It's tragic.
How little I care about the screaming in my mind.
If I had to pick a point in my life
to go back.
I would pick the future.
It would be easier to see what is to come,
than what once was.

If I could I would stop the squealing that comes from the dark.
But then,
who would scare the day.
I wish it would consider me.
The wind and the stars
are friends.
Giving strength to the night.

The ways of the world are only known
by the sky.
Every day fire chases the water away.

One day,
I will master them all.

When he ran
the fire was close behind.
Black smoke billowing from the sky.
It wrapped him up in a cocoon of
depression.
Who watches him know?
He will never forgive you for what you have done.
Would you truly want forgiveness?

The sun sets over the buildings
and he can see.
Church steeples and pebbles rolling over the road.
He is a hawk,
if only for today.

Can you hear the horses?
Thumping through our night,
their day.
This is where the world was made.
Pushing down on the Earth.
The good Lord will forgive all.

He runs by billboards and broken windows.
Haunted by the future.
Giving it all up for a quick fix.
Don't worry.
He'll forgive you.

When he ran,
he tripped and bathed in fire.
Welcoming him home.

I can feel the spiders crawling through the bed.
Hear the car horn,
keeping me up.
If this is how the world ends,
it will be annoying.
The empty wine bottles roll around,
crushing the cockroaches like Indiana Jones.
Only,
he escaped.
The snow surrounds my car.
Helping me forget that
the world is ending soon.
Oh,
the red wine is raining down on top of the bed.
The spiders are content sleeping at my feet.
It is a truce.
I can hear the upstairs neighbors fighting again.
Heel walkers,
they stomp and thrash about.
Scaring my spider friends.
*******!
We are trying to sleep!

The cracks in the sidewalk are forming a pattern.
Keeping away those foreign to this land.
If you don't belong here,
don't be long here.

It is funny how the snow falls
over the trash and bricks.
A blanket of white that hides the problems.
The deafening sound of sorrow.

A retirement home retired.
Covered in graffiti and ****.
This talking must stop.
The sky is growing darker and the nights
they are below freezing.

Driving down alleyways and watching the apocalypse prequel.
Slam!
The car stops, not wanting to move.
The reverse went out long ago.
Everything that had promise
is broken.
Shattered glass reflecting hope back into the sun.

Sitting in an abandoned lot,
listening to the screeches of
seagulls and freight trains.
I am staring at a condemned building.
Condemned to have more windows broken and
be marked with unoriginal graffiti.
YOLO and RIP TGB.
Bricks crumbling onto broken glass.
I guess you really do only live once.

Construction tape blows in the wind and
it is strangely terrifying.
This forgotten lot where
there is "absolutely no tailgaiting."
An owners car will be towed
A police car drives by and just stares.

I'm just doing my part.
Forgetting about this lot and all the events that took place here.
The asphalt hums with the highway traffic.
Click Clack goes trashcan
rustling around the fenced-in area in the back forty.
Progression marches on and
the picture fades away to ***** signage and power lines.

If there is beauty in this lot.
I have forgotten.

A
P
O
E
M
This is how you write a poem.
Isn't it fancy and edgy?
No,
it won't make you drink or smoke.
But,
I'm sure you'd look cooler if you did.
Snap your fingers while you do it.
Warriors
come out and play.
A
P
O
E
M
Oh **!
It's poetry.
Wow,
this is horrible.

The caramel corn has taken on a subtle hint of hand sanitizer.
It is enough to **** all the germs.
A kernel escapes and the search party is unsuccessful.

The tile in the bathroom reminds me of other jobs.
Janitorial work,
cleaning up after others.
The tiles in my store were larger and dirtier.

I can't think,
this headache is raging a war.
Aided by my cube neighbors fan.
I snore at night and dream of helicopters.

Things usually come back around to bite you,
like a snake
or NASCAR.
America,
the Land of the Free.

I have lied so much that
it comes out as the truth.

A rusty swing set sits in the backyard,
choked by weeds and broken furniture.
The overstuffed purple couch
has seen better days.
Tonight,
it will sleep alone.

When I am feeling down I count the ceiling tiles,
getting lost at fourteen.
Fifteen is a liar.

What would happen if the stars did re-align?
Just for one day,
the cost of beer wouldn't be so high.
Then again,
the liquor store on Jefferson sells Tallies for $1.19.
Let's not be greedy.
I will buy two of them to make sure that when I sleep tonight,
it is soundly.

The phone keeps ringing with complaints.
People are more interested in their neighbors
than the fire.

Forget about this poem.
It is better if you just skim this literary travesty.
There is no substance.

This new day is failing
and it will soon be cleansed.
Forgive me Father,
for I have sinned.
Please,
watch over those I care most about.