Untitled

I think I'll drink myself to death

just like all the greats before me

like all the brilliant minds

who lusted at the world's beauty

then undressed it, to see it naked

and for what it really was...

the minds who threw it's leather lingerie on the floor

only to discover all the nasty soars

on its otherwise perfect cunt

dripping wet with beautiful oceans.

The world lost it's innocence

when mankind raped it

with filthy, greedy cocks, lubed with oil...

and now she's a crack whore

who'll most likely die

from the diseases we left her with.

So I spend my nights drinking

and writing

leaving this used up world

for the one I create in my head when I'm drunk

just so I can get off

without that disease spreading to my soul.

I'll probably die a drunk

but at least I'll die with a soul, unlike so many others.

My New Book

http://en.calameo.com/read/00290889095bff4bb8829

I lost a friend last night

because my poems are too dark.

She said they scare her,

and make her cry.

She said she can feel me slipping

with each verse,

and that she'd enjoy them

if they were written by a stranger

she never loved.

She said she feels her heart going out to me

but she had to pull it back

because she needs to keep it

for herself,

so she can see though her own issues.

No one ever stays

because once they see me naked

of my walls

they stare into my sheltered world

and see things that would make even the earth

cringe.

It's too late to destroy it,

because my thoughts have evolved

into a race of beings

far more powerful than myself.

They'll be the death of me,

but their empires will stand

long after I'm gone, before my time.

But every once and a while

I can hear one or two of them praying

to me,

begging for me to bring peace to this world inside my head

that I have no control over.

They don't realize

that I'm not a god,

and that their whole existence is nothing

but the product of years of abuse

from a universe they cant comprehend,

that I can't comprehend.

So I sit nailed to the couch, suffering for their sins

while pointlessly checking my phone

for a text from that friend that says

“I'm sorry”

Don’t you dare pull me

from the wreckage of my life

when I lose my high

and fall from the sky.

don’t even put out the flames,

I want people to see them

from miles away.

I want the explosion to shake

a thousand cities

and wake the children

from their nightmares of monsters

to a reality that drove millions

to suicide.

I want want the debris of my thoughts to scatter

and shatter windows nearby.

And when it's all said and done

I want the land to be scared forever

and cursed with my madness.
I want kids daring each other

to walk up to the spot

where I fell from sanity and tore up the field

they now fear.

Don't mourn me

for I will not be gone,

I'll be hiding behind the flames laughing

at all the different parts of me

killed by the impact

of whatever drug or drink

has rotted out my mind

to the point of brainless bliss.

So don't you dare pull me

from the wreckage of my life

when I lose my high

and fall from the sky,

because I want to enjoy being charred

of every brain cell

and every agonizing thought,

until I'm finally crushed

by the settling debris.

Prophecy

Hieroglyphs on my ancient soul
foretell the end of me,
they say I'll die by my own hand
when I've reached god status
and every knee has knelt
before me
and I have nothing left
to achieve.
This prophecy has been written
on me for many lives
each ended by a pill,
bullet, or brilliance  —
I can feel it.
My fingers are my slaves
who type a pyramid of words
that'll hide my body
in a maze of booby-trapped metaphors
that no thief
would ever dare explore.
So shut me away
with my mummified poetry
so the gods in the next life
will worship me.
Let me hold the empty orange bottle
like a rosary in chalky hands
folded stiff
into forced prayer.
Let me rot away
and be forgotten
while my poetic pyramids
stand for thousands of years
in the sun.
Let tourists stand under their shadows
in awe
while my bones turn slowly
to dust
somewhere deep in the chambers
of their brilliance.

Sparkle

Lonely and cold,

I wait for love

beside the frosted window

while dreams of fireflies

sparkle in the snow.

I sip black coffee

from my mug, quietly,

so I don't wake them...

Because I know when summer comes

I’ll have found somebody

and I want to make sure they're all well rested

so they can swirl around my lover and me

when our soft lips spark

for the first time

like flint,

so I can watch them drown out

in that new lovelight

that'll glow furiously when dusk

cinders into darkness.

But for now

I'll have to deal with the darkest months

alone

while they lay on the lawn

asleep under the moon

with beautiful dreams.

God's Gleaming Eye

The painkillers in my pocket rattle

with each step
toward the unreachable moon
in strange harmony
with the untainted snow
crunching
beneath my feet.

Two or three
aren't enough to numb me
anymore,
no longer enough
to shut my brain off
for a little bit...
to quiet these thoughts
that stalk me
and whisper
how no one would find me
if I just lay here
on this nameless road
with a mouth full of pills,
face to the stars,
and die in the arms
of a snow angel
who'll carry me away to a heaven
I only believe in when I'm high.

I squeeze the bottle in my pocket
almost to the point of crushing it
as I turn away from the wind
and look back at the light of
my grandpa's cottage
drawing my attention
away from my midnight daydream
and the moon
that hangs like a sliver bullet
stained with the blood of monsters
from my mind.

How many times
have I walked this path high
praying to God's gleaming eye
for death,
as it winks slowly
with darkness
as if indicating something
beyond my comprehension...

All I know is
the cottage is warm
and I should go back.

Tumbleweed

I was detached

so I could wander

hand in hand with the wind.

Who am I now?

I feel so frail

and my flowers are long gone.

“Look what I've become”

I say to no one

as the buzzards cry.

Their shadows circle me

like dark moons in a galaxy

starving for life —

am I not alive?

I've never seen flesh

that was still carrying a soul,

but the wind tells me stories

of slinking through their hair

when the world was young —

I can smell their skin on its breath,

its breath that’s carried me

to the edge of the earth a thousand times

to find only stars

that those ancient, mysterious people worshiped

before I was even a seed.

Am I qualified to pray

to those stars that have lead us

to a thousand sunrises?

Will they even hear me

with this voice that is only a rustle

across rocks and dirt,

this voice that is literally nothing but a ...

my soul who shapes the clouds

who possess my dry body, and countless others all at once

interrupts me

and whispers yes.

I smell the gods in its voice now.

Winter Burial

While running my hand
across your casket,
I leave fingerprints
on the polished wood
that will be lowered with you
into six feet of obscurity,
telling no one, only the darkness,
that I cared enough for you
to watch your unbearable descent
in to peace
while the January wind
further numbed my core.

I have nothing
so these are the only things
I was able to leave you with,
but at least I know
no one will ever wipe them
from the cherry oak surface
that even my tears slid from
so easily when I cried...
But my hand
the hand that felt the last twitches of life
in your fingers
and squeezed them until the warmth escaped
has left such delicate mementos
that will never wither
with the expensive bouquets
and flowery wreaths.

Heirloom

After your death

I'm rummaging through the drawers

for your bottle of Vicodin

hoping your ghost

isn't watching.

Why can I never stay clean?

Is it because I'm weak?

I see myself like your husband

in 20 years

a tired young drunk

sick of feeling old,

who died before his grandchildren

were even born.

I hear footsteps in the kitchen

and wonder if it's you

hiding them from me —

but I hear lots of things

when the floor beneath me

crumbles

and I'm left dangling

from my barbed sanity

with bloody hands.

I swore I'd keep it locked away,

this heirloom of addiction,

but right now I need to hold it

and feel it

because I miss you

and I'm not strong enough to accept the fact

that you're gone

just yet.

So far this is the only moment

I've told myself you're not here,

when I find and swallow the last

three pills

that couldn't stop your pain,

then wash them down with gin

that wasn't enough

to stop mine.

Love Trip (Tanka Prose)

Inhaling your breath against my lips gets me high. Love this potent should be illegal, it feels so bad... like someone sold me your heart in a little plastic bag from the pocket of their hoodie in the cover of night. I lit it on fire and breathed in every panted wisp of smoke pushed up from your burning core. I bet distant cities can see our flames on the horizon, and the citizens are rushing to church to kneel before God and pray to be spared from the glowing apocalypse crawling towards them. What a beautiful way to die... but the world has already ended to me, because nothing matters in this moment but you. I think I can hear their screams beneath yours, as the climax of Armageddon firestorms falls from the angry heavens that generously matched our souls.

Then silence... the beautiful silence that drapes the earth once everyone and everything is dead except for us, at least until the sun returns, and the alarm clock rings and resurrects the world from its hallucinated grave, and I head out to work hungover with love.

lying together
in the last of the darkness...
I awake
to the hiss of flames
and plumes of candle-smoke

a modern haiku

safe in a box
the christmas bulbs
from our shattered family

Untitled

Days pass like bullets
from an assassin's rifle
and zip past my head...
I must've put a bounty
on my own life
some night when I was drunk
and praying to Death
as if he were a god —
But when I'm sober
I refuse to believe in him
because the whole idea of mortality
is just too glamorous
to be real,
because there have been days
that have pierced my skull
without exit
and brought me to my knees
while the warmth of everything I am bled out
onto the cold cement of my existence...
And because somehow, I’d always wake up
after every kill
to the sound of birds singing outside my window.
Then, in those small perfect moments
I’d ask myself
“is this heaven?”

Exposed

how gently

this summer dusk

unfolds our petals

while the flowers close...

the way you smile when you're shy

is so

attractive...

But as this darkness settles

it hides everything —

our bodies, eyes, and even

the past.

we're invisible to each other,

but I can read the goosebumps on your skin

like braille

and see the sound of your breath

floating through my mind

with all it's color.

My remaining senses tingle

in your sensation

then go numb, and fall asleep

to the rest of this broken world

like pins and needles

but pleasurable, in a strange way.

Never would I have thought

it'd feel so wonderful to go blind

to such beauty

as yours...

Hooded Salesman audio (slam poem/rap)

http://picosong.com/4dn7/

Slam poem audio... enjoy!

http://picosong.com/4Uu5/

Verbal Seduction

Get lost with me
in the smoke that dances
on the edge of my voice.
The world is too cold
for my words,
but how beautiful they look
suspended in the air
like a stage for moonlight
who steals the show.

Let me take you in the night
while you dream of music
from warmer worlds
to a place where every breath I breathe
strokes your skin
and gives you chills.

Maybe somewhere deep inside
I know it'll never last
forever —
but oh what memories
it'll haunt me with
when my words uncurl and disappear
into the dark skies that hug
every world.

More freestyle poetry/rap shit. Slam poem maybe?

He's knocking at the door again
that hooded man
trying to sell me death
I told him I have nothing left
but he's running a sale
on last breaths.
I'm intrigued
but it's 3 in the morning
and I'm strung out on meth
hydrocodon, gin, and weed.
I'm pale as a ghost
he says I'll fit right in
He says “don’t worry bout it man it ain’t a sin
if you're depressed
and I know you are
I can see it in your eyes
your handsome eyes
blue as the sky,
so let me come in sir
and you can give it a try.”
Goddamn salesman
buttering me up with lies
my eyes are hazel and I know it
I'm not letting his shit fly.
“you're not too young to die
in fact, you're old for your age
your soul is tired of this life
it's practically withered away”
get the hell away
I ain’t buying your shit
so take your shiny new scythe
and fucking split.
“now hold on sir,
no need to throw a fit
you're gonna die anyways
if you keep taking those hits,
and I know you cant stop”
Fuck you dick
those drugs are just a metaphor
you're blind as shit...
but you're right I cant stop
it's so easy to hurt
and cut myself 'till the blood drops.
Sometimes it falls like rain
and submerges bad thoughts
I know it don't make sense
but I'm insane
rationality's closed up shop.
“Oh, well would you be interested in
this new vacuum model?
It sucks up anything you drop
even all those empty bottles”
No thanks
the one I have works just fine
but I’ll call you back about that death
if I ever do change my mind
“okay, thank you for your time
enjoy the rest of your night, sir
and here take my card
and check me out online”
I nod, smile,
then slam the door as he walks.
that fucking reaper will find someone
probably on this block...
depression is a ghetto
where people get shot,
that's why I stay inside
and wait patiently to rot.
This solitary confinement
drove me insane
but at least I'm alive
and can see past these games.

Freestyle Rap Lyrics

If I make it through this life
I'll end up in the ghettos of heaven
if I'm lucky
but I’ll probably end up dead
with a cop staring over my body.
I'm tight-roping on sanity
juggling my depression
like chainsaws
as strangers in the crowd cheer
when I start to fall.
They must think it's funny
when I'm about to topple
but fuck them I'm still dangling here
just to show 'em I'm unstoppable.
I'm cold
and tougher than you think
I've been to hell and back
and then went back for the heat.
Bitch, I'm the patron saint
of everything unholy
I'll grind up your boyfriend's meat
and stuff it in ravioli,
fuck the rules
I'd serve it to kids at school
show up naked with a plate of him
and make the lunch-moms drool.
I rose up from the shadows
where demons lurk like sharks
the sea of night is frigged
so I drowned myself in the dark.
My mind is sunken treasure
that no one will ever find
they only dream of striking gold
as valuable as mine
my shit is divine
when I spit my mind every star in this fucking galaxy aligns
I'm a constellation of a god
more powerful than Zeus
my words are lightning bolts that burn holes in
your roof...
I dangle from the moon
bitch I'll never fall
you can push and shove but I'll be stronger than all 'yall!
you'll never win
you demon sons of bitches
I'll pull myself up past the sky
past the stars that hold my wishes
and gobble you all up
like little fucking fishes.

My Field of Wildflowers

You're my stillborn butterfly

afraid of your new beauty

with limp wings,

pried from the safety of your cocoon

by my old hands

in a forest where everything

is charred.

Only the skeletons of trees

once lush with life and birdsongs

can admire your strange elegance

as you lay listless on their roots

that thirst for a storm of passing love

and thunder.

I want to carry you away

to my field of wildflowers

and resurrect you with the unmasked glow

of the shy moon, who only shows its face

in this meadow of lies.

I'll watch the breeze wake you on my fingertips

then let you fly away, carelessly

into a world of color

I'll never compare to.