The man in the bar sits alone at the counter, and stares down at his drink. Many more will come and poison his blood, and he loves it. Swept off from the stool, he's whisked up in the stank of air around him, he is lost in the aroma of his poisoned blood.
Dropping back to the stool, his stomach floods, and a quick trip to the restroom ends with more drinks from the bar, where he sits. "I think you've had enough sir," the bartender stammers to his guest.
"Fuck you, scotch of the rocks."
And he pours it down his throat. Burning as it slides down, the feeling comforts him to the point of numbness, where he knows not the feeling of his face nor hands.
A cigarette is placed in his mouth from the gods above. He thanks his invisible savior, and lights the cigarette, inhaling deep. He exhales and is lost in the empty smoke, now spreading through the lonely bar.
The man hits his cigarette again and wishes for a lonely women, to sit down next to him and take all his worry away. If only his invisible savior could bring him a fine piece of pussy! But he looks around and the bar is empty, except for him and the smoke that dances through the room and his lungs, hiding his sorrow. He doesn't care.
He wishes to go home and cry in his bed, or fold his dry, cracked hands onto his eyes and let his aching out. The world must be against him, because this bar is his home, or at least has become it. His hurt is drowned with alcohol, that numbs the pulses of insanity floating through his head.
No one taught him to be a man, and whatever trace he had, has been lost. He was forever lost after the day he walked into this bar. Whatever comforts him works, and thats okay with him. He stands up and walks behind the bar and pours himself a drink.
"This is my home."
Monday, April 9, 2012
A Day At the Beach
Her feet sink into the shallow, wet sand.
The sun burns through the thick, condensed fog
covering the sky,
and reflects off the damp sand,
sending up a glaze as far as
her eyes can see.
She is alone, in her mind
and no one takes up the space around her.
The ocean is her only friend,
the vast, empty beauty represents
her soul, and the breeze lifts her
out of the pockets of sand that have
collected around her feet.
Her thoughts roll back and forth
like the tide rolls up around
her ankles,
and then back to sea.
She wishes to be carried out to sea.
To float alone, to every corner of our
Strange Planet,
and then sink to the bottom.
To fill her lungs full of the stinking
sea water, and never let it out.
The sun burns through the thick, condensed fog
covering the sky,
and reflects off the damp sand,
sending up a glaze as far as
her eyes can see.
She is alone, in her mind
and no one takes up the space around her.
The ocean is her only friend,
the vast, empty beauty represents
her soul, and the breeze lifts her
out of the pockets of sand that have
collected around her feet.
Her thoughts roll back and forth
like the tide rolls up around
her ankles,
and then back to sea.
She wishes to be carried out to sea.
To float alone, to every corner of our
Strange Planet,
and then sink to the bottom.
To fill her lungs full of the stinking
sea water, and never let it out.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
The Sky Is Beauty
Crystallized orbs explode
and cause an ember,
of fire red upon the sky.
Shards of beauty fall with passion
and transcend on the system that
built up the sky.
Screams are drowned out with the
sound of ear piercing
Silence.
The quiet rustle of wind blows up
the dust and decay,
of the now barren planet.
The wind blows away the screams.
Any tortured-young-screams were drowned out.
No chance for any of them anyway.
Nothing is anything without the sky.
And this piece,
this now empty canvas of a once beautiful world,
where people laughed and cried,
Together.
If they predicted the end, they were surely wrong.
They didn't dive deep enough.
Sad fact,
no one predicts the end of what is already tragic,
and no one would expect it would end with such
beauty and radiance.
So beautiful that if you saw it with your eyes,
you surely would want to die.
This scenario, is in fact the end
of these few, but strong
yet weak at heart.
Ignorance,
floats above the heads and is inhaled in with the
oxygen and pollution from,
The Majority,
as they build above.
Water is such a luxury.
Parched mouths of the few
and the end their screams.
Faces stare at the blank face,
emotion is not shared between them
and the power of positive energy,
turns the few against
Themselves.
You can't forget the Power of a few,
but in this tragic case,
they will not rise.
The power will be sent to the sky,
because so much of what,
The Majority
destroys is themselves.
Everything fades through the structure of
Evolution
and oppression leads to bleak misery.
The sky is formed with sleek alchemy,
that has been forged for the protection of themselves.
No one predicts the end, but when it comes,
so sudden there is no time
to react.
Things will end.
You won't scream.
There will be silence from
The Majority.
The few will perish because of the misery
that has been forced upon them.
No one predicts the end,
but when it comes the moment will seem idle,
Unexpected.
The Positive energy that makes
the beings, beings
will be there
and it will have no worry.
An unexpected end,
where everyone dies alone
is built upon the edge of a knife.
It, whatever it may be,
Will fall.
The beauty of explosions in the sky
is that of the beings realizing their end.
They embrace what they are.
The beauty is the sky,
exploding upon the few who don't matter.
Their love for one another.
Their happiness.
Their high.
In the universe of nothing,
Existence, the meaning is to Exist.
These few did, they did it all wrong.
And they ended themselves,
with their ideas,
with increased violence,
with rape,
with drugs.
With poison and ignorance they
created their own suffocation and
departure from existence.
The glass shatters,
and when nothing is left,
Creation Begins.
and cause an ember,
of fire red upon the sky.
Shards of beauty fall with passion
and transcend on the system that
built up the sky.
Screams are drowned out with the
sound of ear piercing
Silence.
The quiet rustle of wind blows up
the dust and decay,
of the now barren planet.
The wind blows away the screams.
Any tortured-young-screams were drowned out.
No chance for any of them anyway.
Nothing is anything without the sky.
And this piece,
this now empty canvas of a once beautiful world,
where people laughed and cried,
Together.
If they predicted the end, they were surely wrong.
They didn't dive deep enough.
Sad fact,
no one predicts the end of what is already tragic,
and no one would expect it would end with such
beauty and radiance.
So beautiful that if you saw it with your eyes,
you surely would want to die.
This scenario, is in fact the end
of these few, but strong
yet weak at heart.
Ignorance,
floats above the heads and is inhaled in with the
oxygen and pollution from,
The Majority,
as they build above.
Water is such a luxury.
Parched mouths of the few
and the end their screams.
Faces stare at the blank face,
emotion is not shared between them
and the power of positive energy,
turns the few against
Themselves.
You can't forget the Power of a few,
but in this tragic case,
they will not rise.
The power will be sent to the sky,
because so much of what,
The Majority
destroys is themselves.
Everything fades through the structure of
Evolution
and oppression leads to bleak misery.
The sky is formed with sleek alchemy,
that has been forged for the protection of themselves.
No one predicts the end, but when it comes,
so sudden there is no time
to react.
Things will end.
You won't scream.
There will be silence from
The Majority.
The few will perish because of the misery
that has been forced upon them.
No one predicts the end,
but when it comes the moment will seem idle,
Unexpected.
The Positive energy that makes
the beings, beings
will be there
and it will have no worry.
An unexpected end,
where everyone dies alone
is built upon the edge of a knife.
It, whatever it may be,
Will fall.
The beauty of explosions in the sky
is that of the beings realizing their end.
They embrace what they are.
The beauty is the sky,
exploding upon the few who don't matter.
Their love for one another.
Their happiness.
Their high.
In the universe of nothing,
Existence, the meaning is to Exist.
These few did, they did it all wrong.
And they ended themselves,
with their ideas,
with increased violence,
with rape,
with drugs.
With poison and ignorance they
created their own suffocation and
departure from existence.
The glass shatters,
and when nothing is left,
Creation Begins.
Ripples of Endless Night Bring the Trip to New Heights
The inhale is most important.
The lungs filling slowly and finally
releasing the smoke.
It dances around my head,
stretching the time lapse, catching
my eyes.
Evaporating and blending into the air,
you sit and breathe.
Outside the people march in the streets
looking for a fix,
That fix that tears open the veins
polluting the blood stream,
putting the thoughts of a junkie into a clean man.
Man is not clean.
I sit in a loft,
above the people.
Their thoughts don't interest me.
But their actions and voice effect
the void I'm entering -
quicker and quicker
the walls close in, my eyes rising to the ceiling.
As if a portal, the ceiling fades
and I rise.
Inhale, Exhale.
The void is my conscious.
A bright lights blinds,
burns the socket of my eyes.
My eyes see the reality of my head
and what I think,
The light dims
and the silence transcends.
The conscious,
stares down at the body, the vessel.
Never to return.
The explanation, of the questions no one
can answer.
An eternity of what?
He rises above the city,
above the people in the streets sticking filthy needles into each others arms.
Acceptance is dropping.
Your tongue
soaking in and absorbing it.
The bloodstream,
slowly accepting
the opening doors.
The blinding white light
that illuminates the choices.
Every moment flashes in the head.
Death is the trip.
Death is the 'hallucination'
Open your eyes and stare into
the truth.
The truth that is so simple,
yet will never be uttered.
Some secrets are right there
they must be unlocked,
so exhale,
Breathe.
The answers are in your head
Not in the hate filled streets.
The people, once knew
the answers to the questions,
but enlightenment turned to hatred
because not everyone can breathe in the truth,
and simple accept.
So they poison themselves.
I rise above the world and gaze
down.
So peaceful from where I sit,
perched.
But to go into the atmosphere,
and try to accept and
live the 'classic American' life,
is to loose yourself
and restore to chemical compounds ,
to answer the questions of life.
These questions, will not suite you in death
and you cannot change
the life you've already lived.
Just as he rose, he falls
falls through all the layers of the death,
back to acceptance.
the streets look up and conscious falls
as if it was a flashback to
a vague memory,
and my eyes open,
looking down the bed at my feet
right where I always was,
right where I always will be.
The streets are silenced,
Exhale.
Death is the trip.
The lungs filling slowly and finally
releasing the smoke.
It dances around my head,
stretching the time lapse, catching
my eyes.
Evaporating and blending into the air,
you sit and breathe.
Outside the people march in the streets
looking for a fix,
That fix that tears open the veins
polluting the blood stream,
putting the thoughts of a junkie into a clean man.
Man is not clean.
I sit in a loft,
above the people.
Their thoughts don't interest me.
But their actions and voice effect
the void I'm entering -
quicker and quicker
the walls close in, my eyes rising to the ceiling.
As if a portal, the ceiling fades
and I rise.
Inhale, Exhale.
The void is my conscious.
A bright lights blinds,
burns the socket of my eyes.
My eyes see the reality of my head
and what I think,
The light dims
and the silence transcends.
The conscious,
stares down at the body, the vessel.
Never to return.
The explanation, of the questions no one
can answer.
An eternity of what?
He rises above the city,
above the people in the streets sticking filthy needles into each others arms.
Acceptance is dropping.
Your tongue
soaking in and absorbing it.
The bloodstream,
slowly accepting
the opening doors.
The blinding white light
that illuminates the choices.
Every moment flashes in the head.
Death is the trip.
Death is the 'hallucination'
Open your eyes and stare into
the truth.
The truth that is so simple,
yet will never be uttered.
Some secrets are right there
they must be unlocked,
so exhale,
Breathe.
The answers are in your head
Not in the hate filled streets.
The people, once knew
the answers to the questions,
but enlightenment turned to hatred
because not everyone can breathe in the truth,
and simple accept.
So they poison themselves.
I rise above the world and gaze
down.
So peaceful from where I sit,
perched.
But to go into the atmosphere,
and try to accept and
live the 'classic American' life,
is to loose yourself
and restore to chemical compounds ,
to answer the questions of life.
These questions, will not suite you in death
and you cannot change
the life you've already lived.
Just as he rose, he falls
falls through all the layers of the death,
back to acceptance.
the streets look up and conscious falls
as if it was a flashback to
a vague memory,
and my eyes open,
looking down the bed at my feet
right where I always was,
right where I always will be.
The streets are silenced,
Exhale.
Death is the trip.
Released
I couldn't even look you in the
eyes,
after you swallowed my heart.
I guess I stayed,
because the only thing
I know how to do,
is look towards the light.
Something is different.
I
broke our
hands
held tight,
and retreated
into the dark of my
mind.
I tried to hold onto the light,
but when emotions are consumed
everything is reversed.
Always in my head,
you sit
and hold me,
back from the light
outside
of my mind, because of the love.
You consumed it,
poisoned me.
You showed me no mercy as you
ripped my love
of friends and family to shreds.
Thank you for not burning the pieces.
Their fragments, are back together
and you are
ripped,
burned,
and spat on.
Your ashes,
blow away in the mind;
a memory.
I'm sure you are only in my head,
and on this page
because of,
Emotion,
controlling everything.
Emotion is the spirit,
that leaves when we pass.
And when I die and rise above,
you will leave my body.
The body that felt the pain
you inflicted upon it,
will be motionless
and the spirit will know the
Impact,
for eternity.
I often think too far into
the abyss of human
Thought
and action.
For the path we take,
and the people we effect,
are all we remember.
You will always be
here in my
Heart.
I've accepted wherever we go,
you will always,
in one way or another
affect what I do.
What decisions I make.
I release the pain
the love
the spirit,
Into the wind.
eyes,
after you swallowed my heart.
I guess I stayed,
because the only thing
I know how to do,
is look towards the light.
Something is different.
I
broke our
hands
held tight,
and retreated
into the dark of my
mind.
I tried to hold onto the light,
but when emotions are consumed
everything is reversed.
Always in my head,
you sit
and hold me,
back from the light
outside
of my mind, because of the love.
You consumed it,
poisoned me.
You showed me no mercy as you
ripped my love
of friends and family to shreds.
Thank you for not burning the pieces.
Their fragments, are back together
and you are
ripped,
burned,
and spat on.
Your ashes,
blow away in the mind;
a memory.
I'm sure you are only in my head,
and on this page
because of,
Emotion,
controlling everything.
Emotion is the spirit,
that leaves when we pass.
And when I die and rise above,
you will leave my body.
The body that felt the pain
you inflicted upon it,
will be motionless
and the spirit will know the
Impact,
for eternity.
I often think too far into
the abyss of human
Thought
and action.
For the path we take,
and the people we effect,
are all we remember.
You will always be
here in my
Heart.
I've accepted wherever we go,
you will always,
in one way or another
affect what I do.
What decisions I make.
I release the pain
the love
the spirit,
Into the wind.
Annoyance From Sounds, Formulating Ideas
Buzzing,
all I hear is a faint buzz.
I stare forward.
My boredom comes back and forth -
like the tide rolling back.
All around me
empty faces.
What's in their minds?
I don't think the stars would even
catch their eyes.
The buzz is that
of an old jazz show tune,
trying to teach me to walk -
but I am afraid.
Maybe the buzz is just in my head.
Vibrations
flow down through my body,
hitting my soul
like a hammer on nail.
My body is yet
to breathe -
a seed in the ground.
Man and Women -
whatever they may be
walk over me
and breathe in life.
Vast wasteland.
All to see is the tree -
The Tree of Life.
Instead of basking in it's holy glory,
Man and Women chop it down,
sell it to foreign industries,
mass produce it,
pack it,
sell it,
and ship it to all those willing
to sacrifice their souls
for a piece of immortality.
Instead of building homes for needy
you divide it for those willing to pay
for stocks -
and a little extra of course.
Robbing us blind,
while we try to get to sleep tonight
and the creator laughs
in all our faces for getting it so wrong.
he looks out at all
the empty faces.
What's in their minds?
He doubts the stars would even catch their eyes.
Buzzing brings me back.
all I hear is a faint buzz.
I stare forward.
My boredom comes back and forth -
like the tide rolling back.
All around me
empty faces.
What's in their minds?
I don't think the stars would even
catch their eyes.
The buzz is that
of an old jazz show tune,
trying to teach me to walk -
but I am afraid.
Maybe the buzz is just in my head.
Vibrations
flow down through my body,
hitting my soul
like a hammer on nail.
My body is yet
to breathe -
a seed in the ground.
Man and Women -
whatever they may be
walk over me
and breathe in life.
Vast wasteland.
All to see is the tree -
The Tree of Life.
Instead of basking in it's holy glory,
Man and Women chop it down,
sell it to foreign industries,
mass produce it,
pack it,
sell it,
and ship it to all those willing
to sacrifice their souls
for a piece of immortality.
Instead of building homes for needy
you divide it for those willing to pay
for stocks -
and a little extra of course.
Robbing us blind,
while we try to get to sleep tonight
and the creator laughs
in all our faces for getting it so wrong.
he looks out at all
the empty faces.
What's in their minds?
He doubts the stars would even catch their eyes.
Buzzing brings me back.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
Lost
This man sleeps in a dark alley with no friends and no family,
every night is the same, no matter what dark - damp location
he rests his head.
Cold concrete is his pillow and newspaper, his blanket.
Thoughts of death will run through his mind most night's,
but he is convinced - things will get better.
But things get worse.
Alleys turn to park benches,
and park benches turn to dumpsters.
"No man should live this way," he says to himself.
This man will walk down the street
loose change clattering in his pockets.
Everyone looks past him, and when their gaze -
meets his, they wonder - what he is.
This man, knows they are the same,
they are all empty, inside and out.
They are no better.
This city is alive at night,
when the man feels like dying.
While the rats feasts upon the living
and downgrade society, drinking the blood -
the man just wants alcohol to warm his blood.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)