Too much blood in my sheets to be a superhero

Last night as I slept
I dreamt I met with Behan
I shook him by the hand and we passed the time of day
When questioned on his views
On the crux of life's philosophies
He had but these few clear and simple words to say

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

I have cursed, bled and sworn
Jumped bail and landed up in jail
Life has often tried to stretch me
But the rope always was slack
And now that I've a pile
I'll go down to the Chelsea
I'll walk in on my feet
But I'll leave there on my back

Because I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

Oh the words that he spoke
Seemed the wisest of philosophies
There's nothing ever gained
By a wet thing called a tear
When the world is too dark
And I need the light inside of me
I'll walk into a bar
And drink fifteen pints of beer

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind may be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing
Where streams of whiskey are flowing

Cement dump truck
Broken mind don't give a ****
About daydreams- half movie scenes
Reading veiled broken hearted threats
Feeling my chest
constricting
Ringing In my ears like at the punk show
You've always known I'm pretty dumb though
But il read it all
Saying "It's not as bad as it looks"
But I know il just be held in thrall
Reading your published poetry books
Bout how I nailed you to the freshly painted wall
Over and over and over
After the fall

The world around me is revolving slowly
While the people surrounding move faster & faster
As I am caught in between the fibers of time

Why am I here?
Do I even belong?

My only therapy is the songs I hear in my head.
My only medication is the drugs that make me wish I were dead.

I'm just a shell of my former self.
I'm not what I used to be.

It seems there's no resolution,
only an empty cell waiting for me in this institution.

Dear diary, please help me now.

There's only so much abuse I can inflict upon myself.

The cuts on my wrist, the empty bottle of pills
The lacerations on my fist, shaking from the anger still.

I've got my fix, each line getting me higher.
The only answer getting more apparent, as my lows keep climbing to the ladder.

My sanity escaping.
Depression creeping
As the ghost of death takes over me.

Oh diary, it seems it's goodbye to you and me.
It seems no matter what I do, the world isn't going to accept me.

I'll never belong.

I'll always be different.

Goodbye and goodnight.

I'll see you on the other side.

----------------------------

Dear diary, I'm an addict.

Yesterday was proof of concept.

Tomorrow is a death wish.

If I don't do something now,
I may never get to see the light of day.

Dear diary, please help me now.

Because I can't do this alone anymore.

The town was dark
It had Satan as its guard
The stars that shone they danced with deception
As the night corrupted
So it was that the cosmology spiralled into disarray
Rain from clouds
As torturous as cancer
Acid that burns deep into your soul
Our mortal flesh bleeds
As the immortal pain of life succeeds
It saddens as it saturates
The toxic twist navigates
Into the psyche of the artist poor
Who sits in a dying flame
Waiting to score
To pen the phrase
To paint the elaborate Titan's maze
The abuse of others
Our beauty it covers
It's the camouflage of nature,
Of the wholesome and serene
Turns a rose into a ruptured spleen
So we write and we paint
We shout and we scream
We never sleep
So we never dream
Provoking this reality
That provokes our stability
Insults our mentality
And all the while
We wear the clowns smile
We toil , we endeavour
We never give up,,,   ,,,  never,

what if we could write on the stars
the way we write with paper and pen?
in that case,
i would be writing love letters every night
for a pretty soul too far away.
i'd point my finger at the sky
and trace it delicately,
then you would go outside at night
the evening breeze would whisper "look up!"
and the constellations would tell of the love
an admirer sends to you by cosmic delivery
across distances of time and reality,
from a world much different from yours.