westward bound
highway
low ways
lot's of ways
for us to cope
dangling at the end
corpse blowing in the wind
five o'clock high
and my boots are moist
with
dear
tears
talking to oneself
conducting conversations with oneself
talking to the pictures
the tv
the trees
hugging anyone
who will take one
and i feel it regressing
the air thinning out
nights growing colder
windows fogging more so
now than never before
i surrender
way to easily
to things i am passionate
about
if only
i were more of an asshole
and could dispose of people
without remorse
or guilt
stabbing at my brain
then i wouldn't be
yelling
at the walls

i can hear the frail scratching of sympathy at my door, keep your whimpers and hope.

as those pixies dance
upon my forehead
i try to look up and smile
to look up and laugh
to try and displace
all my disposition
that is directed towards you
and it's true
i could be false
hopeful
and full of life
leave the bottle at the store
wait for some other sad sack of shit
to spend his money
on deviation
but Goddamn somebody has to say it
somebody has to bring it full circle
and i may be pushed aside
by others
but i'll yell my truth
at the top of my lungs
until somebody
shits on my chest
and then
covered in your feces
i'll jump up
and yell
yell so the who room will reverberate
with the sorrowful sounds
of belief
in oneself

a Poem that is not Cynical, Judgmental, or Written While Sipping Whiskey

a finer moment in life:

breathing.

This Could Be My Last Day

being content
with everyone
laid back about all things
and unsure of decisions
creates mass problems
the fight is taken from you
going through the movements of life
celebrating what you're suppose to
sleeping when you must
waking and crawling along the floor
begging for a cup of coffee
never being angry
raising your voice
or willing to fight
for anyone.
to vacate your mind
empty yourself of emotions
deprive all sorrow and sadness
makes for a boring existence.
i may be dirt poor
but my debts are my own
not my parents
but i'm living a rich life
and that's too much for some people to bare
you can acknowledge the wrong
but until you say something about it
you're not better than those lost souls
bouncing around this marble
searching for instant euphoria
blaming their lack of character
on timing
time is shit
it's a frame to keep you scared
to keep you under foot
and unsure of everything
there are no second chances
no call backs
no reruns or hiatus
embrace it while you can
and let go if you must
some things
you must hold on
to with dear life
it's easier
to wallow through shit
when you're deaf dumb and blind

You Don't have to Give Up, Just Give...

the key to writing, but dirty righteous writing, is being able to release all inhibition into just one being, be it music, art, books, or love. a complete surrender to the unknown without fear.

fear is what stops us.

but now, in this time that we're living, swimming with sharks in the open waters as our bodies bleed out into the vast ocean that is our lives. we stop only ourselves; and we can blame only ourselves for what we've done. at the end of the day, as we lay down and stare blankly at the ceiling, recounting the days events, wishing for this and that, hoping for what may happen, and praying to a false prophet that our horoscope tomorrow brings a better day; control is automatically taken from our own hands and placed into the lottery, anticipating the universe to work itself out for us, and not the other way around.

scared to fall in love, for fear that the other person may harm us, putting up these fences and walls, barricading ourselves with stones and mortar, becoming cold and fruitless, futile in our efforts to form relationships beyond passable friendships, at best, sharing becomes a sign of weakness and honesty becomes a negative aspect, everyone is ambiguous and free floating, rushing along with the current no matter if it takes you off the cliff and smashing a hundred stories down into a pool of rocks, where you will lay bruised and bloody, suffering the same death like the hundreds before you, all because you were scared to break away from the crowd for fear of rejection, mockery, and isolation.

this is all because in moments where we should be letting ourselves go, we keep asking, "who is looking at me? and how should i be acting? what's the right thing to do? should i feel bad? did i do something wrong? i'm sorry, but what am i sorry for???"

we are so out of tune with ourselves, and i partly blame society for offering us endless amounts of distractions, but i fully blame ourselves for not noticing how disconnected we've become as humans and not making a move to embrace each other, instead of our stupid fucking iphones.


stop asking
and start acting
before every person, moment, inkling, passes through you and into someone else, it races at you quick and leaves even quicker, if you're not firing on all cylinders and have your seats and tray table in the upright position you'll miss it, and not even notice that it blew through, but you'll have a strange hollow empty feeling inside, a longing for something of substance, and looking behind you, the hills will blow and roll with the laughter of the ones you weren't ready for.

To the Top of the Queue

structurally
there are no abnormalities
i love watching
how people come to choices
conclusions
it's like the game mat in "office space"
peoples rationale
differ
from men to woman
good men to bad woman
bad woman to good men
jump on the mat
and all is done
simple as that.
dust off your clothes
smooth out your hair
fluff your jacket
and crack your fingers
back to normal aye?
oh why yes.. yess...
everything alright and dandy on this side
flowers blooming, people moving
cars roaring bicycles chiming
deliveries all made on time
everyone wins
god-bless capitalism!
do you think it's possible
that our jobs
are nothing but wheels
and we're the rats
spinning them?
oh how he
who pours his own drink
can easily divert
from the poison to anecdote
and back to positions unheard of
by anyone
except those pounding away
in his right brain?
listen
yes listen
we are coming to the end
here
for this one
sometimes,
someone must do
something
in
order
to make
things right
hey,
you,
damn
damn,
damn...
damn your eyes...