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DoomThe "End" will not
reign down from above,
it will explode from inside
as a micro-apocalyptic
self inflicted doom.
GracefullyWhen I was eight, I couldn't wait to be ten.
A double-digit number seemed so big back then.
I would be so tall and older too,
just think of all the things I could do!
I could stay up late and watch T.V. until nine,
and being in the fifth grade sure would be fine.
When I was eighteen, I couldn't wait to be twenty.
No longer a teen, now I'd be somebody.
I could find a bride and settle down,
she would look so lovely in her wedding gown.
I could get a real job and make money by the ton,
being in college just wasn't fun.
When I was twenty-eight, I couldn't wait to be thirty.
It sounded so fun to be "dirty thirty".
I could have a Son or maybe two,
they would grow up like me and be successful too.
I would get promoted with a big pay raise,
and my friends and family would shower me with praise.
When I was thirty-eight, I couldn't wait to be forty.
I was still in great shape and not at all portly.
The prime of my life, I'd be a success,
when it comes to my career, I'd be
BlinkThe turn of a head,
a moment in time,
so fragile the true,
length of a life.
but unable to be,
compared to any other
Metered out in such a way,
no one knows their final day,
the moment of the curtain call,
inevitable to all.
So many breathes,
how many beats?
When will I sleep,
between the white sheets?
The answer it seems
is just out of reach,
In a fraction of a second,
it could all be gone,
eyes wide open,
LostI lost the pain
in my heart today,
the red hot burning
simply, went away.
Black smoke fills
where once was flame,
the desire to enkindle,
in my soul,
no longer stays.
turns to knives
as you rip out my soul
with your vicious daggered claws,
squeeze the blood
from my heart
like a sponge in your hands,
my life now
pools on the ground.
LockedThrough that door
so long ago
I locked away
my fortuitous soul.
Just a child
he laughed and played
until the tumblers
immured him away.
I listened carefully
over the years
the laughter quickly
turned to tears.
Until one day
no noise, no more,
now I'm afraid
to open that door.
First cutThe breath
would not have escaped
would not have poured
the feeling of failure
would not have set in
would not have disappeared
the first cut.
SwingFeel the wind in my hair
as I pump in the air
so way up high.
My toes touch the sun
I can taste on my tongue,
of the sweet summer sky.
I need more of these
splendid days to be free
On a swing
in the hot season sun.
Fill my chest as I grasp
at my last chance to gasp
into my lungs.
No more flying for me
those are sweet memories
my next flight,
I can not refuse.
Quest for freedom will bring
one last time on the swing
at the end,
of a hangman's noose.
Just Another DayJust another Day
I try not to cry, though my eyes burn,
Fighting for air, as my chest tightens up,
Needing to scream, yet nothing comes out,
I ache inside, but I don't complain,
It's just another day, of my life,
So what is left to say?
Now I shall end this, morbid poem,
Crawling back into my shell,
And get my emotions under control,
I will look at you, once more with a smile,
So you won't see all that I hide inside,
RevivalOfEnigmasAndConvictionIt's someone, somewhere in there. An enigma without the preference or any sense of knowledge,
like the ectoplasm as it roots through my spine, imposing a ghosted reality between already aching discs.
So thank you.
Yes, lumbagos and bones.
It's slow now, not much to follow.
The slabs of potential, rancid and coagulated. Aspirations
falling into rotten disarray.
Stout, stolen, and without virtue. A completion of cellulite and ammonia,
mustard gas persuading vibrated bleach;
gallons of carbonated poison.
Delicious wasn't exactly the right word, so as the atmosphere toiled with
indecision, for a moment, I was able to breathe.
Mounds of clarity, dense
we were transparent
cellophane and ice,
Liberty bellowed against canyon wall, spirits of red earth and freedom invig
I would've been.I would've been a masterpiece if it wasn't for the tear,
I don't know why I tell you this, it's not like you care.
I would've been a legend if it wasn't for the time,
Age of heroes has come and gone, all I can do now is rhyme.
I would've made something of myself, if I'd had the motivation,
But now, I just lie in wait, awaiting even more degradation.
I could've been someone, or something, I know I could,
But right now, it's all talk, all "Could, should, would."
Then there's that "if" or that "but" getting in the way,
I could've been a masterpiece, but here I am, rotting away.
No one even gives me a second glance,
I'm not a famous one like Rembrandt's.
I could've been a masterpiece if it wasn't for the tear,
If only the people looking after me had taken more care,
I could've been perfect, and remembered forever,
But now I am just a portrait, of the Forgotten Reaper.
There is no place for me.There is no place for my ideals or me,
There is no place for justice or mercy.
There is no place for true love anymore,
It's a sad truth, it saddens me at the core.
There is no place for me in this world,
Where the cries of the needy must go unheard.
I'm cast out for my ideals, my gentleman's code,
Well, I was born like this, a man in hero mode.
There is no place for a hero in this world,
The knight in shining armour must go unheard.
There is no such thing as a Fairy Tale,
I am not Prince Charming, just another sail.
On a boat afloat on a sea of sadness,
The winds of mourning passing through me.
There is nowhere in this world for me...
There is nowhere in this world for gallantry.
The MaskCast not aside this time of winter gloom.
Though its frozen fingers grasp tightly upon
the very essence of our existence.
Looming deadly at the last gasps of autumns hold,
it takes over as a thief in the night and camps deeply
in the bitter bare forests of the playgrounds of our youth.
Branching forth its icy tentacles deep into our very souls
we succumb to the numbing chill of its gripping stranglehold.
It can suck the life out of our lungs as we struggle to breathe,
blasting us relentlessly with a wind so fierce our conscience
falls victim to it's frozen spree.
It can gently coat our minds in a beautiful blanket of fresh fallen snow,
only to rip away the joy with an Arctic blast of cold.
For to wish away the winter would rob us of the young,
slumbering peacefully in the wombs of the givers of life.
The omnipresent facade of the illusion of winter death,
hides the beautiful truth inside the fragile cocoon upon the branch.
Without the darkest season and the short cold nights it brings.
What would a story be?
If there was no one there to read it.
What would dreams be?
If there was no one there to conceive it.
What would a picture be?
If there was no one there to see it.
What would a secret be?
If there was no one there to keep it.
What would love be?
If there was no one there to feel it.
What would a song be?
If there was no one there to sing it.
What would the truth be?
If there was no one there to admit it.
What would advice be?
If there was no one there to give it.
What would life be?
If there was no one there to live it.
Reflections of Self-LoathingI took apart my reflection and left the empty pieces in the bathroom sink, maybe a clensing is what I need.
Two weeks on, there is no more blood to wash away the fear and agony and the mirror I mean to break, remains untouched on the bathroom wall, perhaps as a reminder that I am still here, where else would I have been.
I know that not all of what I see is real but I think enough of it is to worry me senseless.
That is what I am afterall, senseless.
My senses are in the bathroom sink, waitng to be washed away.
Just like me.
Broken TrustTrust is something fragile
Once you break it
It is hard to get back again
Just like the softest rose petals
That withers and dies
Or the stem of that gentle rose
Once it snaps you can
Never get it back
You sit there and watch it
Then you look at that person
With jaded eyes
Looking at them
With the emptiness you feel inside
Knowing it will never be the same
Wondering if you truly knew
Them at all
DepressionAnother useless morning dawns,
Another tiresome creature yawns.
Lost I am in the depth of thought,
People can't see the battle I've fought.
My scars are hidden by a harden face,
No smile has been found, I have no grace.
I look upon the work I've done,
And find that it is helpful to all of none.
I hate the flesh I'm bound to,
The words I weave I do but rue.
Rueful and spiteful I wish to cry,
But no tears will help me on the inside.
Who will help me to live without pain?
Will anyone try to keep me sane?
Am I lost to the grave?
StayTattered clips of sunny smiles
strewn about throughout the aisles,
tipped and spilled to much dismay
those memories of yesterday.
Volunteered upon this path
oblivious to the aftermath,
the possibility it seemed
of failure was an absurd dream.
Torn from the ground we built upon
moonlight burned the summer song,
undermined the very heart
of the bedrock where we saw it start.
Winter caused the soul to say
an audible wish for a different day,
Without the strength to go away
it's come to this so here we stay.
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
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