why I like

(some) rap -

lyrics born:
" Man, fuck that shit, I pay my taxes when I'm asked to
I'm not enthusiastic about it, but shit I make it happen
Yeah, it's last minute, but goddammit they cash it
"This is fiscal harassment! They keep touching my assets!"
Now I imagine I might be feeling different about it
If it was given outright, witnessing it helping somebody
But it just so happens in life, the school district's too crowded
There ain't no teachers in sight, that's why the kids are so rowdy
I just imagine some asshole with glasses on up at the capital
One of a thousand pawns packed in an office, cramped up like animals
Pictures of his sister, his mixture Lhasa Apso poodle
His 2.6 kids and the missus thumb-tacked to his cubicle
So damned detached from the average man's planet he can't fathom
That he can ever be anything other than stats, fat and taxable
He's getting his usual, ritual 2 o'clock cup of noodles on
Fucking you with your W-2, with his John Denver music on







Now, I do admit that in the music business
people do and say some really stupid shit
Kids are zooming in and using what we do and say
I can see how you can say "do not abuse your influence"
But to all the Hillaries and the Williams of the new millennium
If you really aren't feeling like living with the children will be a fulfilling experience
Or something you envision yourself willingly
and unconditionally committed to from the beginning
Maybe you shouldn't be bumping bellies from the giddyup anyway, dummy"

a simple stream of words that mean so much to me but nothing to anyone else, that started pouring out of my head like blood from a bullet wound

all i heard was the sound
when you fell to the ground with a thud
you had the whole world
but I guess that could never be enough
i didn't want to intrude
besides, i already knew what I would find
just walked away, the engine not even cold
steaming in the snow,
the day turning old, my eyes turning blind
your choice was made long before I
your bed was made by your own
shaking hands
I didn't hear the sigh
or any of the lies you may have told
I didn't shed a tear
and I didn't say goodbye
because i knew you wouldn't hear
a single fucking word





all I heard was a thud
I didn't stay for the rest
all I heard was the end
I didn't stay for the rest
I didn't hear you cry, I didn't
hear you whisper
my name
I didn't hear you
I didn't
stay for the rest.


you didn't hear me leave
how could you?
you didn't hear my whisper
my last words to you
you didn't see me struggle to breath
or the tear leave my eye
as i begged you
to
forgive her

I want to smash it up, I want to fuck it up

found relic

still
life
frozen in the arc
of time
timeless
remembered forever
or a few weeks, at least
a photograph of
they way he was
and will
never be again
black and white
faded, wrinkled and
lost

forgotten for stretches
of time unimaginable
never thought that possible
but it seems
anything is
i start to shaking
as he sits staring
poised and unmoving
hanging from the wall
a paper picture
held by a thumbtack
and my fading
memories

the happy end

I am an insect, crawling

On my belly, through the muck

Broken leg and broken wings carrying me

Through this world

That’s much

Much

Too big

I try to climb the branches

Of a beautiful tree

Its leaves shaking in the wind

Howling and furious

And I fall

Fall gracelessly

Into the dirt

Where I belong

bored

Oh, so, what's wrong young man?
Oh, you look so down,
what are you so glum for?
Oh, I guess you're
just bored

You need to get out
have fun
get out
and stop being so
bored

And oh, if you would fill up your days
with meaningless activities
you would find
you're not so
bored

Just stop being
so bored and boring
we're all so tired
of your constant whining
Everyone agrees
just go ahead and ask me
the only cure
is to stop being so
bored

i don't know....

The darkness of the room enveloped him, wrapped him in its cold embrace, suffocating anything pure that may have been left.

Connor let out one choked tear, relishing the warmth as it blazed a trail down his weathered cheek. The moonlight broke through the canopy of clouds, shining one brilliant blue beam of light onto Connor’s face, turning his tear into a drop of ice, streaming down his face.

Quickly and quietly, without even knowing he was doing it, Connor closed his brilliant blue eyes, and fell to his knees beside his ancient bed, relishing the pain as he came in contact with the hard concrete floor.

Bathed in the night’s only light, Connor knelt beside his bed, and quietly spoke, in a voice only the dead could hear.

“If you’re there… if you still care, I need you now. I need to know… I need some sort of sign. Please…,” Connor’s words choked into a horrible sob, ending his ability to speak, if only momentarily.

“I… am so lost. If you’re still there, if you still care, I have to know… Is there any hope? For forgiveness? Are you still watching over us? Over me?...

“Am I still of your family?”

Connor could say no more – his voice, already hoarse from the events of the last few days, had burned away to a sandpapery nothing.

Hanging his head in a mixture of exhaustion and shame, Connor Ryan, opened his eyes, stared into the cracked cement floor, and whispered, “I’m sorry….”

Lack of Iron and/or Sleeping

What does it mean, what does it mean, what does it mean?
Everything is hidden. I won't say the words - but oh, how I have wanted to.
It wouldn't matter. No, it wouldn't matter. Would it matter?
Even if I were to shout them out there, and by some divine miracle, some impossible chance, they were to be returned - what would it mean?
What of the other thing - the secret that I know, that no one knows that I know?
So many reasons and regrets, so many reasons to disappear.

Maybe it is just... well, what the title says.

Even if I had what I wanted in my hands right now, even if my dreams could come true - what would it mean? What does it mean, that I have to wonder that?
Would I trust it to be truth? Or would I doubt, as I have always?
Oh, pity pity pity
Don't pity me
Would - well, I can't say, in such a public place.
But still more doubts, still more doubts, ever more doubts.
It doesn't much matter, I tell myself - what use is wondering of a future, when so uncertain of the present?
but what if what if what if
Should I?
Oh doubt, you cowardly foe, you have beaten me yet again.
If I said it, what would the consequences be? If I don't?

So many paths, forever unknown, what lies down the one not taken.
But what if, what if, what if?


I am the vagabond, living in the wind, the cold night's breeze is my blanket,
the lonesome sound of nothing
is my only friend now.
And this brings peace.

I see beauty where you see tragedy - who is right?

To die a beautiful death is to have lived a blessed life.

Laments to the Night Sky

I have been contemplative of late - much more so than would be deemed healthy, I sadly note.

In my thoughts has been those I've loved in my lifetime - I will name no names, for that is not my place to do so. Some have known that I loved them, for I spoke the words plainly - others may not ever know, and that is just as well, I suppose.

Three that knew, though, held such differing opinions of me that I couldn't help but wonder - which was the real me they saw?

One, the earliest, viewed me as no one in particular - a random individual with no real characteristics that, somehow, she grew to love for a short time, before finding a better specimen.

The latest - the latest that I have spoken those dreaded words to, who, sadly, never returned the emotions, told me I was a romantic. She said I was one of the most romantic people she had ever met, and under different circumstances she could have loved me.

Another, just before her, thought of me as a broken, immature fool - who she loved, for a short time, nonetheless. She felt - and told me so, quite plainly - that I was not nearly romantic enough.

So, it begs the question - who am I? The romantic, the fool, or no one?

I suppose, in the end, I am all and none.

I love far too deeply, far too often, and see the magic in places where no one else does - this is the romantic in me.

I attempt to hide that part of myself away, replacing it with a silly act, or jokes at my own expense - always at my own expense. This the immature me.

I try to put these two together, to make the parts whole, to be both simultaneously - this is the random me.

So, who am I? I am no one, and I am everyone - I am myself.

I love far too much - thou, I suspect, I will never say those words again. No, it will but be whispers in the night, to the darkness as it overtakes me.

In my end, I fear, I will be none of the things I once was - the romance and beauty is gone, replaced with longing and doubt.

I guess it can be said _that_ is who I am.

I am the boy who could never have enough - and in the end, had had too much.

I wish I was somewhere else

and I wish it was warmer.

the tree

I took a walk into the woods
to get away from all of you
Sat underneath an ancient tree
as the sap dripped down my back
I thought of all the people I'd left behind

And as I gazed into that ancient tree
I saw a carving
they were initials, in a heart
the letters faded with age
I could almost imagine the one who carved them
sitting under that ancient tree

Maybe he came here one night
desperation on his breath
with a knife in his hand
he pledged his love
and maybe
they
lived happily
ever after



But I doubt it.

Maybe she
broke his heart
and he died that night
with a knife in hand
sitting under this ancient tree.

keep turning the page....

I stayed up all night, and watched the sun rise.
And I wept with the clarity, the beauty.
Suddenly everything made sense, and I could accept everything
and take my own advice.
and saw the beauty in everything
and the tears were of joy and relief.

I stared at the pictures in my hand, protected in plastic, so fragile.
Memories, a name I don't speak to many people.
and my heart swelled with love and longing,
and it was right.
It was all right.

I put the pictures away, put myself to bed, and whispered the words that had been circling my head.

This is bliss. This is bliss.