Category: Uncategorized

How will it go when I’m gone?How will my loved ones grieve?How can I help?all to knowthat my lovewill go on

Grief is a funny thing,and by funny I mean it feels like getting hit by a truckloaded with hot-sauceas the sun eclipseswhilst the shards of glass litter your backand you forget how to breathagain and again. It weighs on the souldemanding attentiontender lovesafetyand a reminder that Life Goes On. I’m sitting here on the floor…

When it comes to packingI try to fit it all,even if it’s just a backpackfor a trip to the strip mall.In the summers I fly to spainto go to the beach with my family,and for the third time in a rowa stewardess told me “lo debes haber facturado”,you should have checked that,as I squeeze myaptly…

Birds fly,twice I criedto celebrate their joy-ous,us,we could be like themonce we leave the nestwe,we – could be like themright?Though I don’t know if I’m flapping wingsor already taken flight.

Where did everybody go?I thoughtbeing there for youmeant,you would be there for me. All the hard days,all the long nights,your days of strife with friends in sightsurely would teachour communal might,I thought,things were going well for you now.At least,well enough to exist around mewhen I am far from best,to share some painso I can rest,and…

Why use big wordwhen small word do trick?Why fill a cuppast the brim?Too much rush, too much stress,too much hate, we could do less.Too much cash, too much work,too much waste, the worst might lurkat our backs,as we sleep,whilst one walks down a street,fear of what we all have donewhen we just needpeace.

I don’t know what going on right now,I’ve only just arrived,but I have not one, bead of sweat,there is no do or die

To write is a giftto me and myself. To share is the workI do for everybody else.

Abundance aboundsyet no peace is found,the rain,it smellslike trees.

Sing song birds cry,the fire burnt it all down.Not one inch of branch for restnot one cool spot of ground.The flames have yet to subside,time has yet to tell if they will,I’d like to think the spread is slowingas I peel my calloused feet.I didn’t realize at firstwhy it hurt to cool off,the fire creeps…

I feel like everything would changeif I’d take that next, breath.

I’m searching for some doldrumsto temper my steel I fear, something realer is near.

I’m not sure why I poke you thricewhen your mind is all made upof outdated ideas,misexpressed apprehensions,and conventions of doing, not what is rightbut what feels safeto you.

Varying degrees of self composure,two ways to look right. Creator of my own misadventures,deceptic cons of times gone. Trying to find peace in a spaceship.Trying to replace my left hip. The time returns.It’s twelve thirty. Time for sunwhile I eat.

Get your hands out of my mind,the grip you left is swift to let itself back in the door I closedfar too long ago.No wonder you can’tget your hands out of my mind.

I could be enticedto roll the dice the left hand way,the way that waves me downas I sleep,at night.

My bills are due todayat least,today’s the day I pay them.

I know my wife better than I know you,and I can wait to meet her,or to learn that I have.

The work is grief,the work is not grieving.Grieving begets the grief,acceptance breaks the mold,rest rests.

Offense,defense,two sides of the same wall,cemented by the blood of our young.

If there’s one thing that’ll drainmy creative driveit’s getting bakedthat’s all, it takes awaymy magic stavethe thoughts all dissolve to delusion.

You said I’ve gotten too comfortablebeing on my own,and maybe I have.A pandemic, a recovery,and a civil fracturing not ready for it’s recovery,all time I’ve spentdigging deepand building myself back up. You see, I thought that was the point.I took painful times and doubled downbecause I couldn’t kid myselfin the vacuum of joy to be…

Offense,defense,two sides of the same wall,cemented by the blood of our young.

On the doorstep of departure,the truth settling in,of how this chapter endsand the next begins. Anxious feelings fill my stomachalongside the joy that’s left to digest,and the stress that needs it’s rest. I don’t know if I’ll cry or sing,or dance or die,I don’t know what’s on deck for mebecause I’ve been living daily,free-ing myself…

You caught feelings before I did,so I’m a bad guy?Didn’t lie so I could lie with you,and I’m a bad guy? You want everything you thought you found,rushed everything to keep me ’roundand that all paused when I left town..now three weeks passedI’m back at last, you cheers me with an empty glass,I raise a…

How does the cash flow?Where do the flowers go?Do they witherwithout a home?A million eyesof passer byes,on displaytill their end.

The pull for me to gothe call for me to stay,decisions I don’t want to makedecisions have their dayof expiration,no by omission,until the final bell has tolledI’ve chosen not to stay.

Is it credit or liability,indebted to the future,want the world to sing its praisenowbeforeyou desert it.

Wandering,will you let me in your doormy friend?It’s the first time,yet we meet again,in passing for a moment.Not long this timefor each to growembracinga moment.

May flowers flowerand bring a newa pollen air,sweet morning dew.

Especially, espanishly, eventually,ly ly lydangerous, deceptive,ly ly, ly?I might get lostalong the scenic route,and when I’m lostI may discoverwhat the routeis all about.

Rosebud thorns, I’m left to be alone,until it all comes crashingthrough the wall, a momentI can’t deny.

Tuesday rings of cheer,the rest is nearly near.Two cups full, one cup down,the rest is only now.

The last call rang,the lady sang,the bar now smellsfresher than the morning,fresher than the patronwho drank too long.

Totally flaccid air,placid,expended to the limit.

We raise the glass, to sip it down.We raise the vibe, to sip it down. Is life too muchwhen the light shines bright?when laughter fills the room?when safetysettles in? We celebrate, to crash the next day.We celebrate, to our own dismay.

Am I coping or am I caged?Is my reality stagedby my own direction?Are the keys to the castlein my own hands?Have I been watching my gamefrom the back of the stands?

Your songs all sound the same,a blur into the backgroundof monotone creativity,of that tonethat you can’t let go. Static evolution,low to no slope.Praying that your vibe will last,coasting on the hope.

The cut is deeper than the woundthe scar that healed too soon,unready for new beginningsfor fearof what’s to come. Enticed to overcome,for all the painand healing to be done.Enticed to runfrom what could repeat,the cut is deeper than the wound.

I’ve been knocking on doors,slow knocking,loud knocking,trying to figure out each and every waythat I could make a paycheckso that I could make the pain-less.Underpaid and overcompensated,Underviewed and overrated. My talents seem to go awashin the whirlpoolconsumingthe river.

Leaves change colour,seeds turn to green,a million miles between usand the stars up above.

I’ve been throwing you under the bus.I’m sorry.I don’t know what else to saywhen you’re nowhere to be found.

Craving connectionthis stomach feels empty,or ready?to take on something new.Letting go of intellectualusual expectations,a reverberating repetition,doomscrolling,screen peaking,when people are right in front of me. Maybe. Maybe if I can connectI’ll stop feeling like I’m wrong,or falling apart.Do I need someone elseto put the stopper back in the tubthat I unplugged? Maybe,just maybe,it’s about my aim…

How to concretewhat feels like sandand slips through handsunready to receive? How to signalthrough passive minglethat this hearis ready to receive? Is it them or meor this space that we’re in?What can I dofor things to begin.

I’ve got the keys to the castle, the work is on demand,behold the truth of the story told,the floorboards worn to mold.There’s little left to prepare, for now,and so much left to enact,I’ve got my tools, needed or not,and a lifetime leftto craft.

What am I fighting for?What does the fight require?Could I sustain,hold my own ground,if to fightwas my desire.

I gotta get up on the mic and share the flowbecause the whole world know thatprose is power. I gotta standup on my feet to defeat the plaguebecause the truth remains thatprose is power. prose is power. prose is power. A couple minutes pass by without one liebecause the whole room know thatprose is power.…

Rainy daysI don’t seem to mind,a million momentsto bide my time.

I will fuck this dirt.who ain’t love the earth, alwayspeepin’ up their skirt

Undeniable, exasperated, the drama is exaggeratedoverrated, compensated, everything but masturbated.I keepwriting these songs, for things to come along,I staytwiddling thumbs, am I doing something wrong?Or am I too impatient, is the wait so long? Poppin’ bread out of the oven, but it’s all half baked,now the heat’s all gone, to check was my mistake,so I…