, and a more pure thing
writing just to let all the feelings
out

and looking back, even
those in the past, Longfellow,
Poe, Emily- all had their demons
too

just like us

i knew a girl once,
she got a tattoo stenciled “tabula rasa”
and could never see the irony.
irony is cruel, after all, and there’s a lot of things
we chose not to see, obliviously.
irony is a musician with a deaf daughter, a painter with a blind son.
but this was just a metaphor, what we’re headed for
always heading home in the wrong direction,
but i’m not a suicidal head case,
just a dreamer who got high on outer space
and this was what i wrote for icarus
before he gunned me down out of the sky
i don’t why, but my wings tend to get tangled whenever i try to fly.
typos slip past my copy edit and sometimes i still feel pathetic;
i am a gallery of scars.
if life is performance art then i’m a ******* masterpiece.
it’s all growing pains,
knowing better doesn’t always mean you do better.
so pain is necessary. so pain is unavoidable.
but i don’t wanna to live a life where every single week is
“i just gotta get through this week”
but good things don’t only come from pain
and poetry is not sad by definition.
i know we tend to romanticize the tears in our eyes
but i wanna grit my teeth into a grin,
i wanna know about sinking because i'm learning how to swim.
and gravity was never the enemy,
at least not how i thought it would be.
gravity was just doing its job,
it didn’t know the way it was weighing me down like quicksand
and making it so hard to get up out of bed.
i will never understand
why happiness is so attainable for some
and so unattainable for others.
but maybe that’s just the hairline difference
between happiness and joy --
one is more circumstantial that the other.
lately, my brain’s been stalling like an engine on overdrive,
it wants to die out but somehow the heart’s keeping it alive.
so this is the sound two hearts make when they collide,
we write poems and never talk about it.
i write mile long poems and i’ve got a tongue like a riddle
and love’s just a word, but don’t you dare tell me
that words aren’t important.
you know better.
smashing hearts like hundred dollar guitars,
we all wanna pretend we’re rockstars.
you know, some people get drunk just
so they can see something in the sky.
and i need these lines,
they build up the structure in my spine
i don’t know always who i am
but i know who i haven’t been.
i know who i want to be.

I was recently told
from a credible source
that a famous band wrote a song
about a difficult time in my life
it’s not from the album Dark Horse
but it is a song filled with judgment
defining me as selfish and weak
no love given for my struggles and strife
or painful journey down the Long Road
at first this left me
feeling less than and meek
but then I realized we are not defined
by the perceptions of others
even famous rockstars don’t
have the authority to diminish
our vibrantly true colours
so if someone you trusted
is telling dramatic stories about you
remember the only way
they get power
is Because Of You.

Soft orange glow
The strip
City of Angels
Los Angeles
Neon lights
The heart of rock n roll

Whiskey a go go
Lose and ******
The latest riot performing
Makin it all look easy

Bad boys of Hollywood
On the prowl
Hottest ticket in town
Hell's in crowd

Cult hero Jeff Starship
Has exited the stage
His last words put a curse on rockstars
Who adorn themselves in gold lame

Trash Metal
Super fast
Super heavy
How long can they last?

They got drugs they got grit
Their agent smiles
"They'll make it...
If they live"

Claudia woke up early
While her punk lover was still
Asleep
She snooped around his appartment
And saw something other than
Pictures of rockstars
She saw pictures of Himalayan
Monasteries and scenes with beautiful
Coloured flags
And a shrine to a picture
Of some old
Creepy man in robes and glasses
With no hair.
That explains the wierd books
She thought but was creeped out.
What did she get herself into
And she was going to marry
This guy.
She wanted some answers
Claudia couldn’t wait
She gently rubbed him on the back
Morning love.
When he stirred
She asked him about the creepy shrine
Boris said that he had a plast life
And that she wouldn’t understand
“Try me,” she barked.
He said that he was the 6th Dalai Lama
In one life
And a normal monk in another
He said that he and Claudia
We’re meant for each other
Because their souls met
In his past lives.
Thinking creepy
Claudia
Left for the day
Thinking
If this creep comes to watch me teach
Or whatever great
If he doesn’t show up
Fantastic, it was good while it lasted.
She hung out with her
Friends
She hasn’t seen
Ever since with being
With Boris.