i read this stuff when i wake up in the morning and goddamn, i've got to laugh at myself.. it's so overdramatic and cliche.. if you could see the smile on my face right now. i know there's guys out there who feel what i'm writing, and i'm doing it for you creepy dudes in your parents basement. the guys who write dracula opera and are weird oddballs. when the going gets tough, the weird turn pro. -hst

a Poem to Make you Feel Better

you're spent
i know it
you are everything that a lover should be.
one day,
you'll wake up and score
better than anyone
has ever
done before.
hope.
that's all you can
do.
is hope.
that one day,
you'll find the one
that fits.
it's a sad journey
for a kid
that has a heart
as the the others
only find ways
to step
manipulate
destroy
everything you
believe in.
don't let them get to you.
solitude is the key.
in here
no one hurts
no one pains
no one is down.
you can make yourself happy
and whatever you want.
people are out to hurt
and destroy you if they can.
so release anger
defeat
and love
it'll get you nowhere if you hold those
deep
down
in that chest.

If You Can be Anything.

a struggle
to be
great
and full of life.
everyday
is just another excuse
to put a bullet in your head.
but you don't
you hope
that something great,
pure
and full of definition
will come to you.
you're living a dream man,
it's a dream.
play the game and be that guy.
you know the guy.
you feel sparks
that should define you.
but those are hollow
because they've never gotten you anywhere.
if you were a jerk
a jock
a douche bag
you'd score so much.
this is why i drink
because i can never be one of those
bad guys.
i repress him as far as possible
and retreat into myself.
i can never be emotionally invested
in anyone
because so far
a quarter of the way through
you've all done bad shit
that caused major damage
but i can't show it.
you have destroyed the good
so only the evil
sayers
shine through
in this decapitated soul.
it's all of your faults
for being
doing
and
executing.
you don't know any better though.
this is the way it is.
so those good guys
don't score
shit.
they sleep
in shit
every night
and it doesn't matter to you.
because the douche bag
is next
to
you.

it's Much Easier to Be the Guy

i see you looking at those guys,
those smooth talking guys
who do some form of spiritual
mockery in their free time.
you'll never win,
good guy,
you'll never win.
you're too Goddamn nice and holy.
be an asshole
because that's what they like.
they want you to be mean
hateful
and disgraceful.
it's the world we live in
the world that was developed
or lack there of
for us.
the
jerk always wins
that's the way it's been since time began.
be attractive,
confident
and full of everything you hate
and although at night
you won't sleep well.
you'll toss and turn
because you've become the bad guy.
but every night
a different girl will rotate through that bed
and you'll know how to keep them
back at the homestead.
nice guys finish last.
its been this way forever
and it'll never change
you've got to hear the truth
hold on to it as much
as
you want to.
but in the end
you're too kind
too responsive.
be cold
dark
and humorous,
that's what they want now,
we're lost in the time.
maybe back then
it worked
but  now
you're just another schmuck they call
when they want to feel better about
themselves
and you'll answer the phone
and offer opinions,
because it's the right thing to do.
spiritually.
but metaphorically,
you just shot yourself
in the goddamn heart.
how sad
the truth is.

With This Fire, We Can Dance

the bar is a machine,
very slow to start up,
as the gears wind,
and the smell of molten metal fills the air.
we wait,
for the connection to show up
and provide us with
cocaine,
amphetamines,
opiates,
anything we want.
she makes the rounds
cute homely looking girl
with blond curly hair
and deep blue eyes.
i score and hold on to it,
i'm not in the mood for sharing tonight,
but the bald guy next to me,
in the track suit,
knows better.
so we meet in the bathroom
and do key lines of precious,
we are high
and looking for a lay,
i leave him,
to head outside
where the air is crisp and pure.
cocaine makes me want to write
to all those sorry fucks
who stayed at home.
i write for the lonely,
the deviants
the desolate pricks
who were left with nothing
but their own sorrow thoughts.
i pour my self a whiskey
and drink to the mighty
drink to the losers
drink to you.
listen
my men
who fight against everything
who think that their hearts are right
in every undesirable right.
be patient you assholes,
be calm,
the whole reason you suffer yourselves
is to score that one pure block of gold.
all these other slime
are a process
a test
to see how much you'll take it
how far you'll go.
nothing is easy for you
everything does not fall into place
but we've got to keep going.
even if the one right now,
throws dirt in your face.
be that guy
who changes everything.
you can do it.
we
have
to.