I have seen my own death,
it isn’t pretty.
My face as a corpse is unkempt.
It’s ok, I wasn’t perfect.
It is strange,

I’m grateful.
Grateful for the words I breathe.
For the times I’ve lived and, in
for the greatness of the moments a
I’m grateful

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

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

Fire and Water
sensations
rinses and rises
as a dutiful procedure.
Felt within,

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.

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

Stardust in the mind,
I contemplate in exact answers,
precise manners,
for the fulfillment of a question
that beckons forgiveness.

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

I wish we were Masters. That way
we can inhabit the truth
and it would be made strong.
Love as the only thing that has
meaning. Understanding. The

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.

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

You must be you. Truly.
Inner truth, intuition, unrepentan
that sings the songs of days for d
I will hear that greatness, let us
Rising to the world,

A cockroach died of starvation in
Slightly annoyed as I laced my mu
to go outside and find my way to t
steal some coffee from a bank befo
I dropped my American Eagle key o

Little black rocks dotted the side
as I held my gaze down there.
What was I doing here...
almost crippled by fear
No, I’m doing this.

Filled with sins,
Lying in bed,
No fear though,
Limitless mindset
Body to bear,

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

He haunts me every night
a ghostly light highlights a darkl
Skin the color of starlight in mem
Dreaded demon of conscious-less em
He is my demented tormentor

Why choose misery over
the joy found when
mugs on the table
hide their secrets
and pour out everything

I have a hole in my heart.
Once a trusty pouch
is now a conspiring pump
that floods my insides
with the dark red fury

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’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

I shall make for me
some natural herb tea,
my unquestioning remedy,
for what, to me, remains elusive..
a good night’s sleep.

A puff of air
internalized
in a vacant room.
Cows among me chewing
the expensive cud that

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

In the distance, slight tapping of
Festival creating renewed life, wa
the origin of the location unknown
Then upbeat rhythm kicks in,
Announcing a different style of ce

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

And the others withhold
experience
from me.
So that I sit,
and stare,

An echoing melody breezed through
swinging from the tops of green fo
and melted the defenses of the mou
Everything seemed to disappear thi
I was in myself a different way.

Creating, condemning,
piercing my skin with a
rough sketch, tattoo ink
and a clueless reminder
found within every pore.

As I sat on that dark misty cliff
and felt the tips of the ocean bel
lightly on my face, in comfort or
by that sun burst into the world w
The sea beneath my dangling feet r

Others in landscapes, perennial dr
caressed by conscious and turbulen
Oh that it may how I wish it were
sailing amidst my turbulent sea.
An unconscious mast imposing above

Life to me is covered
by a velvet sheet,
suffocating me
with rich fabric
and delicate dreams.

The ladder is before you
Will you climb?
Well of course you will
You have the time
Those first rungs are easy

...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,

Alas my fellow poets, have I foun
amongst your fold: fellow stoics,
Kindred in spirit and dreamers of
Oh sweet apathy, I write of your
Oh lady I will be your beer speak