I never thought,
I'd live for very long.
As long as I can remember
every instinct I possess,
has screamed of impending death.
I had accepted that,
lived in kind.
As I sit here,
only twenty-two years into this catastrophe,
called life.
I feel ******* ancient.
Something went amiss.
Now I'm forced to watch,
as days fly by me
wasted.
I had nothing in the works,
for this.
I'd prepared for every eventuality,
except the one,
where life went on too long.

I know,
ten dollar bottles of whiskey
and cartons of Marlboros,
are certainly a way to accelerate my untimely demise.
But women,
now that'll be the death of me.
Underneath the drunken stupor
behind the walls of smoke;
I'm fragile as any fabric.
I can only be cut and sewn so many times...
Alas,
as with all my vices;
the whiskey,
the drugs,
the cigarettes,
I'll dive head first into the next one.
Give it my all.
Take it or leave it,
you'll have the best and worst of me.
And when you leave it,
I'll sew myself back together,
just one more time...
And it'll be on to the next one,
until I die.

The prince is dead
the castle has crumbled
he failed the quest as soon as he stumbled
off a high wall
and down to the ground
upon which he perished with hardly a sound.
The princess is doomed
now trapped in a tower
where she watches the world blacken hour by hour
the sun went away
and the grass shriveled up
the demons now revel in the ash and the muck.
Oh the kingdom is ruined
and the people all wail
but heroes all die in true fairy-tales.

I had so much passion,
once.
It seeped from every pore.
My heart roared out of me like a lion,
hungry and proud!
I walked with a bop in my step,
fought like a savage,
loved with my whole being.
I was raw,
unfiltered,
naked!
I've come to find,
life has a way of taking that from you.
You add a layer over this scar,
a layer over that one.
The layers stack until the fire inside,
is suffocated.
I'm just going through the motions now.
I starved the lion,
and now my heart is quiet.

I like to think I've seen,
my fair share of life.
A city man,
sculpted of concrete and steel.
My years on this earth may be yet,
short.
That life however,
opened my eyes to much.
I know about the lows of man,
about how far some of us will stoop.
About what it means to survive.
But,
You dragged me,
drunk and complaining,
out into the hills.
You sat me in the back of your truck,
and you showed me the stars.
I don't know if it was the urban lighting,
that burns eternally,
or just that I'd never looked.
But you showed me the stars that night,
in all their luminescent glory.
I will never forget that.

Timing's a funny thing.
It seems I always stroll into a persons' life,
exactly when I'm most useful.
Just a stranger who pops in,
straightens up the place a bit,
then leaves.
Rarely though,
is my timing ever to my own benefit.
Too late, too early,
doesn't matter.
I can only hope that perhaps one day,
I'll find myself somewhere I'm meant to stay.

The wait here is breaking my bones,
I'm always searching for love or I'm searching for home.
No matter how hard that I seem to try,
I wind up just standing in line.
This whiskey will **** me no doubt,
but it's better than tasting your name in my mouth.
I can run, I can hide, I can waste all my time,
but you always wind up on my mind.
The good ones keep walking away,
while the worst ones come through and keep trying to stay.
I'm always asking the world to send me a sign,
but it seems all my hopes are declined.
I've learned on my own I can stand,
that won't ever stop me from grasping for hands.
At the end of the day I'll seek and I'll strive
for a woman who's strong, true and kind.

Her laughter floated,
like smoke on the wind.
All grace and beauty as it danced in the sun.
Short lived and,
short tasted before it dissipates.
Yet,
for all the music held within her voice,
the melody held delicate notes,
of heartache,
of sorrow.
I could always hear between the lines.
She made me cry while I smiled.

It never was that I loved a cigarette,
more than you.
Just that I knew every morning,
when I rolled over,
my smokes would still be on the nightstand.
But your keys would be gone.

I rise before the sun,
to start my days.
An old night owl ready
to ***** the early bird,
for the worm.
Too much left to be done,
to risk slipping into the grip,
of slumber.
I'll catch up on rest when I'm dead.