Dareth do I sayeth? Do I speak of the truth?
No matter how askew, no matter how uncouth?

The fact is I just don't give a ****, a fact I've made quite clear.
It doesn't have to do with you, so fret not of your cheer.

Go about your merry way, and do what you do best.
I don't expect of you to care of this I wouldn't jest.

It's just a fact of life, it's a somewhat hidden facet.
Life's too short to hold it in, just take two puffs and pass it.

We want to care and we will do it, if there's ever any time.
Me? I'm just here planning what could be the perfect crime.

Empathy forsaken to my will for what I strive.
I'd like to be the first, to make it out of life alive.

It was on a night like this, not long ago.
The air stood still and the moon hung low.

A loathsome lad on the bow of a whaler.
Not much of a farmer but a pretty good sailor.

Made a wish on the breast of Blue he killed.
"Your mightiest dead, his blood I've spilled!"

Most gods didn't listen save one who did care.
Poseidon held steadfast, his attention was snared.

"Poseidon pay forth my wish which I've earned!
My fortunes everlasting and enemies burned!"

Poseidon appeared though not as you think him.
He appeared as fresh water so the sailor would drink him.

"My favor you seek?" The lads stomach it snarled.
"You killed one of my daughters your heart I will gnarl!"

"Oh dear god who hath forsaken my favor.
Spare me your wrath, my heart don't savor."

The young sailor pleaded his tables now turned.
The house of his dreams Poseidon has burned.

"Quiet you fool your tears do not pang me.
One day I favor you will marry a banshee.

She'll be quite striking, clever, and loyal.
For her hand and her heart you mustn't recoil.

You'll live quite well your fortunes more fair.
You'll suffer no fools, you will not despair.

One night though I'll come back to collect.
I spared your life tis quite a large debt."

Our whaling friend abided then his muscles began to quake.
Poseidon made him ***** so an exit he could make.

They parted ways and many years of travels came to be.
Our whaling lad he had searched those perilous seven seas.

Soon he met and fell in love with a girl from the forests edge.
He proposed to her in sight of Poseidon on high upon a ledge.

A few years passed and soon she bore this man a son.
He couldn't believe his very eyes what favors had he won.

Then one night Poseidon came and rapped his trident on the door.
"A debt must be paid with your own son. I mustn't wait anymore!"

The lad he knew better than to argue with Poseidon.
He took his son from his wife's arms knowing better to abide him.

Poseidon took his son and cast him to the stars.
A reminder far more lasting than any mortal scars.

The young mans wife done cast herself into the firey hearth.
Having done cursed her love and self, for ever giving birth.

The sailor said "What penance, if any, was there ever to be made?"
Poseidon turned away from him for the debt the man had paid.

"Does your pain right now not make you favor death?
Do you not savor in the thought of smelling Cerebrus' breath?

Can you fashion upon your eyes a single saving grace?
How about your soul for one more look upon her face?"

The whaling man said nothing putting pistol to his temple.
The plan it seems all along had been well, rather simple.

A discharged flash and his eyes opened wide.
Prone in his bed his lovely wife there by his side.

His son began to bellow from the crib by the hearth.
Everything was as it was, his love and the birth.

A new moon shone out upon the quiet sea.
Poseidon beckoned the old man to venture out to he.

"Poseidon I don't know what I could do to honor you my god.
Your feats are grand and generous your efforts I applaud."

"Save face my friend for you have learned your lesson well.
And that's to say this **** right here is by Jamison ****** Bell!"

Some say it is like magic.
Some say it's not meant to be.
I'll tell you my friend what's tragic.
If you don't see what I want you to see.

There is a beauty in the serenity.
And the serenity is what you seek.
Perception gives beauty an infinity.
To be the serenity of which you speak.

Perhaps I may have lost you.
My thoughts are at least chaotic.
This line of thinking is past due.
Because you may think it psychotic.

The serenity, beauty, and balance.
A harmonious trio indeed.
Acquisition would take many talents.
There's an easier way to succeed.

Just put aside your wicked ego.
You don't need it ''tis but a waste.
Let that zen of your childhood regrow.
Back when your pride you had yet to taste.

Beauty itself is flawed.
In that it is entirely subjective.
Into your conscious has clawed.
The idea that it must be collective.

Nay my friend I assure you.
There is serenity in the chaos.
Let your surroundings subdue you.
Any other action would be your loss.

The blood and the screaming.
The dust, the sweat, and the fear.
On the face of the demon who's dreaming.
I can tell you he is always near.

So you may as well look my friend.
Find the beauty that lies in his soul.
For if he should awake my friend.
His serenity will take its toll.

From the top of the mountains that rest under Apollos feet.
To the deepest of forest where Artemis has been heard to sing.

The cliffs of Moher overlooking the remains the forsaken Mal.
And to the canyons formed by Paul Bunyan's axe.

Where ball lightening dances to where the Angel she falls.
And even where they ghost danced so that Miwok could sleep.

I've told them all so many times, you must've heard by now.
Surely tales have found you wherein you ought to be found.

Pan himself is tired of my proclamations.
My devil may care position on you sickens even Cupid.

So let it be said and let the darkness be ******.
Tell Osiris that I am on my way for maybe he hasn't heard.

One day these words will reach you and then you'll finally hear.
I love you.

I want so desperately to believe the illusion.
To think I can be one of those people.

I like to listen to other people. The things they say.
What they did. Where they went. Who they were with.

I kid myself sometimes.
I let myself believe I'm one of them.

Till I'm staring at a bottle of scotch at a table alone.
The bottle reminds me. It's just a dream.

I drink but I do not curse them. I don't blame them.
I wouldn't want me there either.

Still though.
What it must be like.

I won't find out in this lifetime.
In this life it's just me and the Jameson.

Family gatherings. Holidays. Parties.
I watch them on tv and wonder.

What is that like?
To be surrounded by people who want you there.

Every acquaintance I have is paid for.
I rent out the illusion of inclusion.

I pretend that where I am is where I'm wanted.
Until I've fixed the railing or solved the problem.

Or handed over the cash.
Once this is done the illusion vanishes.

I'm asked to leave.
"You should go."

I hear that a lot.
Until the next time.

When they'll need money, ****, or me to fix something.
Then I can relish in the ideology.

For a moment.
I have a purpose.

At first sight it was as if she was dancing.
Spreading a fire about the room with every gesture.
So many eyes transfixed on the wonder who held the room
Aoide made flesh?

Had I found the muse of song?
Should I ask her of Pegasus?
Had I ever seen more grace in her essence.
It could have only been in a sunset.

Inquired, inspired, insipid in my lust
To know of her thoughts, dreams, and fears
So that I may slay the dragons
And stand alone before her emerald eyes

Who am i kidding?
What have I done?
I can't win this heart.
With satirical puns.

Dragons and Aoide.
What was I thinking?
This girl is too wise.
She'll know I've been drinking.

But still though there's something.
It must be implored.
What this girl offers.
It can't be scored.

You only get moments.
To stand in her sun.
Cherish these seconds.
For others there's none.

A Viking you see.
Stands at her door.
He'll laugh in your face.
And you'll be no more.

She says her heart.
Is rotten and black.
Though its words to me
Are like that of crack.

I beg of you friend
To know of me this.
To be but a thought on your mind
Is as good as a kiss.

From here the trees look black
Mourning the loss of time
Chasms in a sky of slurry grey
Relatable and untouchable

There's no pulse
Forsaken and lost to the cares of others
Sentries of a land doused in fog
Immune to the forces of nature

It's not a deafening silence
It's that sound left here
Fearing it too may suffer this fate
Hopelessness

Complacency prevails the spirit
No sense to be found in searching
Only more of the same beyond
A world void of light

This forest in my head
I walked too far

I toss my thoughts out into a void.
They won't inspire like the stars.
Themselves scattered.

They disappear into a murky void.
Like the rocks I've fed to the rivers.
Themselves forever lost.

My heart speaks out in some thoughts.
The mind interprets what it can.
Things get lost in translation.

Youll find no joy, no sorrow, no love.
These words of mine have been tested.
No affects do they bear.

Nonetheless they were never mine to begin with.
Like everything else.
These thoughts are about you, for you, and without you.

There are so many things I want.
I want you to be warm.
I want you to be safe.
Happy.

Then again. It doesn't matter what I want.
It only matters what you want.

I stopped to smell the roses.
They laughed at me.
I painted the roses black.
Now I'm the only one laughing.

I had a puppy
I'm happy to say
But my puppy
He died one day

I had a mom
To me she said
******* I think
Your puppy's dead

So my puppy I took
Way out in the yard
I dug her a hole
And read her a card

"**** you puppy
How dare you die
Leaving me here
Alone to cry"

The more I thought
About her death
And how I watched
Her last breath

I began to hate
This ****** mutt
Just laying there
Her eyes are shut

How dare you die
And leave me be
"It was a truck
What didn't you see?"

Stupid dog
I hate you now
You broke my heart
I'll get a cow

A cow you see
A gentle grazer
For when she dies
I can braise her

Until that day
She'll be my friend
We'll play fetch
My heart she'll mend

So ******* dog
You're inedible
This here cow
Will taste incredible

Sometimes.
I like to imagine the world drenched in fire and carnage. The woeful screams of the entitled ****** echoing through the once fertile plains of the Midwest.
As I casually stroll amidst the piles of decaying rotting flesh whistling to myself. The smell of burnt hair and regret permeating the air around me. Smoke and ash choking out the Suns rays letting darkness reign.
And then my show comes back on so I go back to eating my sandwich and watching tv.

So after a little research (It's that thing you do to validate information shared with you instead of taking the word of a ****** meme) I have come upon some interesting information.
Let's start with religion and capitalism.
This time I'm going to leave the Catholics alone. Let's go with Scientology. I think we can all agree if they're right about everything we'll collectively eat our ******* hats.
The Scientologist won the right of tax exemption in 1993. They hold roughly 1.5 billion usd in real estate. Now with a nationwide average of property tax falling at 1.45%. I did the math for you cause I know how lazy y'all are. That comes out to a loss of over 200 million dollars annually to the rest of us.
That's just one religion of the dozens that enjoy tax exemption. I'm not going to bother griping about the NRA (non-profit tax exempt status), Planned Parenthood, or the fact that in NYC sliced bagels are taxed and whole bagels aren't (true).

Let's move on to capitalism. That delightful dinosaur of an ideology  on whose tail we desperately try to grab onto to keep from being **** on. Oh sure it's all well and good when mom and dad want to open a little store in their neighborhood. Perhaps they want to build something for their childrens future. Or maybe the guy just wanted to sponsor a softball team while making it easier for that ******* down the street to get her ****** Tang every week.
Up, look out, stand aside. Here comes WalMart. 76 billion in undisclosed overseas tax havens. They've done nothing legally wrong. Their army of lawyers can assure you of that. Regardless, mom now works for WalMart, the little store is closed, and dad is a raging alcoholic with rage issues.

My point? If it weren't for these ridiculous loopholes in our tax laws, the ****** lobbyist (why do we continue to allow this practice?), and us as a nation. Maybe we could hire more cops, build more schools than prisons, parks, playgrounds, free education, cheaper healthcare, cheaper prescriptions (prescription drug companies are hiding 2.1 trillion alone overseas). We ourselves are as guilty as anyone else. We pay no attention to what our leaders do once elected. Oh sure you're bound to run into some idiot wanting to blame the president be who it may. As if he just sits there day and night coming up with new laws.
But no. You know what. You all keep focusing on a guy who doesn't want to stand for the ****** anthem. because obviously that's the real problem.

It's raining and it's all I can hear.
I wish you were here.
I wish you understood.
It's raining here, it is all that I can hear.

Satiating my desire for serenity without having to abandon my mortal coil. This rain falls calmly, it doesn't look to erase anything. Only to replenish.

I wrote to you of my wrongs. Perhaps the rain bled my letter. The quill translated so many of my thoughts that night.
The black sweat of a bottle, traced feelings upon parchment. Erased by this cursed rain. I am held to its will and it to mine.

Of all the clocks to choose from, I think I like four the best.
Nothing much seems to happen at four, if anything.

Whether it be in the evening or in the morning.
There's a softness to four, a calm before the storm.

It was three that took my mother. Eleven, my father.
I said goodbye to my friend at eight and two once tried to **** me.

Four seems to be waiting for something.
Even in slumber it keeps an eye on me at all times.

I suppose it waits for me. To take its hand before.
And not until I'm ready to go.

We stand in the shadows.
Meandering about like blind puppies.
Repeatedly stepping in the **** we leave behind.
We can take off the blindfolds.
We could change things.
We don't dare.
We can't.
We've become to accustomed to the madness.
We've found comfort is the screaming.
Any other sort would only draw suspicion.
The darkness, the moonlight, the silence.
Bearers of our secrets and desires.

I have to think.
I have no other recourse.
My defense and my offense.
These things that come to mind.
Slain at birth for the sake of you.

I can't be.
I shouldn't be.
However I am.
Here now.
And I'm still thinking.

At my will kings fall.
Steel forms to my desire.
Anger is aroused when my fingers dance.
Destruction is of my construction.
I haven't stopped since I started.

I won't lie down.
Not with the dogs.
Or the sheep.
I'll tow the line.
To the edge of a cliff.

My ends do not match your means.

If she only knew
She is a galaxy in my eyes
A wonder to behold
Beautiful in her mysteries

A symphony of light and chaos
The longing to dance along side her
It is an ache sorely kept
A pain most coveted

Resting on an event horizon
Time stands still
The past, the present, and the future
Discombobulated moments entrance

Words not heard or felt
Lost in a vacuous void
Between her heart and mine
Too much time, too much space

It seems the hardest concept for most people to grasp.
Is the suggestion that their existence is inconsequential to the universe.

I'm not here to be ridiculed, mock, or even roasted.
I'm just not keen on this party or the guy you chose to host it.

Overhead I hear someone touting their grand beliefs.
Therein is your problem lad, who says you even need a chief?

Parties and their senators the governors and their staff.
These are your dear leaders? Am I to ****** laugh?

The Capitol is a rat king wherein their lies are entwined.
Power, greed, and pettiness plaguing their hive like mind.

I'll be honest, I don't care, my life it seems to never change.
You can elect a ****** waffle, it can't get more strange.

These things you want to happen, it'll always start with you.
You can be your own ignition, you only have to see it through.

So elect yourselves an Eggo, a ******, or a *****.
Either way I'll bet my *** in four years you'll want a switch.

So wherein does that leave I
I came to beg a differ.
She let free a woeful sigh
And once again I whiffer.

Relegated I'd say I am
To a lonesome sort of state
I'd like to say I don't give a ****
But for I tis too late

I curse thee love regretfully
For my choices are but few.
I place this curse respectfully
That you may never get what's due.

If I go forth into the night
To mourn the unrequited
To pull the hang mans work too tight
While my sins go unrepentant.

Than so too shall thee suffer
Tis my plight you must share
Let us hope that you are tougher
And find someone to care

The moon she wanders over head.
For she cares not of our pains.
She lights the way for the dead.
A song of rattling chains

The hangman he is voiceless
And your tears quenches he
A life to him is choice less
For he will not suffer me

Pull the lever you ****** fool
Says I to my hooded reaper
Your job I say has one rule
Of lives you are no keeper

The hangman he then nodded
And then removed his shroud
Anguish to my heart is prodded
The silence was too loud

For there she stood at the lever
The maiden who wrought my fate
She smiled at me something clever
My curse was to come too late

She looked at I and blew a kiss
And I could not in kind
She then giggled and said "curse this"
And my life was null and blind

Forgive me my tresspasses.

Only because I have no one, no where else to vent.
I have a gf. She insist she loves me. I've had a few others in the past say the same thing. I have never believed them/anyone.
I'm not sure why. I don't know if it's because no one has ever met my definition of love. Maybe I'm dead inside. I have no idea.
Sometimes someone will do something nice for me. I'm not sure what that is all about either.
I can wrap my brain around the concept of a black hole. But for the life of me I will never understand this love thing.
I know how I feel about certain people. But I can't say they feel the same way. At least not with any certainty.
I just can't imagine anyone feeling for me how it is I may feel about them.
I'm not crying, *******, moaning what have you. I'm just stating the fact of my confusion when it comes to how love is supposed to work.

I'm going have another drink. Then I'm going to smoke a little. Afterwards, I'll read until I fall asleep with a book on my chest.
And if my dreams aren't of you. I'll try again.

We won't stand in silence, my brethren and I.
We can find beauty in violence, what colors when you die.

We stand here now where others may have fallen.
From Friedrich William Nietzsche to Joseph ****** Stalin.

Whether they be a tyrant, a king, or an overlord.
A musician, a muse, or a thinker due accord.

These people changed the world, for better or for worse.
Some left this world a little better, some of them accurse.

Put to ink these thoughts of yours as random as they seem.
Write about your problems, or jot down your favorite dream.

One of us who saw you would really like to know.
Did you ever fall in love and how did your spirit learn to grow.

You will change the world. How much to be decided.
Whether it's by acts or words, I'm sure some will be delighted.

Except for you Gacy. *******.

You ever think about what it would be like to leave yourself behind?
Just dispose of you the you and everyone else knows.
Venture out into the deep blue nothing in search of everything.
To be the you you always dreamed of being.

To live with reckless abandonment.
Or to take that chance. To risk all your known comforts.
To fall in love haplessly. Or to burn that bridge for good.
Why is it so scary?

Is the unknown that terrifying?
I don't know now what will happen when.
So does it really make a difference?

If I want to see her.
I look up at the moon and close my eyes.
If I want to smell her.
I sit down wind of the lilacs up on the hill.
If I want to feel her.
I step out into the sun after a rain storm.
If I want to hear her voice.
I read the words she's left behind.

At times.
It seems like I've got a bag literally filled with **** tied to my waist. Because I think or I have convinced myself I need it. That I am to suffer the weighing stench my own failings.
Well **** that ****. I'm human. And I hold no doubts that there are far worse than I in character by comparison. Am I the best I can be? Probably not. However I like to think I'm doing a little better than the guy wearing a diaper while being led around the room by an under aged Cambodian girl. That ******* has issues.

Did you see?
Do you have it with you?
I do.
I take it out and look at it.
When the night is at its coldest.
When the batteries have gone dead and the music has stopped.
I unfurl the tapestry of that moment.
I hang it up in the back of my mind.
And I watch it play out.
The colors surrounding.
The silence in the air.
The smell of your skin.
It was an all encompassing moment.
A warmth unforgiving and a softness too rarely felt.
The day I kissed a hummingbird.

Some of us are in indescribable pain.
Meandering through the days while barely holding onto to themselves. Clutching at a line so thin.

We talk to them, laugh with them, and say our goodbyes. And although you might think they're fine, they're not. You've gone home and they're still mired in their own misery.

Whether self induced or not, it doesn't matter. They're stuck in a perpetual pattern of loathing, usually it's self. There's no light.

There isn't much you can do to help them. You can call them, you can be there for them, but too often these endeavors are in vain.

Sometimes it gets to the point where their pain is the only absolute they have. They've embraced it because of its familiarity.

Too often these people are lost to us. They're broken. The damage is just irreparable. To stay yourself would only suffer the crushing inevitably.

We convince ourselves of things. It's an auto response to outside stimuli. Some of us go defense, others offense. Whether whatever it is we've convinced ourselves is true or not. It doesn't matter.

Tears in the rain.

There won't be any phone calls.
No flowers at the door.
Words of solace won't ring.
The neighbors won't be firing up their ovens.
Nobody will wonder, nobody will ask.
Just as it is so will it continue to be.
Come the death of me.

What may I ask enthuses you, what makes your eyebrows flutter?
If I was to speak of passion? Would your heart not race and stutter?

If I were to be a person of a rare outstanding merit.
Would not your hearts desire be something I'd inherit?

What if I were a vagabond, a drifter without a worry.
Someone simply looking for your favor with a curry.

What say of this my only friend? For the moon she is upon us.
Before my dreams escape my grasp and fall into the furnace.

The moon she left, without a word, no praise for I had she.
You vanished with the rising sun, leaving only me.

Come Cerebrus, you cursed mutt, for me is nothing here.
Lead me to your master, so his pity I may endear.

Do you even know what I'm thinking?
It's not to be contested.
And yes I've been drinking.
Enough to be arrested.

In order for you to teleport.
And this you can't avoid.
Your consciousness we must import.
Your body gets destroyed.

Your character we'll scatter.
To places far and near.
For a moment you won't matter.
Until you reappear.

Though here I am to warn you.
Things may seem a little out of place.
See they have to reconstruct you.
And you're still carbon based.

They'll upload your very being.
Right up in this new you.
You won't believe what you are seeing.
When you step out on Timbuktu.

For it was but a moment when you were here by me.
Till you up and vanished across so many seas.
To hell with you you blasted ***** teleporting *****!
I'm coming for your *** when I walk out that other door.

There is no pause.
No stopping to rest.
It should be insatiable.
This hunger.

There are too many questions and not enough answers.
Where is the exit for the Devils Kettle? What is the hum? Gravity? Death? How can light act as matter? Is the ****** cat dead or alive?

All my life, I've asked of you to tell me something true.
Dearest brain I beg and plead, whatever shall I do?

Do I dare to trust of you, this construct you created?
Leaving out the answers so my questions are abated.

Life is indeed a symphony of terrors in the night.
A dream within a dream where there is no wrong or right.

We live an illusion and illustration if you will.
There is no magic looking glass no red no blue pill.

Senses perpetuated by a mind left unhinged.
Realities so obtuse by nature, make us want to cringe.

I ask of you, my brain, of sloppy grayish matter.
Will I ever know the truth? Before my ashes scatter?

Me thinks the reaper be, not too far behind.
A specter not foreboding, his deeds not all unkind.

Did I ever tell you my loathsome friend of what has yet to be?
The falling of your heavens and the boiling of your sea.

How the dead will not suffer the living to pass.
Or how the sun will scorch your fields of grass.

The dogs of war will howl when the moon turns to blood.
Screams of woe will die in vain in black volcanic mud.

Anubis will awaken to drink of the Niles tears.
While Odin's in Valhalla, where he'll stay for many years.

These events they will transpire and there's one thing you can do.
You can have a drink and dance my friend, accept you are the fool.

No summer breeze to quell your pain no balm left Gilead.
You are but a Hector in that cursed book the Iliad.

There is a thing you can try but this task you mustn't botch.
I can't stop the earth from splitting but could you get for me a scotch?
On the rocks.
No lime.

I've been happy.
That was nice.
I've been angry.
I didn't much care for that.
I've been in love.
That one is exhilarating.
I've been betrayed.
That felt familiar.
I've been hurt.
This one never left.
I've been excited.
It's like a first kiss.
I've been disappointed.
So I avoid people.
Nowadays I'm apathetic.
It has no highs or lows.
I wonder though.
About the other ones.
What they feel like?

It seems to be my lot in life, the manner by which I live.
It'll never matter what I do or say or think or what I give.

I read somewhere if it is that they won't make time for you.
Then it is that they don't care and have other things to do.

Maybe they're too busy and there's others they want to see.
To assume my name is on that list, would be a fantasy.

I do not hate or wish ill will for who am I to blame.
If I were you and you me I would probably feel the same.

Here I sit.
I don't believe I'm sitting. I don't believe in anything.
I can think I'm sitting. As long as I maintain that I could be wrong.

I don't believe in love. Even if I wanted to.
I can tell how I feel when you're around. And how I feel when you're not.

I don't believe in life. Or death. How could I ever rationalize a belief in something I don't understand?

I think. About fireflies, world *******, scotch, and jokes.
The jokes are to make you laugh. It's my favorite song.

I don't believe in anything. I envy those that do.
I'm just a lonely nihilist who wants to believe in you.

The truth will set you free they said as they pulled down the final curtain.
Me thinks they're full of **** I say, and of this I think I'm certain.

Dare I jest or tempt the feathers of that cherub and his arrow?
Curse that lad for he's a fool and he looks a little like a sparrow.

Quell my words and rest my tongue, for its not I who holds her heart.
To tell her so would bind my time, and the clock has yet to start.

I've barred such freedom from my dreams, this lie is all I need.
This illusion is all I have for now, for I am measured by my deeds.

"You remind me of my friend." I said.
"Who's your friend?" She says.
"The moon."

Amber soaked sunsets on warm summer nights.
Are just some of the things I can't enjoy without you.

A walk amongst a field of fireflies, is like a walk through the Milky Way.
Just so long as I can look through the darkness and find you.

Somewhere
That icy feeling of loneliness is squeezing the heart of someone you know.
Sometimes
It's just easier not knowing.
Someone
Hasn't stopped thinking about you since you left them.
Something
Could have been worse had you not been there to make a difference.
Anytime
You think you're right, there's a chance you could be wrong.
Anyone
Could do it. Yet there you stand.
Anything
Could be everything to someone else.
Anybody
Will suffice when there's nobody to be found.
Anyway
There it is.

I don't write because I want to.
I'm compelled to.
I'm not even good at it.
The devil may take me if I'm lying.

I think too much as I've been told.
And I'm under a train of thought.
I typically don't care what anyone has to say.
So why should they care about what I think?

In knowing this. I write.
I drink, I read, and I write.
That pretty much sums up who I am.
Which makes me nothing much.

Huh. Interesting. Not really.

There was once a fuzzy bunny.
And wow he liked to ****.
But just as life would have it.
He was **** outta luck.

So the fuzzy bunny away he did go.
To try and bust a nut.
He hopped down to the deli.
Where he hoped to find a ****.

Awkward was the fuzzy bunny.
For he wasn't well endowed.
He talked to many ladies.
Though none of them he plowed.

Then the fuzzy bunny he just went dark.
Depression took its toll.
He would snort pancake mix.
Smoking whatever he could roll.

Well things they just don't end well.
The fuzzy bunny took his life.
Things escalated quickly.
When fuzzy couldn't find a wife.

I wonder if anyone has ever thought about me as much as I've thought about them.

I've watched the stars.
Pondered their journeys through time and space. Wondered what they could tell me of the past.
I've stared at the moon. Locked in its ecliptic dance as it plays with our oceans, hearts, and minds.
The sun too has held me in a trance. Apollos burden radiating incessantly against its own eventual demise.
All of these things so beautifully elegant in their mysteries. Enrapturing the imaginations of mankind for thousands of years.
I close my eyes to their wonder, beseeching them all to measure up to what I see in my minds eye. Forever enduring to fail despite the arguments they pose in opposition.
For when my lids are down and that smile stretches its arms across my face, they know. I am thinking of you and not a one of them could ever live up.

You could sit down and write a thousand words or none at all.
And it would still befit her.
You could detail for the reader everything you know.
And then call it fiction.
Why?
She is love incarnate.

I have but one friend, and she is a cat.
A passive beast, she won't **** a rat.
She's rather daunting when to be fed.
She'll probably eat me, after I'm dead.

I like conversations in the rain.
Empathic words soaked in urgency.

I like fields of tall grass layered in fog.
Tired clouds on beds of green.

Tattered flags hopeless in salvation.
Beaten down by years of neglect.

Unwarranted smiles from strangers.
Moments of blissful silence unheralded.

Few are the things I can relate to.

So what if I lapse?
I'll catch you.
When I fall?
Yes.

I've fallen before.
You will again.
You weren't there last time.
Wasn't I?

It's getting darker.
It usually does.
What'd I do?
You feel your way through as you have before.

They told me it's always darkest before the dawn.
And then they told me all hope was gone.

They lied about the dawn and they lied about the hope.
Tis too soon to hang thyself by an apathetic rope.

It lies in my perception these answers that evade.
The world I see around me is the world I have made.

And when I look inside to my blackened rotting heart.
Standing there before myself, to see my ego fall apart.

I'll find the hope that springs eternal as I've heard them say.
I'll clinch my teeth and gnaw the bit until my dying day.

I don't need you there to catch me if ever I should fall.
And should you say my name in the dark, I may not hear the call.

Rest assured my weary friend for there will come a day.
Until that time my trusted friend there be demons you must slay.

One night I happened upon a moon.
A hunters moon I believe it was.
I took a seat upon a rock.
I took a seat just because.

I thought of her not long ago.
It was in the fall if I remember well.
A smoldering spirit awaiting air.
A sleeping inferno under her spell.

The moon she laughed as she often does.
A hapless soul lured into her light.
She favors none, not the old or young.
A sentry of the earth at work at night.

I doused my pipe and set on my way.
I should think not of her for I am lost.
Amidst the ashes of dreams forsaken.
My task to fruition at any such cost.

A wolf long in fang chases the moon.
It's hunger it seems has made it insane.
I must **** this beast to query a favor.
So that the moon will give me what I must obtain.

The answer I seek I believe she holds.
This wolf can't deny me my heart's desire.
The moon if spared can answer my question.
Should I continue or suffer in fire?

Will she ever see through what I have built?
Will her touch be mine to lie underneath?
Or should I waiver to just tumble and fall?
Should I give taste to my heart the knife in my sheath?

I don't want to dispel you,
much less repel you
from these things you may already know.
I seek not redemption,
I'm not worth salvation,
I just wanted to see the show.

Let us forgo the pity, the pious,
and pompous
and share just a thought or two.
Life in illusion, the ***,
and confusion.
With no understanding or clue.

Of course I adore you.
I long to explore you.
Your crevices and your thoughts.
I won't allow you to blame me,
much less shame me.
This cheetah isn't changing his spots.

Yes I'm convicted
but it's you who's conflicted.
I know exactly where I stand.
I've been through the trial,
I'll wait for your smile.
It's better when it isn't planned.

I still remember her breast,
along with the rest.
I imagine it looks nice in the sun.
Close your eyes
and I'll tell you no lies.
To my heart your words hold a gun.

I'm caught in your current
I spin like a torrent.
When the sound of your silence expires.
Hamper me naught,
in your web I am caught.
I'll be here till you decide to retire.