My head
sinks
into the wall
slowly.
As the colors
increase
and my fingers
release,
I am alive

If I could whisper
more words
down this barrel,
Believe me,
I would.
But for now
I'll let the bullet
sing for me.

You are like ice,
the ice I hold in my hand.
I try to give you warmth,
the warmth you desire
just to make you happy.
And yet, you melt
and I am left with
an empty hand,
an empty heart.
You are gone.

Then your return
with your friend salt
expecting my warmth.
You tell me to squeeze
Squeeze my warmth
into you, regardless of my pain.
You beg and plead
wondering where my love is.
It's gone.

You can dance
this twisted dance
But before you
intertwine yourself
in this web of
common motion
     ---Know
that once you
are under my spell
this world of
black and white
will breath
and pulsate
to the rhythm
of this enchanting
   ---dance.
We shall pursue.

This summer is alive
in me and in you.
In the shine of the sun
is your eyes in mine
dancing with the rhythm
of the wind blowing
your hair past your ears
showing in full color
the extent of your smile
with my smile,
on this bright summer day.
My lips quiver
with the thought of this fantasy
and it's force
as it pushes to the surface.

And the thoughts of the daisy
in your hair
and the touch of your
fingers with mine
and the love swimming
off the grass
and into our eyes
is all I dream of.

I hope your parents
are proud of you

I hope when you
look in a mirror,

it doesn't laugh
at what you are

and what you
could have been

Because when you
sleep in the dirt

No one will laugh,
but everyone will smile

because they will laugh,
at the waste of life

You prove to be
everyday.

I'm sorry for the sweat
that drips down my neck,
past the hairs of my chest,
races across my abdomens
like it's running from the
Native Americans with
arrows and bows in hand,
following the hair trail
to my skin cave,
down the passage way
speeding to the tip
to drop to my toes
then roll on the floor
to melt in the dirt.

Out of the
deepest crevices
of me pours
your love,

And on this
bridge we stand,
and let time blow by
like the wind.

Although I know
this love isn't mine,
I'll hold onto this moment
and let this life continue.

When this night
rests itself upon us,
and the children
close there eyes,

My thoughts will stay
steady on your lips,
and the water flowing
under the bridge.

And on this Bridge
I sit and stare
at the rocks laying together;
what could have been.

The tidbits of creases
in the skin of
her face,
surrounding  her mouth
and extending her lips,
lighting
her eyes,
showing her cheeks
is beauty.

The way the words
dance out of your
mouth
like the steady flow
of water pouring down
the side of a cliff
Enchants me.
The thrill of the words
ringing from your mouth
make my spine tingle
and my teeth chatter.
the way your lips
dance with words
captivates me.

Boots clicking together
as the men walk
through this rubble
that once had a
      Dream.

Stomping through
this shattered town, hope of life
is growing dull.

I never liked
the sound of dirt
crunching beneath
my feet,
and I never liked
telling my kid no,
But most of all,
the thought of death.

This town
will never be
as bright as
it used to be

The girl I love
has eyes that dance
to the swaying of clouds.
The girl I love
sees the world through
a glass kaleidoscope.
The girl I love has a smile that glows
with the light of the moon.
The girl I love
swims through the ocean
that resides in my head.
The girl I love
has a face of change
in a dark lit world.
The girl I love
brings my heart to a level
of happiness I've never felt.

The girl I love
loves me

I find that when
I'm covered in soap,
my mind wonders the most.

.   .   .   .

Racing down my face
is a streak of blood,
a betrayal of my body,
it longs to feel air
because it's jealous of my skin.

.   .   .   .

He hands me a cigarette,
a gesture of friendship
which I respectfully decline
because time can heal wounds,
but it takes more than
a few seconds of silence
to rekindle a friendship.

.   .   .   .

The wind clings
the blood to my face
a reminder of your betrayal
and I wish it would go away
but It can't, can it?

.   .   .   .

And the soap washes the
red off my face, down the drain
shaping my aspirations of flying away.

She said "okay."
a blistering hit
like a baseball bat
swung at my face,
slowly engulfing it,
leaving nothing but blood & splinters.
And as the icy words
left her lips,
she had frozen the flame
I built for her,
for us,
and stomped the ice,
crushing it, and
leaving it to melt
into the dirt and
Vanish.
And she turned away,
leaving me to trace her path
till I could trace it no more.

Words may not be objects,
you may not be able to
hold words in your hand,
but they weigh a lot more
than you and I

See me through these
colored lines.
I am man.
I am heathen.
My roar arises from
the dirt,
and brings trembling men
to their knees.
I am iron.
The raw stench of
creation at my fingers.
I am sore.
I am wasted.
My thought expels from
the earth,
and forces broken men
to their knees.
I am life. This world of yours is too
large for me.
I am strong.
I am guided.
My light shines over
the roof,
and brings weak men
to their knees.
I am

Lines are just lines
until you give those lines
meaning.
Give those lines
meaning, and you give
those lines life.
Lines with life tell
stories of worlds
within worlds and
dreams only obtained
in our youth.
Lines are a gateway
to the depths of our
brain.
Lines let your heart
breathe sweet air.
Lines will dream and
dream until the dream is
done and all is
well.
Lines are life, if
you let lines live.

You were there for me
or so I'd like to think,
but not what I like to say
when I'm asked about you.

Your words spun around my head
and to this day,
I still remember when you said
You weren't afraid to die
and that you knew                                               I was
And I still remember how I felt
when I said you were wrong,
but I knew you were right.

I remember your hand
splashing across my face
like a tsunami crashing down
on me
I was weak and you knew this.
You knew I was weak, and
you know you changed me
with a stencil tracing of your hand
in red, on my face.

But did you know I missed you?

Running my head across
the smooth landscape that is
the side of your face
I see plants living and breathing,
a plethora of animals
instinctually battling to survive,
A family of three; a mother, her child and a dog
straining all resources in front of them to pass this
day-by-day struggle

But I see more than that
I see the color in your eyes
those ruby constellations
and I see them staring back at me
painting the picture of what we want
and what we need
painting the picture of you and me
as simple as that.

Live before you breathe

Breathe before you die.

Die before you Regret

Regret before you live.

The lingering last of

your lungs in my lungs

leaves me loathing

the life I left.

Don’t leave me, to think. You know
I’ll throw my life away, maybe
just mentally, never fully physically.
Because I hate it,the solitude of my
mind, the constant torture of the
veins of my brain, the straining my
heart endures. But even though I
hate this way, the way my brain
controls my emotions, I like the way
it spawns new life. I like the
way it makes me feel. I like
the way it makes me fade.
It soothes my brain, this loathing
I posses. It makes me feel alive.
And all though I hide from that
feeling, it brews inside, shadowed
by the circumference of my world,
my chamber of thoughts, My
Kingdom, which, by all means, is my life.
I love you, as much as I love me,
which, despite legend, isn't a lot.
But at least now you know what
my brain is like. So don’t
question my sanity. I’m normal.
**Don’t question my sanity. I’m normal.

“Just end it.”

They scream, as if

their blast to my eardrums weren't enough

when whispered.

“Just end it.”

Hit me hard. It hit me hard.
Hard and fast, swift to my soul.
Fast and slowly, as the red rushes.
And that’s just it. The red rushes.

Kick it,
Kick it,
Kick it,
KICK IT.

Trash is my forte, trash is my freedom.
Vice is the grip, you can call your own claim.
For, when the red rushes, it rushes fast.
But you know that, don’t you? You knew all along.

Kick me,
Kick me,
Kick me,
KICK ME.

I kinda like the red, oh how it rushes.
I like the way it taste, the tingling it brings.
Sorta knocks you off your feet, the red does.
Cause when the red rushes, you will start to notice.

Kick me,                                                When the red rushes, will you notice?
Kick me,                                                When the red rushes, will you notice?
Kick me,                                                When the red rushes, will you notice?
KICK ME.                                              When the red rushes, you will notice.

The green and blue.

It’s all I ever see, haunting me, continuously.

Crawling down my throat, and out my pours.

A constant flow of energy, of the Oxycontin

Maybe a sign I cry, before my face

crashes down, concrete and all.

Oh, don’t judge me.

Please?

The guiltiest part
of an artist's daily life
is looking at their work;
their creation, their emotional expression
of the world they see around them
with regret and fear
that the real world around them
will pillage the creative structures
they have built around their heart,
knocking down this creative wall
keeping them safe from said
Art Vikings.

But, young creator,
never fret,
for your walls are strong,
and willing to accept
those willing to accept you,
and with this newly found
artistic army
you can fight the Vikings off
and glue that chip back to your
shoulder.

The sun shines
across her hair
on her skin
and in her eyes

Across her hair
my mind dances
and in her eyes
the world awaits

My mind dances
on her skin
the world awaits
The sun shines

Pen bleeds life
in a way undescribed
by words

An eloquent dance
of tongue never to
be spoken.

See me again,
Covered in glass armor
for cover.

I am weak
and tremble around your
glowing chastity.

So refined are
your enchanted words flowing
smoothly forward.

All it takes
is a simple "Hello"
to start a world of heartache.