Wednesday, August 31, 2005


i need to burn out with this bright aching light
that shatters my eye into a million archetypes
of what could be and shouldn't be.

Undeniably bent on a whim of feathers,
hoping to be surrounded in this bed,
by a comforting belief in the moonlight.

And what is more is the eyes are closed,
the mind is a gutter filled with trash,
and i am only a weak filled man, looking
to drown in my own man made sea.

You know that if i could, i would....

bending this fragrant will to fold up,
to climb from the restlessness, to stare at the moon,
nothing is really lost as these tears move,
something i can't bring myself to tell you.

Uncurling as a wave, and finding a spark of truth in the blazing light,
i need something more than ever before,
even in death i lose, but in life i fail.

"You know...."

Nothing is getting finished in this, just incompletes,
i know that you understand, my dear.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

Breaking or Already Broken?

this pathetic heart fell from the rib cage
as those words were first read,
but why should you pay attention to this?
the panicked siezures of death on the ground there,
of something long dying.

Feeling the void and emptiness swallowing shadows and suns,
the faint spark of hope betrayed this in weakness
turning from the dark pockets of a mind,
grasping a dagger - stabbing at these eyes,
because blindness must already be a reality.

step carelessly on that heart, of no consesquence
as you start to whisper - becoming lost again.
there never really was a chance for the
already destroyed heart,
so sitting here, slowly sinking deeper
into this lonely blanket is a broken Everything.

Monday, August 29, 2005


when i said "hello"
what was in your head?
push me off my cloud
and come here
silent now -

lets press ourselves beyond our bodies
take the hollow ground away
curious to feel your pain

there were things i never said,
but the awkward reality shines
like glitter in a sand pile
so glad to see you well, now

i want to find something like that myself
curious to know what it feels like
to know i'm dead.

the Forge.

With your gun held to my head
we'll walk toward the sun,
leaving all the past shadows in our wake
uncurling with the stormy seas.

This might leave a bruise at my temple,
but the flames want a dance, can we?
i made all the acknowledgments, but did you bother,
my dear,
turn around because you are being followed still.

Does this mean i have to be blown away prematurely?
My soul is already melting, lets watch it finish its walk,
don't force your abandonment issues down my throat
don't worry about my dryness
death will come soon enough for us both,
walking on the sun.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

What You Never Said...

the 'good life' - what is that?
some fancy tale of some frosty memory,
these people are never happy here,
never finding their piece of mind,
but we did our best.

What the worst that can happen to us?
this isn't the child's life,
the moon doesn't smile, the stars are dull,
and we shake our heads, turning away
for the rest of our lives - ignoring what we had.
Not saying goodbye.

And who could argue with god?
the urns are placed in a pyramid shape
what was the failure? what was the cost?
the silent blue eyes can only weep,
as you turn away, closing the door,
and the stormy night settles in.
where was your goodbye?

Sunday, August 21, 2005


I: The First

a knife to the skin in darkness
and isn't it quaint? Hamlet's self torture
treacherous only to his self
- nuzzling close to these fallen pieces
comfort found in the thick blood.

The body of water never nears
a bubbling cesspool or formaldehyde,
freeze this moment with a blurry picture.

Beyond this point of return,
pain can't be a tragedy - Reality
calls out for what is needed - but no returns,
refuse the hopelessness of it all, fall harder,
drown out this supposed reincarnation,
the bass line won't hide fate any longer.

The ending won't become pleasant,
weak enough for a thousand dying men
"sorry" doesn't begin to start the finale
will the impartial dance end soon?

Hamlet's heart pumping, technically functioning,
the veins aren't clean, pure - purposefully.


Right below the bone, lost in the fractured 'cage,
the muscles tense, skin thin, and barely stretching,
the war rages - the weak fall.

make no attempts at amends
stained flesh comes from every pore,
helplessly leaking eyes cannot help but stare
as the fuzzy clouds linger above,
the moment of tedium just might pass.
Right before this angels don't exist
now a fact.
Right now hell is welcoming openly
heaven a twisted irony.

The Wolf is Empty, the world doesn't notice.
Contagion spearhead through eyelids.
Internal bleeding can't be stopped, if its not seen.

Too weak to know directions, too much a fool to stop.
where can this possibly go, but to it's end?

(The End is all there is to look to.)

II. Animalistic

The stinging, pulsing pores suffocate in the cold,
this type of inane rotting tooth decay
becomes a constant self survival.

Which way can bring more pain?
Hamlet might have known the ultimate truth,
or was that Othello? or perhaps MacBeth.
Is there still breath left here?

Rape this, Own this, Abuse this for your,
your ever so simple pleasures.
Needing to know some happiness is being reached.
Let this become your slave in almost every mannerism.

All that needs be said is:
"I love it." - "I want it." - "Do it." - "I hate it."
Simplicity and directness in sexuality.

The overwhelming death tiptoeing closer in the shadows,
burning with desire, frustrations, harder than a diamond.

Lacking the direct eye contact, absent alcoholic,
what other revelations can be had here?

(The End is all there is to look to.)

III. Bittersweet

Bloodshot eye pushes away the skull.
Ringing in this pulsating membrane,
the only desire is normality.

bitter tastes on bitter lips, lingering for a pause,
thoughts will not flee, the war is in it's final moments.
Cut away at this malnourished bone.

The chance to be whole has gone,
the sun was never bright, the black hole pulls.
The water was a perspiring cut off finger, pointing
to the lie.
Whisper away at the blacked eye given so thoughtfully,
a cause never noble, Shakespeare might agree.

Prufrock found the drowned mermaids singing,
the lingering yellow haze, and oh so thin...
this has been dismembered, rotting for some time,
now on the news @ 10:00.

(The End is all there is to look to.)

Thursday, August 18, 2005

For Myself

this is not my supposed reality
i breathed myself in today, i inhaled a drug
finding myself decaying and dried
i forced the moment beyond its death
and a new creature was born,
from right within my womb, fragile as it is

no worries about my execution,
i do not know death
rebirth comes for me again in weeks
and i set the standards
growing, articulating this physical shape
allowing slight modifications to the plan

i am still a work in progress
my definition is incomplete
i could fuck the world, but it couldn't fuck me
everything i do, is for this reality
a holy perseverance inside my skull lacking a beat

Meaning Less (Revision)

Along this Desert pathway, the crisp spring air shivers -
the san dues cascade, waterfalls dry to a hush
as, in this moment, the transformations echo
hold onto the falling rocks
before the beginning of this peacetime lullaby
(bring in the closure)

lets discuss at length our fallen attributes
prying open the weakest being in our psyche
in the syncopated movements of this dance -
we know that our legs are breaking. broken.
or for worse, amputated.

confined to this reality, a broken promise,
a straight coat falling off the shoulders
as lingering in this coffee
the stars star to become appealing
start warmth with wishful thinking

is this a war, a lost battle?
predetermined fate still stuck waiting,
for a direction, causeway signpost

anymore aching questions before the heat?
allow self combustion for amusement's sake
awake, unaware of the dried knife
slashing a fragmented heart into meaningless.

Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Penetrated (draft #1)

a knife to the skin in the dark
and isn't it quaint? Hamlet's self torture
treacherous only unto his very self
and nuzzling closer to the fallen pieces
comforting the thick red blood

the body of water never comes any closer
beyond that point - pain is a tragedy
call for what you need, and see no response
refuse the hopelessness of it all and fall harder
percussion drowning out your reality
the bass won't cover your fate

the ending may not be pleasant
weak enough for one thousand men dying
sorry doesn't begin to start the end
but a wishful glance will only end our dance

a heart may still be pumping, may still function,
but does that mean it isn't broken?

right below this sternum, under this ribcage
the muscles are tense, the skin thin and tight
the war is raging and the weak are falling
no don't attempt amends
stained flesh from every pore, these helplessly leaking eyes
cannot help but stare are the fuzzy clouds lingering above
and the moment of tedium might pass
right before this, angels didn't exist, and now it is a fact
right now, hell is a welcome burden, heaven a twisted cruelty

no someone's not in the wolf, but the world wouldn't stop to notice
contagious at this point that these eyes just want to be pulled out
lacerated internal bleeding can't be stopped when there is no apparent sign
when no doctor can find the blood

too weak to know what to do
too foolish to stop
where can this possibly go, but to it's end?

(the end is all there is to look forward to)