If you want real love,
get drunk and cry into a mirror.
The broken shards are like...
Okay...sorry...
That was about to be really cliche.
It was going to rip out your heart and
be so emotional.
Instead,
it just makes me look cold and heartless.
Which shows you my broken soul.
Now I am just coming off as pretentious and
I am okay with that.

Walking through the pages of an empty notebook,
the surprises are few and far between.
Listening to the honks on Market Street and
I remember when life was like back in 2009.

The room was spinning around and
liquor bottles hung from the ceiling.
The hideous growl of a thousand broken promises.
Chasing after a drunk ghost,
through a maze of street signs and snowflakes.

The night sky sends down shadow monsters,
destined to return your soul.
I refuse to accept that this is reality.
My creative spirit has fallen into discontent.
Oh Lord,
please save me from these bright lights.

I am going down 157.
Waiting for the clock to strike
any hour it pleases.
Listening to the broken trees whisper their anger.
Splintered from the weight of the crows,
they fall.
This will not end well.
The problem with every story is that there is a beginning and
an end.  

Forgive me Father for I have sinned,
my last confession was...
when the Crown Royal was still a peasant.
The victory seemed like a defeat and
the birds flew south for the winter.

Do not be afraid.

This story ends with structure, responsibility, and order.
The trees have regrown,
hiding my secrets.
My mind begins to wonder.
Everything begins to swerve.
Is this what happens
when good men do nothing?
Or when bad men fly?

If you need someone to talk to,
I am not that person.
I am a liar.
I will let you fall through
space.
Colliding with ambiguous answers and
hidden agendas.
Secrets are my forte,
the tongue that becomes a serpent.
Hot fire,
blazing glory.  
I will tell the world that
we were both at fault.
You will be forgiven,
putting your faith in the wrong person.
Hands clasped in prayer,
waiting for the time to die.
Infinitely telling your secrets to the Almighty.
I am a liar.
Nothing will be forgiven.
Buried in a shallow grave,
underneath a false headstone.
Resting,
Waiting,
for my pardon.
Please,
do not give me a second glance.
You will turn me to salt.
Everyone gets hurt
when the square becomes a circle
Forget all memories of me.
Erase me from your world.
I will only tell you
what I believe.
Is that so wrong?
Why watch the world burn,
when you can start the fire?

The world has forgotten about the moon,
which is fine.
Filled with holes and
long-distance relationships never work out.
The moon can do better.

Sometimes I look up into the sun and
wonder what the flames are thinking.
Imagination is a powerful tool.
An ally.
The sun never responds.
It blocks the view.
I can do better.

What happens when the dead come back to life?
Will we still watch reality TV?
Keeping up with the Corpses.
The strange will inherit the Earth.

The glare of the office's lights are blinding.
I wonder how many secrets
the wall clock can remember.

My cube neighbor and I have an argument.
I suggest that Spiderman is a terrible superhero,
he shows me his Brown Recluse bite.
I will still claim victory.

To the lady walking down N. Broadway,
pretending that she is a bird.
I get it,
I want to fly as well.
There is no will left to fight.

I will never reach my fullest potential.
That is something I will remember forever.
However,
I am hoping for the best.
A fool's errand.

Hope is something that
rich men talk about, while
flying through the clouds.
The sun is their ally.
Keeping the poor from dreaming.

My only plans for the New Year,
are sitting on my couch,
drinking beer, and
watching the walls dance.
Bubbles busting in celebration,
while I fall asleep at 12:01 AM.

Thus is the life of an adult.
Listening to the ruins of society,
waiting for the witches to burn.

Run,
Run,
as fast as you can.
Greed is closing in.
Dragging you down the
rabbit's hole.
However,
there is no vacancy here.
No quarter will be given to your kind.
You have
forgotten your senses,
given into
worldly pleasures.
There is a special place in this world
for people like you.
Counting coins until
the gold becomes flesh.
Trading life for life.
This system has broken you.
The beast is off the chain,
attacking at random.
Showing no remorse for it's actions.
Why should it?
It has done nothing wrong.
You fed the beast,
gave it a home.
Now it is time to pay the piper,
with interest.
You have woven this tale,
and you alone must draft it's ending.
It is coming undone.
It was foolish to think there would be no repercussions.
Only,
nothing can save you.
It is simple really.
The ending will show your true nature.
Make you want to believe again,
that this is a worthwhile cause.
Try to escape from Neverland.
Oh yes,
run,
run,
as fast as you can.

This is a poem.
This is not a poem.

Broken glass falling on the altar,
trees sprouting through the walls.
The priest has long left.
This congregation
scattered to the wind.
Once a proud building,
a place of faith.
Saints and sinner coming together.
Now welcomes,
feral cats and one night sleepers.
Lying awake on
torn down pews,
staring up at tarnished murals.
Lord,
watch over us,
if just for tonight.
Jesus was brought precious metals.
The copper is stolen from the AC unit.
The structure is boarded up.
Shut out.
Remembering what it used to be,
trying to forget its future.