here i sit
above you
above the streets
above the sounds
of the ruined lives
that drive
through these alleys;
here i sit
below the church
beloved by god
below his reign
as his reign drives
us toward sanctity
and through our lives.

we're all looking up
for something;
weather, stars, answers, etc.

here i dream
above my pillow
above the streets
below my window
where you're still driving
yourself toward the end
of the road, and up an alley;
here i dream
below this roof
below the skies
above the ground
where you're dreaming
you'll spend less time dreaming
and more time in peace
through death.

we're all looking down
for security;
placement, terrain, estrangement
of self in a solid form above digging
deeper for something so simple
that we're still unsure of.

it's playing through me
and you're not even listening
to what they're saying
while it's always playing
through me.

it's trying through me
and you're not even noticing
how it's always menacing
while it's just trying
through me.

it's glistening through me
and you're hardly guessing
that this is the dressing
that's it's doing while glistening
through me.

you should be paying attention, but i doubt you'd ever hear anything; anything that isn't in your own head.

it won't damage the mind
or the soul; they're infinite.
it won't hurt the heart
or the stomach; they're intact.
it won't hurt the idea
or the notion; they're entwined.
it won't hurt me
or you; we're too far apart
for that bullet raging through his brain,
cutting nothing but his flesh from his senses.

i've started the wake
and said my piece
now it's everyone else's turn
to come to peace
with the fact that we're a dying generation

indebted for life
to the systemization
that we've grown up in
as it's organization
comes to our lives full of frustration and grief

called to a calling
that's been rather loud
to make our lives something
in a way to be proud
of the life we've been given and what we've done with it

                                              living just to die
                                                         living just to live
                                                           ­     living in the wake
                                                           ­             of another generation

bleed into forever,
as forever we are sanguine souls,
situated for slaughter.
death's inevitability beating down,
and time slipping behind
the mind, awoken to something;
broken, reconfigured, alive,
it's bred to fulfill situational ideas,
bleeding into annihilation.

forever.

each sip, succulent, powerful,
until the finishing drops,
lingering, taunting, provocative,
all make their way to my mind.

each hit off this cigarette,
burning deeply, cancer-ridden,
deliciously curves my appetite
to the skew i've taken against myself:

    inhumane in the disdain for myself, my existential ideals push themselves through me.

every blink, second
brings about refreshening,
uplifting, unrelenting, and deathly
eye-opening thought processes.

the last time i tried,
passively, obsessively, partially
only half-heartedly, i was found
stuck with half of my heart gone.

    *i'd hate anything hateful you'd ever have to throw at me, but i'm willing to listen.

and burn down the whole ****** neighborhood
and **** all the ****** people living here
and destroy everything that rests along these ****** tracks
that have cut through the earth and have lead so many places.
i remember when i followed the ****** things
and found how the ****** way the railroad system works
and saw all the sights on the ****** way to my revelation
that we're all bound to some sad ending; ****** and meaningless.

another step in the right direction
headed into the hole i've dug
deeper and deeper, i'll dig
until i've reached the core
extremities in check
we're bleeding out quicker
but we're gaining momentum
in another way to get life
out of the death we're breeding

the decrease in morale seemed to linger
across the keys as i dragged my fingers
to the beat of something simple in mind,
simple in length, and simple in rhyme
but the reasons i'd continued to continue on
were never meant to be played as a pawn
in the constant fight i'd been having alone
with the uncertainty ringing in my phone
where i heard them utter the news i'd heard
and hearing this knew that i'd gotten word
of what i was to be knowing for some time
and now that i was knowing was too sublime
as the filtration of this seems to fall off
and all i can seem to do is hold in this cough
to keep from releasing my sickness to you
and keep you safe from what's keeping me blue.
safe from harm's way.

in the entire existence you've been
there's been something you've cleaned
and where you're wanting a renewed dream
of what it is you want yourself to see
but you just won't open your eyes.
there's some dust still covering it all
and you're still waiting to fall
from how far it is you've called
down the line and up the hall
for them to know you were coming.
and now it's been said
there's nothing left in your head
but the simplicity of your dread
from the beating in your bed
that you'd watched outside of yourself.

it's been eating away at me for days
and days and days on end
until it's come down to this,
and it's made its way to spend
                                            time.
burning through my head in seconds,
in minutes, hours, and in space
i feel i could've used more wisely
than the space left for me to face
                where to put my books.


                                                             everything has its place,
                                                          and everything has a home.
                                                       everything lives, dies, is reborn,
                                                        so how're we ever truly alone?

the words are always in my mind
but they're always the hardest to find when you're there.
the ideas have been idolized
but they're still just fantasized when you're there.
the completion is nearing its end
but it will never end, as we float around in our circles.

numbing the parts that fought
to numb the parts that say it's best not
to fight.

flight, ascension and self-destruction, enough to keep icarus grounded.

another day clawing for basic needs,
basically drowning in self-doubt.
enduring self-harm for denial elsewhere.

flying again, too high again, too much. Too much.

i'd rather lie around in bed and drink wine all day
than exchange moments of my life for money
but if I wasn't out there, slaving away to the system,
I'd only get to lie around under bridges; begging
for change, to end how things are in the world,
and to find serenity amongst humanity as it should be.

what's all the insanity for?
are you worried?
are you peeved?
are you paranoid?
that i'll find a little more?

is there something else?
is there enough at all?
is there some secret?
is there another one?
is there nothing that can help?

where's the sensation?
where's the intuition?
where's the humiliation?
where's the desolation?
where's the heartbreak i'm awaiting;
it's lingering closer to my ear than death.

old scars, picked and bleeding.
a half empty bottle of whiskey,
violence in my headscape, escaping unnoticed,
and i wait for the trueness of my own emotions.

they won't come, she said.
they weren't here in the first place,
and if they were i'd throw them out
and lock the door without a second glance.

i know what's missing but i'm stubborn.
i don't let myself have as i'm a have-not,
i haven't had a chance to get out as much,
not like i really did before anyway.

my fire's burnt out
and i don't have another match.
i'll freeze, for sure.
and i can't expect you to reignite it,
since i blew yours out years ago.
but it'd be nice to at least
have you by me to watch these embers fade.

you couldn't stand being dealt the truth
so you needed somebody else to handle it
with kid gloves, brutally *displayed
over various acts of violence; violently
handled like it was a child, misbehaving
and now it's flown off the handle.
and you're standing empty-handed.

i remember a time when at least somebody cared,
when everybody had something to care about,
and when nobody went a day without a care in the world.

we can't stop the way we've lived, but we can change how we're doing so

her voice still echoes inside my ear canal before striking the drum,
and i clench my jaw in time to feel the final beat before i hear the sound.
it's me finding another reason to escape this harsh reality and dream a bit longer.


you're only dreaming because you want to, and due to this lack of awakening, you're still searching the brain for reasons to wake up

there's never been enough time on the clock to get it all done in time,
and in time, we're all caught up in the second hand's ticking.
you'd think the disorder of time would've caught up with it by now and
lessened the burden we're carrying as the human race.

*dreamscape existentially and exquisitely for another day

the coldness left in my room,
after you'd left,
leaves me wanting your warmth,
your beauty,
your breath on my neck.
the coldness left in my heart,
before you,
warms itself from your words,
your soul,
your eyes on my lips.
the coldness left throughout my house,
constantly dreary,
warms itself from your presence,
your laughter,
your hair, tangled in my fingers.

and you'd done it all with nothing,
but the simplicity of kindness and the complexity of love.
there's so much here, i feel it, but i still don't know what.
words haven't described such things;
shakespeare's sonnets won't even make sense of it.

and you'd made me almost speechless,
but the words always have found their ways through.
there's so much i want to say; still figuring it out.
give me time, my darling, i plead;
there's so much more that i'll be sure to soon admit.
                                                                                      mostly of the true beauty within you

the warmth i feel now,
after you came,
leaves me wanting your touch,
your kiss,
your love to be all mine.

Emptied of empathy
I forget
Anyway

beaten and scorned for this
dragged through the streets
bearing my cross
i feel christ's pain.

as he cried out that they didn't know,
he was crying for their ignorance,
their deceit, their cracked foundations,
and their fallen ideals.
as their idol bled to death,
hanged with no noose.

i’ve watched my wounds heal
      as these past few days went by
   and now that i’m alright again
      i can say the scars will fade too

                someday soon.

it sickens me;
the lack of correction
in grammar,
in punctuation,
in style,
and in titling.

it disgusts me;
the apathy
and support
that go along with
spilling any idea
out; vulnerability
shouldn't be praised,
as it should be sculpted
and shaped, communally.

busted and ****** into the street
again to gallompf about
and start the trip out.

as you grow,
remember what i'd told you
so many nights ago,
how i said to "always be true."
when facing any adversity,
to keep both ears peeled.
to let yourself truly love,
and to never let wounds heal.
they'll make you stronger,
with plenty of infection.
and, also, to never aid anyone
in another's dissection.
keep your hands on the wheel,
and your eyes to the sky.
there's no way to stop growing up,
even after you die.

observed in
our empty lots,
there's still the time
to plot
our demises in the eyes
of our own ****** lovers
as they slowly begin
in catching
our drifting lies
that we've so carefully hidden
throughout
our over-planned
and our over-justified
senseless lives.
yet, we give them
a purpose
for the time that we fill
with self-dulling
ideas
and our own
revelations
of this
idealistic fantasy.
we've only fantasized for fun.

separately simulated
through words; ideally
separated simultaneously.

restrung, hung, ******
far beyond recognition,
misquoted.

we broke this whole idea into increments
and fed it to the birds in the park
as they flew around for a crumb of what it was
that we were feeding everyone else;
hunger for dinner.

now they're searching our eyes and our heads
for the answers to what there was once was
and where it's coming from
as we've already told them where we were
and where we're going.

there was nothing else left for them to eat
so they turned towards us and devoured
every morsel that was left of our being;
our souls were roasted
and eaten whole.

now we're emptied of anything well
and well enough, there's nothing here
to feed you but what i am
and i'm not sure that's even delectable;
you'll eat my hunger.

left here to fiddle with ideas
as they're passed around
like some bottle; emptied now
we sit and wonder what's left
to pass through our heads
as we pass time thinking.

thinking in lines and in reason
out of time and just right for the season,
we're lying through our teeth
as the man comes down from his seat
where he sat, watching our lives unravel
and resembles the great mystery
that we're all looking to answer.

there's not much left of good time
or of good placing for this all
so we sit and wait, watching,
crawling with some strange desire
to set everything ablaze; start this pyre
and send the whole idea to its god.
somewhere, it's watching.

alas, ideas begin springing forward
like a well dug deep in arid earth
to feed the dry landscapes and minds
and to figure out what anything's worth
in this twenty-first century run-down
idea of what an idea should sound like.

and we keep 'em coming back for more.

there's little parts
                              scattered about
                              placed randomly
                              what you'd call a mess
                              but in perfect harmony
                              

organized now*
                              everything in its place
                              but there's not a place for me
                              so i sit among the system
                              being whatever i am; just to see

                                                                                                           if i really fit in with everything
                                                                                                           forever dreaming to *be
                                                                                                           forever young; a kid once more
                                                                                                           disorganized and criticized freely

without a care in the world

have you seen it recently?
have you moved it somewhere i wouldn't look?
i've searched for days now, and i've come up with nothing.
i think it's mixed in somwhere where my bob dylan t-shirt is,
lost for the rest of my time as a sad, sick soul on this planet.
are you sure you didn't move it before you left?
have you heard anything?

it isn't some hard thing you have to do
you bunch it up in yer hands---

you can't seem to let it all flush itself out anyway,
how's me telling you anything any different any way
different than it was from last night.

you can't seem to ride out the storm on the back porch roof,
how i'd **** to lay out there, soak in the incandescents,
no different than being nowhere like we were before.

you can't seem to take the blame for anything anyway,
how i have to take the head on every thing any way
i can and it's destroying how we even talk anymore.

anyway, i hope you're happy while i'm up, drunk, tired, bored, nothing but what we could've had running through my head.  you're dead, asleep, lonesome.  just flush the **** already.

we'd worked it all out in our heads
but when we'd made it to our beds
our dreams ruined everything
and we pulled apart anything
to make some sense of something.

we'd worked it all out on paper
but it slowly reached the shredder
for the sake of it never working out
because what this was all about
was deeper than the tile; it was in the grout.

so we had to start at the base
and gave ourselves the space
to make it all work in one way
and that's when i began to say,
"you're dead, as the horse is to his hay."

wandering through my head
you'd slid the idea in again.
i'd let you fill in that space
and taken time figuring out
where it was you made it through.

there's nothing i pointed out
as you poignantly accepted
the deception and lingering
that would come afterwards
when you did what you'd done.

now that it was called
what we'd called it that night
there's nothing more for me to say
i've never written what was right,
and you have no say in this.

that for a minute
you're actually alone.
you'd like to think
you had this all figured out;
there's nothing to hide.

you might dream
that for a night
you're actually happy.
you'd like to dream
you had it all in your grasps;
there's nothing worth holding on
to that you've already let go of.  

please continue to let go.

as you sit drooling
and see you're pulling
any strings you can
to make your stand
as you sit staring
at the tv, glaring
back at you
in the dull blue
light it's reflecting
the sublime it's protecting
as your brain melts
and the radio star belts
another song to your ear
but you still can't hear
the true calling in your name
and no need to feel ashamed;
you're not to blame.  
you're broken; nothing to claim;
gone to the wrong side of lame.

frustrated
sedated
created
complicated
syncopated
underrated
and decimated.