I didn’t want to face the harsh, true words of The Voice or put the energy in that change required. I wanted to drown in my ego. I wanted to flip through my social-networks, my validating Facebook page and perhaps consult better advice from my mother. But I knew that he was right and what needed to be done and I was prepared to do it… I think I was. But a good friend once told me that writing is painful and I believe now what he was saying more than ever. In order to succeed I needed to **** the part of myself that for whatever reason believed that I already had. When you cut off your willingness to learn, you cut off your fuel source for which to produce. It isn’t humbleness—no, humbleness suggests that you have produced good work that you must now be gracious and small rather than tower over the meek peasants that grovel below you. What a ***** word. No, you have to know you’re bad. Push each key down with a sweeping uncertainty that flows forward in effortless delight and carnage. You have to be bad. You have to not care, not what they think but what that chattering, high-pitched buzz of ego and “sensitivity” thinks about you, and especially what it thinks about your failure. You’ll have to get used to that. You’ll have to do strange things that are not quite immoral but resemble something close to opening the gates to a dark alleyway of confusion of despair, then going down it on purpose. Sitting down in this alleyway, among the muck and rats and denigrated newspaper, this is where you do your work. So long as the words flow and the mind continues to unravel, you will have the patience and satisfaction to make this your home. Cold, dark and ugly—it’s your life and it’s beautiful. Some see it as a selfish pursuit, but what a funny opinion that is to see from down here in the dirt. I’m sure in some ways it is. But it is also a sacrifice, the offering of a letter written in blood and shards of broken spirit and signed off to the bleeding youth of tomorrow’s heroics. They’ll be the one’s to save the world, they will think as we thought and they will be driven to make sacrifices of their own. But not without a little word of advice from the now stinking-bodies piled against the dumpsters in the alleyway soaked in the fog of time. Not without my advice—or at least this was the thought that kept me burning. Perhaps also why some choose to draw razors across their arms, to cut to the source of life and un-dig the hidden meanings and answer a few of the questions that keep us alive. Even if the answers are not buried here, and we know it. It is enough to dig, and find the bones of other diggers that have died in the sun of their own hole, their skin melted off and liquified but absorbed by the sand. Having their company is enough, in a life of strangers. It is a friendship that extends through time because it is timeless. It is The Voice in your ear that tells you to keep going, and knows that somehow it is worth it anyways.

Feet like lead
getting ready for bed
strip to the buff
look in the mirror,
my god
I look rough
could do
with
a tummy tuck.

*******
says
the reflection,
I'm looking ace
you're off your face
high on
something.

The mirror sees it all and
speaks its mind.
In this I find
some kind
of truth.

Walking into my room
I see a lonely primrose
Looking to the sun
Dying while it goes...
Slowly

Tears fall gently down its petals
It glistens in the sunshine
It does this constantly
Time after time

I have watched her for hours
As she wept away the day
I fell into my dreams
Every time the moon came my way

But tonight I will see this primrose
When the moon rests in the clouds
When lampposts become the sun
When the cities lose their crowds

Oh I will see whats behind my vail of dreams
I will see why I don't hear her weep
I will witness that precious moment
When the primrose and the moon will meet

Time passes me
My eyes can feel it go by
Dropping into my dreams
Reality is saying goodbye

But then
As the moon gently arrives
The primrose looks up
Her quiet sobs slowly subside

I have seen the beauty of golden rivers
The sunshine over the mountain top
Snow on the green pine trees
I have seen the orange in the sun rise pop

But I have never
Or I ever
Seen this divine beauty
That will live with me forever

This primrose bloomed
In my once room of gloom
In the silver bright light
Of the wide eyed moon

It was quiet at that moment
Silence was its gorgeous view
The primrose looked at its only love
And said...
"I cannot live without you"

I just want to add another
If you will call my name
Just don't simply blame
I have nothing to offer
Cause my life is spent
Let's just randomly wander
Those fields are so golden
Just like a ginsberg rattle

I am the one who
feel your love limit to sky

And

I am the one who proved
your sweet lies !!!