Fair GameA raven criesWell more of a "KawBut you know how that goesWhether a bird can cry or not,We'll never knowThey fly so highNever letting anyone closeRaise gun...................Aim...............................Fire......We'll never knowBut last time I checkedA raven, Isn't fair gameAnd hunting season,Has long since past..
Wait till DawnIn the dead of nightI'm nothing but a shadowStaring at the clouds with spiteIm like a snake who bit his tongueWill my own poison kill me?I'll wait till dawnBecoming the tree,I've so happily rested upon
When Atheist's PrayWaning day, becomesAbyssal night.Lacking the lightI pray to Apollo .That some fair maiden,Will sing me a tune.That even the dead can hear,Making them smile in their graves.Gladly accepting,That I may never see again.If I can hear such a melody
FAME, GLORY, and old friendsYou go about your day,Doing the same old things,"I'll be rich and famous" Is what you sayComplaining about the little things,Keeping you at bay,I laugh, As your dreams start to decay.But not for the reasons you might expect.This is reality, That Thing your starting to detectI'm not putting you down , Trust me, you have my respectThere's nothing wrong with dreaming or being ambitiousBut in your pursuit of glory,You seemed to forget your storySo look back...... ReflectI'll give you time, Pick up the things you don't detectSo the next time you come knocking on my door, Asking for help..Tell me.....TELL ME, what should you expect?
II maginationLook Once, Look TwiceAs the unreal supersedes the surrealIn which reality,Becomes nothing more than IdealityAs we watch life as we know it,Fade away to, Life how we want it.Watching waving winds wild wonderfully,As they blow everything away in their path.Like a lawnmower cuts grass.Or a blacksmith cuts brassA gentle breeze, that blew through skirts and kissed kneesHas become a storm that disturbs seas,Waves as high as skyscrapers turn into a wall of blissful beesThe ocean that is either blue and sparkling, or gray and menacingIs now as sweet as honey, No longer threateningThis is the power of the godsThe ability to mend and bend existenceTo create and destroy,Given to us by life itselfImagination.....
Adolescent TendencyOur Generation,Mere vagabonds moving station to stationTo find something that was simply never thereWatch them, As they smoke up the airAs they scream "It's just not fair"We live fast, and Die slow.Which is all we will ever know.....
Will I Die and Wither?Im like a treewithout leaves,I lack thatOf which can relieve. To famailar to the coldnessOf the earth,Betrayed,By the motherWho gave me birthOh, How I missThe warm summer breeze.They're like kisses,That puts me at easeBut I Stand alone,In the bleak and bitter winter.Endless white and sorrow. Will i die and wither?
An Poet's ApparatusPen and PaperAn apparatusWe use to express one's self with gratisAs we Devour life's experiencesWe become fullVomiting is inducedRaw emotion is spilled over paperAlong with this afternoons lunch
Save UsWhen I was a child, like so many others played the role of godVictimizing the creatures I deemed beneath me.Genocide of the ants,Cause of death is of my choosing,Burning them alive with fire, Dousing with poison, Flooding their homes with waterDestroying the foundation they worked night n' day to build and protectLeft shoe, ending their misery, but only after I had my funI was a natural disaster, a cataclysmic catastrophe, and i relished in the powerOf my adolescent ascendancyYou'll often see me on the train tracks playing Indiana JonesShooting stones with make-shit slingshotsAt squirrels and birdsWith the intent to kill, Missed every shot from my lack in skillI'm sorry, grateful later on their blood I did not spill.Grateful, that my hands are merely dirty, rather than stainedI often think back, Who gave me the right?The justification to destroy and reap lifeHow Would I feel?Becoming the very ants who lived on my block,My heart would stop as I look up in shock.This
Paper GirlFrail paper girl,folded at the cornersand spattered with pencil marksBarely remembered beneath the rubbleof pristine sheets.Frail paper girl,sets herself on fire,dissolving into ashHer existence lingers in the lungs......Unforgotten.
Following InstructionsI stare down at my wristsThat's when the words appearCut on the dotted line
Mostly No RoachesMostly No Roaches (The New American Dream)He works eight to three on the road crew.Spends his nights stalking shelves withfood they can't afford to buy.She was fired last week.Late again becausethe school bus forgot too many timesto stop at their run down motel.It's not safe for the boys to walkalone through this part of townto the designated stop.So now she sitsin the chairby the phone.Hoping someone likes her resume andhoping there is enough gas in the tankto get her to an interview.He picks up the boys.They walk home.He tells them things will get better.Every day.While he sleepsshe helps the boys with their homework,crunching a roach across an essay onThe Great Gatsby.It is the first one they have seenin almost three days.
RoseBeauty of a rose,Alas your petals deaden,Will thou still be loved?
HazyPlease,just kiss me for a little bit longerBecause every time your lips meet mine,Every time our fingers interwineI feel a little strongerSo hold on and don't let goAnd just in case you didn't knowI'll whisper softly in your earNever leave,I need you hereI love you
NightdanceWe danced like monsters:lurking shadows atop gravestones,long-limbed, and hungry.We were hips and stitched lips.Clinging widows to a dying mate.You held my hand, whispering,"Scream, BabyS c r e a mlets wake the dead."And in the end,we collapsedlike fallen soldiers.
Who.Is.She?Who.Is.She?No words spoken,Not one.A faded human,Silent, innocent and unnoticed.Who is she?What's her name?A classroom back-seater,Of which she's invisible.She's forgotten and unknown,Did you know her?Take a step back,Admire her unseen beauty.Her authentic, understanding eyes,Her facial emotions of sadness,Her longing for friendship and love,Do you feel sorry for her?And yet you do nothing...You can't risk knowing an outsider,Your reputation would sharply decrease, so you let her be.Popularity queen are you?As if!Popularity should only be given as a reward for kindness and given only to those who deserve it.It's not a reward for your heartless comments or harsh games, not even for your selfish confidence boost, just so you can bring someone elses crashing down.There is only one word to describe you......Bitch...
PilgrimageChilde RolandTo the last tower came.His mail was a twistingMatted beard.His sidearm appearedMore of a gesture.A Stanley knifeAnd selected verse.He muttered blackly in his mirth;Fi, fie, foh, fum.I smell the bloodOf a million men.
TenderlyKill me tenderly.I feel the bittersweet pain.Write me a love song.
Silly me..I told myselfI wouldn't cryI wouldn't careBe hurtRun awayWhy am I lying to myself?It's getting me nowhereIf the true sets us all freeThen why does it lead to greater dispute?I keep telling myself lies to try to make my life easierWhat a silly thing for me to do...There is no easy way in lifeIf things happen.. Then I guess there's nothing I can doEven if those things end up breaking my heart
Her Final PrayerNow I lay me down to rest,With layers of blood upon my wrist.I hope I die before I wake,Because I don't know how much more I can take.
Dancing with DeathI dancedin the middle ofthe highwaytoday.I know, I know!It was dangerous-like playing with deathand his many friends.I apologize,but this...it's onlythe beginning.
TantrumsShe screamed.And screamed....and screamed,until their ears bled,and you could see each head aching,feel each heart breaking,just from watching.She screamed.And sobbed.And screamed,until it seemed she would never stop.Their skulls split,their eardrums popped.And finally,she stopped.
FifteenThe blushing crowsLand on my clothes.They tease my earsWith regrets and fears.So I supposeThis is how my life goes.Purples, blues, greens, yellows
It's something that I never chose.My eyes squeeze shut.Another cut.I mend and stitchThe holes and splitsThe ones I etchedAnd the ones you stretched.Six hundred pounds of fleshResting upon my chest.It's harder to catch my breath.I hope this is not my death.The worms withdrawWhile the vultures clawAnd begin to gnawAt my limbs of strawMy skin bursts openTo release words unspoken.Down the streetTires screamHeadlights creep.A young teenWants to sleep.Eyes squeezed shut.
Life of BloodOne man. One chainsaw. One school.
Demons of the NightHidden in shadows, kept away from the lightAre the unknown enemies, the demons of the nightWho live on our fear and yet die from frightThese living contradictions, these demons of the nightDemons of the night who haunt us in our dreamsThey find the weakness in our psyche and tear at the seamsYet, they flow fast in our minds, like a river in the rainThey cause us so much misery, yet they themselves are in painHidden from the sun and the light of the moonBut the lights from their hearts, from that, they aren't immuneThey are predators, we are prey, and on us they leave their markBut, in a sense, they're just like us...so why are we scared of the dark?
Painless ThoughtsI guess it's true of what they say;What you write reflects yourself.And it is true, the way I see,That I'm nothing but a sad old fool.Confused, by the words I weave,I stare and read the empty words,Mended, from the broken dreamsThat once treaded the waters of life.I now drown, and limp as I amDragged to shore, spitting outEmpty words that speak no messageBut of confusion and spite.I limp along the stoned path,I limp along a path not made by me,But by people who are greater than I.The words go by,The muses laugh,And my mind betrays what's thereIn the sky.I limp, as I cry, and carry no weight,Except for the burden of a heavy soul.Insufferable, like the thousand thorns thatCrowned my heart,It goes stabbing with each small beat,Reminding me of the things I'd wronged,And warning me of the thingsI have yet to wrong.It is true of what they say;That what you write reflects yourself.Now I just hope, that this poor foolAnd these poor words would bring peace and glor
BiographySometimes the wolves find my god.
Melancholy RosesMelancholyHow a single touchCan reap soulsAs the MelodyBegins to subsideWatching Mind & Body divideThe agony, accustomed to my eyesWishing to become happy againAs I turned into an empty shellTreating the living deadIs a waste of medicine