Broken Thoughts

The chambers of the heart
Keep pumping blood
Even if there is no will to go on
Patience but for what
A long waiting game for nothing at all
I carved one out
Only to give one up
Nothing feels natural anymore
A made up act
I call love
Doesn’t matter anymore where it comes from
If only my thoughts could match my actions


The image it haunts me. An image from my past but how could it exist in the present unless time is bleeding into itself once again. I thought I escaped this. I thought I fixed but it seems I have only distorted the truth. Turned a blind eye to the facts. I pick up the walking stick from my past and realize it is in fact real. Am I losing my mind? How can I erase something that has already been erased? Stuck between times there is no outlet for my crimes. No sense of right and wrong anymore. What else if any is out of place in this timeline? I search the horizon. Need more time to know for sure? I take the walking stick from the past and trek on into the unknown.


Sat around today
Doesn’t mean anything
Thought I would share
My inner thoughts
Going through hell
Marching past the gates
Lakes of fire burning bodies made of shit
They are heard but with no real thought
Doesn’t rhyme at the an end I don’t care
The Jesus freaks sing their hymns to me
As though it might help
The blood cascades down the wall
You know you are home
When everything is comfortable
Bones line the edges of the room
You know you are home
When everything is fine
Skin drapes the furniture
You know you are home
When everything is normal


If someone gave me a million dollars. Anyone at this point the reason doesn’t have to make sense. If anyone gave me a million dollars. I’d watch it burn. Dollar by dollar. One bill at a time. That’s how I feel right now. I don’t know how to make it go away. It all seems so useless to struggle for. Who are we when the money is all gone? Who are we when we have more than we will ever need? Who are we at all? If not for our needs.

The theme for this week is greed… truly broken thoughts… always wanting more… more of something… more food… more money.. more sex… more pain… greed doesn’t go away with more… too much of a good thing is never enough…  considered one of the seven deadly sins… Greed is hard to escape on a day to day basis… who doesn’t want more?… what defines more?… at what point should we cut ourselves off from more?… I know I could always use more… more sleep usually… more of anything at this point… turns out I am human after all… was holding out for different… but I’ll settle for human… 

Broken Thoughts (Vulgar)

My hands are callus and soaked in blood
Quitting isn’t what it used to be
Walking away isn’t a train of thought
It’s an action that weighs more than weight itself
The words so heavy
They don’t come out right
Nothing comes out right anymore
Each thought is loaded with regret
Forced out by a will to keep going
God I fucking hate every God damn thing
If I could I would
But I have too much responsibility now

Corporate America doesn’t give a shit. They pretend that they do with a smile on their face. Heads bobbling as though yes, very much so. While their hands are wrapped around their dicks stroking faster and faster. Getting off on your displeasure as you purchase the items you didn’t want in the first place. Go ahead and tell me how you feel. Tell me what you want. Smile and act natural. I’ve been trained for this. This is what we do.

“The one with the Indian on it.”

“I think they prefer Native American.”

“I think they’d prefer if we gave them their land back. But in the meantime, the one with the cartoon Indian will do just fine.”

Day in, day out, 9 to 5, 9 to whenever however you want to put getting fucked. I am lost within myself. Lost in the dark. The theme is something I carry with me every second of every day. The lights all burned out. No longer even a flicker of a flame. Absolute dark. If only I could get beyond this. Step into the figurative illusion of this so called light I’m missing in my life. Maybe then. Maybe somehow I could be who it is I always dreamed I could be. Then again maybe it will all one day come together for us all. I doubt it, but that could very well be who I am. In the end, we all have something to say. In the end, we all have our place in obscurity. We all have our own personal wall to climb.

A customer just told me that the artificial sugars in gum are basically poison. So she buys a thirty pack and heads on home.

Kind of basic Broken Thoughts… a fractured reality of what I have to deal with every day… stretched out over years… you think that I’m not listening… you believe me when I say that I am not… but really I’m taking it all in… absorbing every useless thought… stabbing myself with the idea that I am better than you… I’m more you than you will ever be me…  I’m nothing more than what time forgot… lurking in the shadows… standing next to you at every turn… don’t look because I’m staring… smile because I know I will… “Is there anything I can help you find?”… 

Postscript of the Unimaginative

After a while life just starts to feel like a prison. You work your ass off in hopes to get back time lost with good behavior, but it is useless. Things will never be like how they were. Things will never be how it was when we were young. Life drags on as one long prison sentence that never ends and the only thing we are guilty of is being born. Try and fight at the restraints. Try as hard as you want and that is all you are doing is fighting. The advantage of the simple minded is that they aren’t fighting. They don’t need to fight. Can’t see the restraints, can’t feel them, they have no idea that they are there. They live in another world built into this one. The one we always wanted to be part of but somehow knew better. The chains aren’t real, but they are heavy as hell. A crippling burden we care as we walk among them. Breathe the air that they breathe. We talk as if though we don’t know. We know more than we should.

I wash my hands so I can eat. I wash the grime and filth of the world from the hairline cracks of my broken hands. No matter how much I scrub, I bleach, I strip away I know that it is still there with me. Buried in my pours the toxins never leave. I’m smarter and better than this, but I was born into this, the American dream. Swallow all the lies like pills and you begin to see that those pills to make you better are nothing more than lies. Anti-depressants pressed against the roof of our mouths, feel better? I know that I don’t. I try to forget, but I know that I already know.

I’m told that I need them. Told without them I am crazy. They say it nicer. They say it like it fucking matters. Damaged is what they mean to say. That’s not PC. That’s not okay. They don’t fucking work and I punch another hole in the wall. It doesn’t hurt anymore. It only feels like me. I’m having an episode as they say. This is normal. Is it? Is this endless feeling normal? I was unaware of how normal I am. Tell me how all of this is okay while giving me another pill to make me better. I’m broken not stupid. Too many years of feeling like this tells me it doesn’t work. The balance, the chemicals, the whatever the fuck is who I am. The taste of it all is making me sick. I don’t feel sorry for myself. Some of us have it worse. But what is worse inside your head?

Broken Up Thoughts

I know everything I need to do but I’m just scared…

Everything lasts if only for a moment. A moment in time lost forever…

Feel so left out even though I was invited. Invitation still in the mail I suppose. Invited none the less. It was as though we could have sat this one out but showed up anyways…

The sadness grows infinite. Dripping down but never draining away. As though I exist without existing at all. A lost parallel to nothing wrapped in sentiment and sin.

Fun to watch from a distance as the distance becomes greater and greater. Their faces still smiling though only with the slightest hint of fear. Go alone into the great nothing or hold everyone close for dear life. Either option succumbs the same fate. There is no life after death no matter how much we pray.

Everything is different even if it is the same. We tell ourselves if only I could go back to this moment or that moment, but it is just shit we say to ourselves. Like one more and I’m done. Three more later our stomach-aches and we are left knowing why. Can’t go back only forward. Good or bad forward is all we know.

The world is changing but we are all staying the same….

We live in a play set world where death is an option not a way of life. We take every single breath for granted yet they still don’t mean anything. There will be more to come. Tomorrow is another day not the end…

How far must I go
To reach the end of the world
Staring off the edge of a cliff
The whole world laid out below
I feel the paradise but at a loss
I see everything that doesn’t need to exist
When the world goes
Will I remember any of this

Really stretching the meaning of this post with this one… I was trying to clear off some of the pages on my desk… random bits of paper… nine down… a thousand more dead trees to go… a massacre laid out amongst the rest… So many Broken Thoughts still scattered in my brain… a slow drip… driving me insane… A happiness… I could never find… a rotting of the core… They say I am great at nothing at all… Believed the lies and now I am on display… Displaced from a reality that I must live… Day to day… everything will be okay… Post script of the unimaginative…