This little book of rhyme
holds captive my heart.
No, my mind’s the real upstart.
Credit to my heart’s a crime.
Desperation took the real blow

The tower of Babel
was destined to fall
not because of the
wrath of God,
but the hatred

We shoot for superiority.
The best of the idea,
the winning match and set
game for the domination.
I, with masculine energy,

At first, I was the reveling masq
In a dozen wanton nights,
with a lack of fright for social a
I sought to receive.
I sought to breath

I really wanted to die
underneath that heavenly blue sky,
and leave behind the tensions and
and float upwards and away from th
No longer called a buffoon,

It is a good thing
to have words
melted at the sunset.
Beyond sense,
sybaritic,

~Read the tome. And read it again
Stories meant to never end
but always beginning again.
I felt new refrain
as I gathered my mind.

Anger was beef,
and chickens were too,
and I wasn’t hungry,
at least not anymore.
And a four-score speech

Madness ensued
in dark corners and wretched taver
where I insulted myself, and I go
by a tribal aggression; must retal
and avenge for society’s sake.

In this moment, I am tired.
Dare to stay exhausted?
Tonight - inspired-
yet I’m tired, off to bed.
Don't sleep, be free.

On the shoulders of giants,
I stood defiant.
Everything about me is original
Except I did not create:
the language I speak

I was Marcus Arelius in love.
Eh rm, except with a woman.
I was an excited spark in flight,
Ah hmm, albeit alone.
My want is mine own, young und old

I swear if I have to read
one more poem
of someone cutting themselves
I’m going to cut myself.
Really deep.

The rain was not refreshing.
we waited and waited
on those barren, thirsty
desert hills.
But no rain came.

What is a name?
Glorified ticket to fame?
Or something else entirely?
Are you a fallen tree in the fores
or are you a pair of ragged claws

...in a desert of boredom. Or ennu
The words flutter like a salacious
Foaming at the mouth, inappropriat
Baudelaire on drugs.
A reading, by a poet,

I wish my memories were translated
Reflections of my life,
entranced in melody,
I wonder how they would sound.
The music of my memories...

Do I dare sing of love
in the middle of the night?
When ghosts of family past
stand in my sight?
They judge me

Do your work and remove yourself.
Don’t check the follower count.
You are a rock, immoveable in your
You are the river that breathes an
You are provider. And receiver.

The feeling came again.
Love or Lust?
Neither I hope,
I hate writing of love.
It invokes a powerlessness

Wind in this still,
distinct... thin
I swim in sin
till gin is rid.
Finding might,

There’s a little bit of blood
on my breathe.
My blood,
breathing,
within vitality

I view death as my friend.
Sitting on my bed, playing
a guitar like a silent weeping wom
who has just lost a child.
I view life as a mustard seed.

I’m surrounded by broken things–
red dust deposits in the windowsil
chipped mugs, clamped keys, worn o
a matted rug, drained vase and dyi
dead water and the rising smoke fr

A heart of sadness,
on a spectators’ pilgrimage
to the regions of the unknown.
I wish I knew.
I wish I could recuperate.

Lined up the gunmen
with sparkling garments, one by on
spelled doom for the poor prisoner
who gazed at the setting sun.
The pompous captain stood tall,

I’m hesitant,
a little anxious and
KINDA NERVOUS.
I haven’t talked to anybody
at all this week

If there was anything that mattere
I would hold hope
that the very thing
would be me.
Profitably me.

The rain wanted to fight me.
Pouring down to become pines and n
splashing upwards,
dropping down with mock-unison
into the now flooded sidewalk.

Everything is a reaction
to everything.
This sentence is a reaction
to the last.
The periods at the end are all rea

Oh how I wish
my talent with words
were like
that of a painter
with color and dimension.

The rapture had finally hit,
as the music in this stadium
rocks the beat and pulsates
like a living creature ready to bu
My friends and I are celebrated i

Inner burst of joy-
from a caffeine fix-
The modern day call to action.
I do not stand, I sit for miles
and transfixed on the

If I could pray,
I would pray that you all
enjoy your lives.
Final, but not ultimate, enjoyment
of the self and restlessness.

I remember the tired streetlights
that emitted their hazy glow,
discoloring the grass in the park.
I remember the playful screams
of my fast rambunctious friends,

Remember when shots
were stolen,
foreign dreams left melted
in the chamber.
Left fulfilled