My Scotch Soaked Soul is Damn Near Honest

merely a man
living somewhat out of context
but living nonetheless
wiping the sweat of my palm
on the back of my pants
and evaporating those tears
with my handkerchief
this city will eat you alive
it's true
constantly feeling preyed upon
vultures in the dysert
priest in their tombs
this life
this life
it's all about timing
the right time to sigh
the right time to breath
the right time to run your hands through her hair
and the right time to leave
the time to show up
and the time to hold back
i want to kiss you tonight
but i know that i cant
and yes it's true
rhyming poetry sucks
you read this now
and think, "who the fuck is this schmuck"
you see what i did?
i am aware
i fit into this mold sometimes
like an ass into the perfect cross breeze chair
lets get down to brass tacks....
this life
this life
i want it to get worse
i want my bad days to turn into horror
to scare me and bring fear
to make me want to curl into a ball and stress the fuck out
but
alas
in those times
true beauty will arise
because out of horror
develops chances
a chance to be
and a chance to love
a chance to be prolific
and not dispose of my words
upon this computer
hollow and dead
this computer that has no emotion
no natural ability for anything
other than to follow my way
one time
i will have you
and remember that forever
i look forward to it
but don't expect it to ever happen
it will if it does
until then,
i'm the guy with his hands in his pockets
sucking on his beer
knowing you want me
knowing you need me
knowing exactly whats going on
but just waiting
for the
time
in this life
in this life