sell me
sell me
sell me something sweet
sell me something x
and i'll lap it up
like i've never tasted something
sweeter than-
and i'll get drunk
on it
vomiting something deep
wishing to be in
never to be parted with
and i'll get drunk
and ***** it-

sell me something x
sell me something ***
sell me something less
sell me something next
and i'll lap it up
like i've never tasted
like i've never dreamt-
and i'll get drunk
on it
watching what little i have in me
swimming away
in a pool of me
swimming away
in a pool of me
swimming away
in a pool of me.

Tomorrow
I love you
And I wish I
Could hold you
But tonight
Has me choked
In this noose on my neck-
Kick out
My new stool
From under
My two feet
For tomorrow
I'll meet you
And you can finally kiss me!

-don't be afraid
"the little voices simply speak in retrospect"
don't be afraid
"death is only just a dream, just too complex"
don't be afraid
"if I was honest I would tell you this is best"
don't be afraid
"go now before there's no time left"-

don't
let
the
devil
take
your
mind-
his nails are all long, and he'll dig them inside!
cast
him
out
before
you
rise-
he will try to **** your thoughts with his lies!
take
out
your
sword
and
cut
him
out
tonight-
tomorrow can't wait, we can't waist much time!
trust
that
the
light
will
hold
you
tight-
His shining grace is enough for me to stay alive!

The mind
Is my
Worst feature-
My imagination
Turns me into
A new creature-

I will-
Foam at the mouth till I get what I want,
And weep to myself when I finally have it-
I will-
Disperse all irrelevant relevant details,
And give myself up to bad habits!
This drug of fantasy
Will bring me down with it’s dark tendencies!
And like Justin and Reece used to sing,
I am confusing my lust for these fallacies!

Images!

You cheat me till I’m bone dry!
Desiring to weep, but I can’t cry!
Wanting to give up, but I can’t die!
Wanting to move on, but I won’t try!
Wanting all that I can’t have!
Dreaming of decisions I could never take back!
Hoping for things that I could never ask!
And I
Push it on my wife like it’s her task!
To feed the demons of my dark soul!
To fill this void, this bottomless hole!
And when she can’t, I will grasp for control!
But I’m the one that needs to let go!
So I sit in misery of my thoughts!
And hope that the words I say can be forgot!
Images will cheat your eyes, your heart and all that you’ve got!
Until you’re at your lowest point, broken, distraught-

a stone will be hewn,
placed above the head-
written upon its cold stark view
the names, the dates, a lasting word said-
we will wonder
what will be placed above our dug out slot-
will there be words to say
will there be words or not-
but the only thing
upon my troubled mind
is whether or not
the earth has swallowed up your body-
soul and mind intact,
or has your spirit taken flight,
and i
watch the sky
and watch the clouds open to
to welcome you inside.

We are the stories of the dark and obscene!
"Hello I'm a poet, and I'm here with a dream!"
Well aren't we all just some conjured up mess of contortions!
We all want to be the super hero's for the lost and the orphans,
But we draw our endorphins from our pain, it's our portion,
And we'll publicly portray all our poorly painted portraits.

Dear writers,
I hear a lot about your cravings for emotion,
But not a lot of wisdom.
In fact, I hear a lot that that's all that you want back,
Because apparently it seems to me that you think emotion is what you don't have.

We all think we're great philosophers with great philosophical functions!
We all think that our words are more than our biased made assumptions!
Well let me be the first to say that poetry is for nothing.

You're not a poet until you go to bed at night dreaming you never wrote it!
Poetry! I wish I never got to know it!
It's the only thing still dragging me down to hell!
It's the only thing that keeps me locked in a rusty cell!
Dementia has become euphoric to me, and I still don't know why!
All I know is I've tried to **** my poetry, but it still will never die!

Well I'm honestly not much different from you.
What makes my words more intellectual or imaginative than yours?
I guess I'm too selfish to admit
That I still don't know exactly what poetry is
Or how God intended it.
I like to think he created poems to show us his beauty
In all things, even the dark.
I guess I've done a bad job as a poet
If I am still in love with God, and no one knows it.

Correct me if you care,
But honestly who are you, and tell me, is it fair
For you to tell me
That you know the meaning of poetry?

I sit here and stare hard at the words that I've scribbled so forcefully
And the smears of the ink all over my hands.
What is the meaning of these meaningless struggles
To empty my mind of all these hateful words?
Maybe I just needed someone to blame
For all these years of anguish and frustration.

The grass is still growing,
It's cold in southern Florida,
Yet I'm still bitter.
The flowers are blooming again
And the whistle of the breeze
Is resounding throughout the hallways of my ear canals,
And the sweetest tune you could ever imagine
Is caressing all my aching muscles.
Yet still, I write things about how my life is in shambles.

If this could be the last poem I'd ever write,
I would praise God for allowing my last words to those reading
Be about how the figment of hatred that we've masked around our faces
Is nothing but wrapping paper with black paint
Covering that sweet gift of peace.
My last words to you are that I'm not wise,
I'm not as great as I think I am,
And I honestly am in love with this wonderful life God gave me,
And the peace he brings me everyday.

it’s not that i don’t like my body,
im secure in myself,
but i can feel my weight
like being shackled to a mountain,
and i can’t move without feeling
like im not myself.
i see myself
i know it’s me,
but daily slugging
fills me uncomfortably-

i’m so aware that this is killing me slowly
but my apathy leads me to eat my self to passion;
good thing i can move past appearances,
or else i might be crushed under the fashions-

i know that i need to make a change
if i long to live a life without this feeling
but is there any room left to fill this void
or will i be crushed under all of my weight.

you can only bury the bodies for so long
until the ground has no more room
and they leave their homes
returning to the surface
to find you,
alone.
when they find you in the bedroom next to your wife,
the skeletons walking out in front of her eyes
will wake her, shaking all their parts and cry
out the hidden reasons why
you buried them
alive.
it's like life is trying to throw up,
but you keep swallowing until there’s no more space
to store the putrid sludge without
bursting out, dripping from your face!
swallow all you want to
but all the acid will only rise
until the time of bursting has
arrived.
so speak out!
cast your ***** into the ears
of those who will hear it!
and pray that the shame of speaking your poison
is strong enough to prevent you from
crawling up close
near it!

“make sure you make it big,
and worth it!
because the last thing you want is to
die young
feel empty
chase the wind
and stay where you are-

I know death comes to me
unstoppable
unwavering
focused on its path of contact,
ready to grind my bones
until all that’s left is a weathered stone-

nothing will stop what comes for me,
so I will take joy in making it small,
not worried about the end at all,
for the wind will blow and call
and all I can do is let myself be carried away
until my path is interrupted by a hot breath
and I disintegrate.

so whatever you do,
make sure that it counts in your heart
and not in the eyes.

what does the preacher get by lying?
doesn’t he know that people still wouldn’t believe?
does he really think a purple light would make them flock like flies?
hasn’t he met skeptics who find it hard to dream?
is it really that hard to admit you’re not perfect
to imperfect people who are trying to be set free?
do you not trust the flock you shepherd to care for you?
did you forget that you are still a sheep?
although my lips wish to sing your curses
for leading many others to a place where they can’t see,
my heart empathizes with pride blocking your straight path,
and I pray your scars, your shame, and what holds you find release.

I roll out of my bed with my lips dry clamping to the side of my sheets
Like the sand clings to the side of a wet cheek and refuses to leave
Without first scratching your skin, unless you brush with care-
But then that just gets it everywhere
And all over bedroom floor
And all over the room
And the tub
And the bathtub mat
And somehow in the bed.

I rip my skin off of my lip because I have no more motivation to lift my head and turn my neck to try and see what this world has to offer me
Because
To be honest I’m tired of dragging myself out of an eternally cursed sleep of finally escaping what this life and my work and my toil had to bring,
I am ready to be rolled over, nailed down, lowered, covered, and then lulled to sleep, and thereby escape the day’s tolls that bring me crawling back into my bed
Dreading another day
Dragging my feet.

keep the doors shut,
keep them closed.
when the wind blows, don’t let them open,
don’t let the doors go.
the knocking sound calls you to open up,
but don’t let careless emotions show!
keep the doors shut!
no matter how many knocks you hear below!

keep the doors shut,
keep them closed.
when voices start to grumble inside,
it’s tempting to let world know.
feeling like a hero?
maybe like that open gate’s a grove,
where people will be safe inside,
where people will find a home!
get rid of all your lies!
your words could never bring them hope!
keep the doors shut!
for they will always choose that rugged road!

-keep the doors shut
because opening them
only lets the darkness in
every time your try to show the light-

-keep the doors shut
because mosquitoes make their hives
right outside the walkway light
and come inside in expert time,
enough to **** your blood-

-keep the doors shut,
for being a symbol is a wanton game,
a desire to be held the same,
praised and pulled in every way!
don’t you love the spotlight gaze!
and the feeling of a voice heard in a moments daze!
your words plastered on some expensive page!
it’s good enough for a pleasant date,
but turns your heart into a bad omen-

give me my way-
my deep down
my “prayed for” today
yesterday
every day,
the needs that never seem to find a way
to be met-
give me my way-
let my hands
grip firmly
to the waist line
squirming
and let me do what I do best
what I obsess
to posses
and undress-
give me my way!
because I have given way
long enough to have earned the right to say
that it’s my turn
my earned
my deserved
time and day,
so don’t delay
because I’ve waited a long time to have this moment
where I can be selfish and take
instead of give
and feel how living really is-

-what a mistake-

there's still a boy
trying to fly
trying to dream-
in his mind
that he can fly-
and if he could try
he would first touch the ceiling fan
spinning on high
wobbling out of control
with loose screws that used to be tight-
then he'd make his way outside
and crash through the clouds
get a foaming cloud beard,
maybe drink the cloud dry.

wouldn't that be something-

wouldn't that be something if we could all just levitate above the ground
and maybe shoot into the heavens without ever coming down
and maybe we could get away from the day to day for just a few years
or maybe if we could fly, life's needs would disappear-
or at least the car payments
and at least the gas
maybe I'd own some shoes and for once they'd last-

but the truth is-
no matter how high you can fly, life will never drift away-
you'll still be 24, depressed, feeling meaningless, and dismayed;
that fence you couldn't quite squeeze through will only grow, it wont fade-
you'll just stare at the wall and wish for something else instead-
maybe a cloud blanket
or a bullet in your head.

we like to justify:
lie
create
or at least try
to make
or state
a reason why
we do
what we do
or why we chose that we don't
but the truth
we ignore
is that we don't know, and we won't-