There’s not much to who I am.
An assortment of ****** memories and ******* decisions pretty much cumulates the bulk of it.
There are few chapters left in my book, if any at all, and it’s finest kind because my ink well is running dry.
I figured it out. No bible, no koran, no holy scripture. It was pretty easy actually. It all came down to “just don’t be a ****”. Somehow there are people who have managed to become incredibly wealthy by stretching that philosophy out over hundreds of pages and thousands of years.
I made sure to secure any permanent ties. No kids, no wife, no friends or family. I think I’ve always known I was only writing a short story. So it sub consciously never made sense to establish any ties. Though it wasn’t for lack of trying. I endeavored nonetheless. Human nature I suppose.
Mine was never good story. More along the lines of The Catcher in the Rye meets an early eighties Hustler meets a refrigerator magnet that reads Worcester.
I found it frustrating. Perpetually confusing and more than once I’ve wanted it to be over.
A good writer would be able to continue along this line of thinking and perhaps mold it into something meaningful.
I’m not a good writer.

Well let’s shave off its skin now and turn up those tunes.
I’ve tried every move and you keep reading those runes.
Show me this love that you buried up on that hill.
You can’t swallow your pride so I’ll just swallow these pills.
Now keep up the banner that you so proudly stand by.
The one you and I know is just another **** lie.
Pan died alone by the forest and glens.
But he never claimed that he would die for our sins.
So take up your pen and say what’s never been said.
The ink’s drying fast and I’m already dead.

I’m sorry I can’t fold time and space.
I’m sorry that I can’t promise to be there for you.
It’s seems as if it were meant to be.
At times.
Cursed.
Each tethered to an invisible force.
An undeniable logic.
It binds the will to complacency.
A suffering reluctance.
Acceptance stumbles in, drunk as usual.
And I find myself having to say goodbye.
To the illusion as it were.
My moment to bask in the twilight of a moment in bliss.
Now a memory.
A warm and happy memory.

Those brilliant fireflies of winter.
Hovering about trees, bushes, and snow ladened gutters.
Some yellow
Others green, blue, and white
Until snuffed out by their hosts
Even the reds
The embers
The frost creeps up and collapses on my car
My hovel
Not as fortunate as the fireflies
I fade off
In hopes that Luna makes haste tonight
It is cold

I’d hang myself, if only I could find the end of my rope
It’s tangled up in whiskey soaked thoughts
Everyday is a new measurement. Another step I don’t want to take
down a poorly lit hallway
I can’t see before me and I don’t want to look back
I do anyway
Under flickering fluorescent lights
Eyes squinting through stale cigarette smoke
Nothing
Always nothing

The moon pulls back the shimmering blue sheets before the rising sun
A world awashed overnight
Made anew
What was here last night is gone today, replaced by something never seen before
Time here is reset again
Another chance

Is it another chance for all? Are we to begin each day as if yesterday never was?
To try again, again, and again
To learn
Duality restrains for the sake of a conscious far too young to grasp the ultimate truth
Harnessed by necessity
We relinquish

It came upon a Christmas eve not so long ago
A beast deformed in stature, walked out from the snow
It’s eyes were sharp and wild, jagged teeth like shards
It went from house to house leaving hoof prints in the yards.
Glancing into windows warm with light and life
It was here to reconcile an old and bitter strife
It had a bag that screamed and cried as it dragged it on the ground
An awful thing just an awful thing, to have to hear that sound
It threw its nose into the air and began to sniff and snort
This demon was on to something but what I can’t report
In the bitter cold, you could smell it’s breath of rot and discontent
The chains that draped its frame, made its spine look broke and bent
The wind it howled in vain to warn the people of this beast
It’s cries went unregarded as people sat before their feast
The demon ceased its searching when it came upon my house
I did my best to hide and stay as quiet as a mouse
I walked back into the shadows in the corner of my room
Voiceless, breathless, terrified what was this thing of gloom
I heard it leap onto the deck and drop its sack upon the floor
A resounding thud caked in mud, it wasn’t crying anymore
I left my room and crept down the stairs to see if it got in
Hoping it wasn’t that demon who they said would eat my skin
It stood before the fireplace, the front door was opened wide
I don’t know how this thing got in but I had nowhere left to hide
It turned its face from the fire with a scowl you’d have to see
The demon had a quarrel alright and the quarrel was with me
It pulled out from the pocket of its robe all blacked and charred
A burning piece of paper then it handed me its card
The card read only “Krampus” before I felt it’s claws upon my throat
Now I’m in a bag with other kids set for some other place remote
We were bad and didn’t listen to our parents and their orders
We broke a lot of rules and disrespected borders
Now ole Krampus has us and he’ll probably sell us off as food
This is what you get if you’re whiny, mean, or rude
Now have a merry Christmas and do as you’ve been told
Lest you wind up in a demons bag being dragged upon the road

An extinguished knight.
Adrift to the whims of the night.
Stirs restlessly.
When left to wander the corridors
of memories.
Torch them!
Render them to ash
Paint the world as you see fit
Very well then
Paint it black

She will go to where others have flown before
Relegated as a memory
Something to be delved into
One night over a glass of scotch
While someone I don’t know insistently tells me things I don’t care about
I’ll remember she never said it first.
It always ended with “too”
As well
As well huh?
Her smile.
They all smile.
It’s when they stop smiling that it starts to hurt.
The empty rocks glass snaps me back into the now
They’re still talking
I’ll pay the tab
As an example
I have no whiskey at home
And I’m still not numb enough so I’d like another
But I just can’t listen any longer
To this nonsense
Not while my mind is still on her
And her “too”

Was it I?
Who made these decisions.
Why do I feel juxtaposed?
Is this normal?
In contrast to those around me.
No matter where I am,
I don’t belong there either.
Maybe that’s it.
The why.
Perhaps I went on to live, when in fact I should have died.

She’s the accidental brush stroke that made Rembrandt smile.
A wrong chord at the right time that makes the concerto that much better.
She’s the halo around the moon, on a dew soaked night when she’s a ghost of herself.
A lie and smile, so beautiful you don’t care about the truth because of how she looked at you.
She’s a celestial mystery encompassing everything beautiful one could hope to experience in a lifetime.

****** if I know
I just have to write
It’s a compulsion
There’s nothing to fight

It comes and goes
I give it no thought
I will not take the blame
It is not of my lot

I wish I were cured
That I wasn’t afflicted
It wouldn’t be so bad
If my writing was gifted

But no it’s not praised
Not garnished with stars
It’s just the nonsense
Of an old guy with scars

If you ever.
Had any empathy for me.
One tattered shred of respect.
You’d let me go.
Confess there was never any love.
Lift your wings and go.
Sever me.
Curse me.
I beg of you.
I don’t tell you this.
But it hurts.
I need you to go.
It has to be you.
You have to be the one to do it.
Because I love you too much to do it myself.

I never put the two together till I got older.
I’d hear the phrase “there’s always someone better”.
Then they left me outside.
I asked myself “why?”
Then it hit me.
It was because they’d found someone better.

It’s funny.
I only ever wanted them to be happy.
As it turns out.
What made them happy.
Didn’t include I.

There’s no shelter here.
Then inn is full. Someone **** in the other room and another guest set fire to the furniture.
Before that. Someone gutted the interior and ****** on the door.
Keep it moving.
I’m closing up shop.
I can’t take the heartache.
Take your hollowed out compliments.
Your empty declarations.
Reused terms of endearment.
I’m just too tired to care anymore.

I’m sitting on one of the fractional remnants of a glacier.
Long since forgotten and seldom thought.

Overlooking a lake of pitted glass under a hard rain.
Unrealistic and more often than not unwelcome.

Puddles form and multiply like dandelions.
Only to serve no real purpose before their demise.

The moon remains distant and callous.
A gentle reminder of a fate well deserved.

This rock, this lake. It’s where I go in my head when you’re gone.
And it always rains.

On a cold hallowed night on the outskirts of town.
When the mist settles thick on that hollowed ground.
Not much happens it’s really quite boring.
It’s a wonder by now that you’re not snoring.
But through the woods into the valley below.
Next to the willow where the lavenders grow.
You’ll find a crypt of something so vile.
It looks of death and reeks of bile.
It’s a skull and crossbones pirate hat.
I got drunk last night and I puked in that.
I threw it in the crypt cause why the **** not.
It’s not something I want it’s just something I got.
Now if you want to know about that house on the hill.
Does blood pour from the walls and onto the sill?
A child eating demon they say lives up there.
It’s in the clause, buyer beware.
Her name is Charolette and she has eight legs.
She ate all her children. The Bobs and the Pegs.
But I think she was killed by a chick with a broom.
They say it happened in the dining room.
To this very night if the winds should stand still.
And you listen closely to the house on the hill.
You may hear the sounds of children dying.
Running and screaming, it’s terrifying.
Those thousands of spiders just been born.
To their mothers will and her hunger scorn.
I know. I failed. I’m just not a good writer.
But I smoke a lot of *** so I do have a lighter.

She lies in the ashes, like a phoenix that hasn’t learned to fly.
Colors afire swirl about her reflecting her spirit.
Ever changing in tone and hues, she’s alight with passion.
The rain falls harder the heavier her heart.
And the sun feels like cotton when she is happy.
Mysterious forces pull at the will when she smiles.
A ****** like rush surges to your heart.
Insatiably compelled you feel like you can’t live without it.
I can only imagine.
I can only, imagine.

As intangible as winters breath and greeted likewise.
I peer through the windows of this vessel I feel cursed with.
My world is awash with colors dull and faded.
The sounds that accompany the things I see are harsh and shrill.
I close the lids and shrink back into recesses of my mind.
It’s dark and cold amongst the ruins of my dreams.
Wandering about, visiting those things said but abandoned.
I trace my fingers over the boxes of the memories of things that never happened.
It seems they were only wishes after all.
Reluctantly I rest my eyes upon a faint shimmer of amber light that has managed to sneak past my hopelessness.
I listen to it’s kind words and in its careless brevity I take false comfort.
The tall grass pulls me down and I lie amongst the bones of the things I love.
Pulling towards me an old skull from the days of my exasperating and careless youth.
I rest my head upon it’s brow.
The amber flame cold to my touch takes leave of me.
Returns to her love to dance in the arms of the night.
So I wait for nothing.
And as always.
It returns.

Strung up and gutted to oft how I feel
Tired of waiting
Wishing that door would open
Pacing recklessly
I've read all the magazines
Readers Digest had some good jokes
The others here
Staring dead eyed
It's been over 46 years
Why does it take so long
The walls are nice I suppose
Ever expanding
Any minute now
She's going to open that door
"Mr Bell? Death will see you now."

It's this or another poem based on self loathing
Another piece centered on sadness and brooding
I'll try to break off and walk towards the light
Something happier, with a little less plight

There once was a bunny, and **** no not that
No writing about bunnies, or my **** cat
There once was a girl, **** no not that either
From thinking of her I must take a breather

Ok I got it, hold still just a minute
I got a small thought, I just have to spin it
What if I write as if you're sitting here with me
We'll step in from the cold, to where it's less windy

First, thank you for staying, I know it's not easy
But go if you like, you don't have to please me
So, Schrödinger's cat, what're your thoughts on this
Or the **** of Nanking, there was something amiss

I'm sorry my friend, I'm simply not feeling it.
I've wasted your time, I'm sorry for stealing it
Perhaps one day when I'm out of my head
Drunk or high or already dead

We can sit and talk about life, love, and drinking
I'll sit and listen, without so much thinking
We'll have a few laughs about where we were when
Then I'll wake up, alone again

There are days I want to wake up and start a little fire
Then maybe drive a little further and perhaps I'll start another.
Then again I think that I'll probably keep it going
Just lighting fires all around me so that I won't be cold
I'll lie down and listen to the sirens wail off in the distance
I imagine it to sound like banshees howling at the flames
The fires will pop and crack as they spread outwards and inwards
Bearing down on my position determined to consume its creator
A symphony of terror and chaos, a force hungry for carnality
Lives ruined and dreams rendered to piles of soggy ashes
Air, ripe with the stench of death and misery, choking lungs
The sky a slurry of blackened smoke wafting like after thoughts
And I'll think to myself "what a wonderful world"

Don't talk about them
Until you've been hungry
And I'm not talking about
I skipped breakfast hungry
I'm talking about
I don't know where my
next meal is coming from hungry
You need to suffer
It's the only path to understanding
You can't claim that you know what it's like to be alone simply because there was no one else in the bathroom.
It's when they don't answer.
It's when you reach out from the dark into the light and no one takes your hand.
After a while.
The light burns.
So you retract your hand.
And take comfort in the pain because it's the only familiar thing you have.

I can't tell you about my first kiss.
Fact is, I don't remember it.
You want to know what I do remember?
Of all the things my mind can hold onto in excruciating detail.
I remember the day after I turned 15. The day before went by as just another day.
I tried to hug my mom and tell her I love her. She turned away from me and said "you're not worth living for".

This here, is poem two hundred.
Nothing rhymes with hundred.

Well it's been a few years since you've been gone.
My mind done left me, it went out for cigarettes and never came back.
Just like my Pa.
And my dog.
My mom,
The UPS girl.
Yup.
So anyway. The heater broke a while back.
Yeah our sow Peggy died.
My kin and I we'd each take a night spooning her.
Warmest **** pig you ever snuggled I'll tell you what.
I miss mind.
You don't have a tarp, some crayons, and an ax by any chance?
Yup.
I lost my mind the day she went thataway.
She mighta taken it with her.
So she took that and the remote control.
My thumb says your from Alabama but you don't smell like jelly.
Yup.
Having her in my life was as good as dropping the toast and having it land butter side up.
Cause then it's still good.
You leaving?
Where ya going?
To get cigarettes?

How vain it would be, to think that you'd want to dance with me.
You, a summer sunset. Me, the salt and sea.

**** yeah my writings sloppy
punctuation absent
No structure to be found
I'm casting this **** to the wind
I'll make no mark upon this ground

There's no agenda here
no ethics to be had
I don't **** with hidden meanings
My writing's just that bad

Though I insist I'm not to blame
I'm just a ******* conduit
my mind has a will
and I'm trying to be true to it

i can fancy Eddie Poe
And stand in awe of his wit
But I'll never lay a claim
to this here *******

I may very well be the fool.
But I will not entertain arrogance.
I may very well lie to you.
When I'll tell you I'm fine when I'm not.

I may very well get angry.
In which case I won't be in mind.
I may very well be a plaster saint.
I'm as lost as you but you won't see it.

I may very well leave you here.
But I'll just be right over there.
I may very well love you.
Unconditionally.

There's abandonment in her eyes. The air before her is amiss.
Something has been ripped away from her.
Something beautiful is at risk of dying here.

You know what it's like?
To be tortured of mind.
To have all these thoughts.
To feel nothing in kind.

I taste only ash.
No longer I smell.
For the scent of rain.
My soul I'd sell.

No reason to cry.
No reason to smile.
No logic to suffer.
It's been a while.

All night I think,
Of where I went wrong.
What brought me here?
Was it her or that song?

What difference it makes.
Apparently none.
Am I already dead?
Is this life done?

My shadow is happier than I.
It only appears on bright sunny days.
Playfully splashing in crepuscular rays.
It doesn't know sorrow, envy, or pain.
It has no fear and has never seen rain.
Love burdens it not, it has not a care.
A wandering nomad who's neither here or there.
I dare not imagine of what he dreams.
A peaceful world alive with streams.
Perhaps one day he'll take me there.
To that place where I'm allowed no care.

I can remember a few things that still make me smile.
Things yet to be pried from my memories weak hands.

I remember how your skin looked in the sunlight that afternoon.
Rose petal textured dripping with an amber glow.

I remember the sound of death as it crumbled to dust underfoot.
The leaves rendered dry and brittle to Falls callous nature.

I remember the first time I saw Canovas Cupid and Psyche.
Liquid marble weighed down my already sullen heart.

I remember the wet softness of her crimson lips in the cool fall air.
I dare say an angel if one had ever fallen graced my failings that day.

I remember so little too often sometimes for no reason.
And for those moments of reflective bliss, I'm happy.

A wretched soul kneeling before the fire as it reaches out into the night.
She closes her eyes and soaks in the breath of someone other.
Wrought with rot I raise my head to the rosey glow of the room.
Comforted only by the flapping sound of the winds wings.
Oh to hear that voice! To be quenched of woe by the sound of her singing.
My songbird has but flown into the arms of a world unfamiliar of her.
Charred by envy I'd cast myself to the will of the gods.
Save for one problem.
I do not believe in gods. Only monsters.
Her hand reaches out from the darkness in my dreams.
Soaked in the blood of loves gone by.
I stretch my hand out to hers.
Only to have the apparition slip through my forlorn fingers.
The darkness consumes my will.
I succumb.
For my light, my love, she wanders still.
And I. Alone.