A spot or two
All that I can drink
I believe I got it all from you…
Er…what was your name?
Swing lowThree cold coins cast weights in his pockets
that's one for the ferryman but two for the heroin
and three states of being were left out as an option
birth, life, and death and he chose to choose none of them
you'd think that he could smell the approaching Death
if he hadn't sand blasted his nose to nary a snort in Life's breath.
and maybe he wouldn't have been blind to other paths
but it's hard to see the future from a low hung head
so swing low, and take a taste of the madness
but take a dip like a quill in ink to create your life's masterpiece
and if you sink too low then then just brush it off naturally
because nothings permanent and unless you make it seem to be
hold your chin up and breath sighs relief
the devils are on your back so they cannot impede
and child slow down there's no need for grief
you can't live life dead if dead set on living
two cold coins cast weights in his pockets
enough to clip a roach you'd think.
but for all the currency he carried currently
Snow Blind And SinkingWhen he winced and put another pinch up his nose
he laughed and huffed gasses that make cars go faster.
He’s an asshole who robs you blind at kind point
each dollar cast away with a smile but he still wants more.
Veins collapsed, a heart beat to death wheezes
or it would if failed lungs hadn’t already ceased breathing.
He’s agape left gasping with hate, for
the thing that saved him took away his only escape.
snow driven adrenalin pushes him into a tar pit.
He’d be never heard from again, for
it’s a sure thing he’d drown in it.
if it wasn’t for friends love
the he’d be another eulogy and
a fucked up, fair faded, statistic.
but he’s sadistic because he
but misses it.
but he can wipe clean the snow and
remnants of the tar pit
cause he loves more
those who braved it to save him.
Hooked on PhoneticsIt's not all in the hype, see?
You still have to set your roots.
Mine just happen to be hyphy.
I'm split-even like coduceus
fueled by semi-synthetic
ergot infested magic rye.
I'm a nice guy who likes long walks on the beach,
my molly actually sass, but still crystalline, and
using my spare time to visit worlds- dimethyl triptyline
lyrics are a pattern. Whose
divination's just a gift to me.
"They" tell me what to write,
point at you, and scream
"REPEAT AFTER ME!"
A little dab will do ya.
"How bout a line or two sir?"
"Dude, what about your health?
Do think that that's conducive?"
No, I think it's magic. It's talking to god.
I love it more than anything and it's killing me.
Isn't that odd?
A Poem Like TeethNot a line to sit half a happy couplet.
All the metaphors aren't fives but
still love to hear speech through crooked slant rhyme.
All the while wear a stupid half simile.
Ain't an old poet; though, old speech spoke colloquially:
speak Modern-English romanticized chatter,
Not a line to sit half a happy couplet.
All the while wear a stupid half simile.
Rich Man's Poor DreamsThe old man lived in a house of gold bricks and
thought his life a dream.
Though, when he paid for happiness brick by brick
he had company but,
no place to sleep.
A house is not a home and
a home sure ain't a bank.
Though, when you're cold and lonely with possessions to spare
what would posses you to think happiness comes cheep?
The old man spent it all away on a cashed cache o' bucks.
That son of a bitch couldn't buy happiness but,
he sure found it when he stopped giving a fuck.
Never-Empty EvergreenThe trees leaves leave,
casting not shadows, but bitter memories
of a full head of hair.
Willow's weep in winters dead grasp
and send not a prayer nor death rattle
only silent sighs resign to fate.
All will always be lush and green;
for, even when it is not I
pretend my vegetation is large and pristine and
think myself an evergreen.
Daddy Issues Check ListI was born a monster before a man.
Honestly, I'm a cannibal.
I never hesitate just so long as it's consensual.
Lose the shirt and pants;
speech not necessarily sequential.
If you're in a pinch I could pinch too,
if that's what you're in to.
I have a hunger in my chest that was formed up in my own mind.
I'd probably worry about my cockiness if I wasn't so spineless.
I'd lie if I was in a bind. Though, I'd rather bind you and play 'Risk',
We'll just live 'Life'. while you use your mouth to 'Sink my Battleship'.
Okay, what you want, you can't always get.
That's alright with me because I get to WANT to get.
Yo, I heard the wind sing strong that 'The Thrill is Gone'.
heard rumors that 'Love Don't Live Here Anymore'
'Babe, I'm Going to Leave You' 'cause I never really needed you,
wore you like a tattoo but the tattoo came with a rash too.
Maybe that's too rash an attitude?
I've been told I'm overly passionate.
But you're a little... what's the term kids use?
Something like 'ratchet'?
losing my mind againJust about the only things I can't hold onto,
a steady job and my sanity.
you know this.
Bong star goes hard when
ripping himself down
slightly underweight and
made of lead.
amphetamine found on the day to day
adulterous adulterants found in high dose in cheap MDMA.
either-way, pure or not,
I'm just happy to be happy, happily-
drop a call- drop a line
got a dime piece?
Then, man, everything fine
we go tradesys, man,
it's crazy, but
the higher I get the
less the worry 'bout what 'crazy' means.
PrayerPlace your poems
on the lips of angels
so you can teach their wings
how it feels to fly
Mark the summer evenings
soon to come
with the grace
that carried you
warm and cherished softly
and know we will always place
among the stars.
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,
that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead.
It isn’t true.
It’s said the stench of hell infects the earth
and healths of heated blood are downed.
But Hamlet lied.
The dead know nothing, the living less.
There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;
souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
The ArtistShe talked to rocks, asking them if they’d be happy
To leave their home for her newest installation piece
She cried sometimes for no reason other than
She felt like having a good cry
Her house was covered in her students’ drawings
She said the best art was produced from innocence
She went mad once, and painted canvas after canvas
In furious strokes of black
The soft blue world of youth at last faded, she grew old
People shook their heads when they saw her
And whispered “poor dear” under their breath
But she was never poor
Her love for everything and everyone never died
It was swept in all directions like a summer breeze
Making people smile without knowing why
But the river rocks know
RememberDon't close your heart
To the world
Even if it's cruel
Don't see emotions
As a sign of weakness
No matter what others say
The ones in need
Help them instead
You have to be tough
To be someone
And before you judge others
For their issues and problems
The burdened hearts
Are the most compassionate ones
growththere is nothing more beautiful
than the softness of a man
you love more than
a face gentle in sleep
and ardent in morning;
there is nothing more beautiful
than the first breath
of your spring,
your blooming dawn,
of nothing but you
you are growing
into something new,
and there is nothing