And Other Things From This Time Preview

Descending

I forge a path
I forge ahead of the rest
In the end
Left in the back
I dance before I awake
Covered up for good
Yet it is all the same
Visualize in my mind
There’s not much left to hide
My soul bleeds open
As if cut or torn
My mind like one big wound
I was lost and I still am
Time doesn’t heal anything
For the damned
Time does nothing more
Than keep track of everything lost
Bleed like me and I will
Follow the trail into the dark
Bleed like me and I will
Heed your warning until the end
Too late to change anything
Here we go again but in the end
I gave up a long time ago
Before here and now
Deep in the ground

 

Do Nothing

I bleed and I scream
I dream and I leave
At the time and for me
Life is a glimpse
Of something I don’t know
I wait for a signal
Then at once I should go
The tunnel is dark
Long and without hope
The path is clear
Of hidden danger and the unknown
I bleed and I scream
I dream and I leave
I do something
But in the end I do nothing

Two more poems from my book now available on Kindle… A mixed bag of emotions beat with a small wooden bat… Broke the larger one trying to figure this all out… Desperately need bat money or a new bat… Thanks for the help and your time… Until tomorrow.. Best of luck…

Underground Parking Structure For All Eternity

I think of all the things that I have to say and all the things that I want to say. Two very different and conflicting ideas. The question is am I happy? Simple at first more complex as time goes on. Define the word happy or the feeling of happiness. No one is happy for longer than a few seconds. The feeling fades, cum and you are done, the feeling disappears into the brink of darkness. Overwhelmed by all the living done around me. I don’t remember a happy time from my childhood, but I can recall in detail every single horrible thing that I was put through.

I remember these things like most people remember fond memories of loved ones. It is that only these tortures memories were, are my only friends. Why must I always be submerged in darkness even in light? I wonder if it is just me. This is who I am. Depression is often described as though a dark cloud is always hanging overhead. Always ready to rain. The feelings never ends. Forty more years of this seems like an eternity yet the last thirty went to fast to be doing nothing at all. Choosing a path is so much harder without a trail.  So much harder in the rain from a storm that blinds my eyes. Built to be stronger than the way I portray in my life. Though maybe I am weak after all. Too weak to see the good that I still have left in me. Seems to lie with in the same region as happiness. It comes and goes, but really I’d love to be the one to destroy it all.

Burn it all down and absorb the screams. Enjoy the end much more than the beginning. Would be hard at first to go against nature. The day-to-day things might come back to haunt me. Faded memories, but I’d forget their faces after a time. I know by the time that it was all said and done I could get over the shock and aww. We paint the devil as a villain while giving him all the traits of a hero. A liberator of man only to be tinged by the flames he wanted all along. His punishment was his goal in the end. Who really won? We fight every moment to obtain what we are trained to never achieve. We praise Jesus, but worship Satan. Doing the right thing only gets you crucified. Suffer until there is nothing left. What if the bible is real, but we have miscomprehended it since the dawn of time? What then?

If God was among us what would she really have to say? Live your life or do it my way. It’s all the same as time goes on. We make choices for no reason at all and decisions on our own time. Nothing ever lasts, but we’ll wait until the last second to figure that out. Not an issue when there is still so much time left for me to decide.

Something Different

Long Legitimate Regret

There is a war within myself
One that can not be won with blood and guts
This can’t be the end
But I fear that it must
Each day is a plague within itself
A lost cause of hopeful redemption
One that could only do better with mass amputation
A removal of myself
A separation of mind from body
I hope one day for it to all go away
Though I know less hopeful things
Will come true
If this is the end
Embrace it as  if holding an old friend
Too much has changed since the beginning
Your bull-headed stubbornness was cute
Now it is nothing more than sad and pathetic

 

Become

If I still cared
I might have tried
But I don’t so
So all be left alone
Not sure if this is a
Punishment or reward
Everything has its benefits
Disadvantages
I could care if I was still
If I was still me
But time has changed everything
I’ll become what I fear
Not sure if this is a
Punishment or reward
Disassociate myself
Isolation is key
To everything I have become

 

Unsure

So they say
That it is the age of death
So they say
A lot of things
Who are they
That you listen too
So they say
We are all murderers and thieves
So they say
To hear themselves speak
Who are they
Anyways
So they say
That the world will end today
So they say
Anything that you want to hear
Who are they
Inside your head

This is the age of death
A disease
We are the murders and thieves
A mark
The end is today
A sacrifice
Who am I anyways?
Overly lost and confused
Locked away
Left for dead

Bowl Full of Something and It Keeps On Moving

Early, I’m always early. For what I don’t know. It’s not as though anyone is standing around ready to go. Waiting on me to show my ugly face. Always in a hurry to be done with whatever it is that I’m doing. Out of time, I’m always out of time I suppose.

I’ll be early for death and in a hurry to get it over with. Yet I suffer from extreme anxiety that I will die before I am able to accomplish anything. Whatever that might be. An enigma, I am an enigma. Andrew Jackson Jihad has a song called “This is Why I’m Hot.” In it the singer states that he only has two years left with no context to why he only has this much time. Since turning twenty-eight it is as though the song and the lyrics have become my mantra. How long do we chase the ghost? Until we die? I feel as though the longer I go the more the lyrics will depress me.

Who knows though maybe one day I will never feel like this anymore?

Maybe one day I’ll be dead. I fear that death is nothing more than one long therapy session. Constantly thinking, reflecting on a life time full of bull shit and regret. Worthless excuses to why I didn’t do this, but rather did that. I often wonder what it is that I will say if this is how death is. I suppose that is why I write. Get all of this off my chest before the big day. As I stated before always early and always in a hurry.

Wrap It Up

So many thoughts come to me but not a fucking one is worth mentioning at this point. Some days feel like a total waste of life and time before they even begin. Yet I still have the whole day to reflect on how shitty the day is. I’m sure I’ll come up with some epic idea by the end of day. Throw enough shit against the wall and you will have your masterpiece.

Only my mind seems to only want to cooperate right as I fall asleep because fuck you brain for always letting me down. Strike while the iron is hot. Too bad it is only at the worst times. Right before work, before I sleep, or any time I have to do some other shit. Dead ass tired again with no chance of sleep for three more days. How I can’t wait for Mondays. In this crisis for sleep everything feels as though it is coming down on me. Shit raining down on me, fighting me, against me while I’m curled up in a ball on the floor.

Who the fuck thought twitter was a good idea? An asshole with too many friend to care beyond 140 characters. I want to hear from you but keep it short and lose big words jerk off as no one has time to look that shit up. Next generation is so fucked and they are very welcome. Too bad we had to be the ones to bring it all down. Tear down society to leave our mark. At this rate the next generation will be running out of shit to burn down. The smile I have is so wide that it hurts. Fuck’em all.

Scrapping Together A Scrap Book Of Broken Thoughts

The surface is rippled by the stones
we throw at each other
They watch us from their glass homes
watching every movement with cheer
we are nothing more than jesters, a joke
the keys to the kingdom lie far from our hands
as they dangle just over head
we want a revolution, we want change
well good luck, you make a difference
if you just give up.

The people held at different standards
the masses are laughing as we destroy each other
Money moves the world into a tail spin of lost control
They will ride our backs until they can walk again
until they can stand up again and tell us
how proud we should be to be from America

Blood drains from the soul
body goes numb and the brain goes cold
separation between church and state
separation between body and soul
the world is ending and you were all told

At Least I’m dying
So I don’t have to listen
to you

I want to cut my throat
Bathe in my blood
Just to feel how it would be
To be me for once

Drag me through dirt
I drag my cross to my grave
Everywhere I go people throw stones
I am what I can be

I can feel myself as I bleed
I bleed for you and I bleed for me
The weeping angles can’t stop repeating
“God why are you doing this to me?”
It all started, the bleeding that is
When I asked the simple question
“Do you still really believe?”
Lies are truths and truths are lies
What if I told you that nothing was real
That real is only a state of mind

Honesty is the most sincere form of flattery
Honesty is why you’re an asshole

The Devil is an asshole but so are you
The witches were burned because they
Were feared, holy called unholy mistakes
That we teach, no one can tell you how
To live, no one can tell you what to do
But somehow they do

God choose this so you can suffer
A test unlike any other

Lies, lies we tell ourselves to get by
Everyone is standing in their windows
Hoping to get noticed, but every one is too busy
Ignoring the people in their shitty lives
A generation raised on hiding, despising
Falsified documents made to not look like knives
Everyone’s opinion locked away in a data base
What did you do today?
Nothing, the same as always
Who wants to hear the truth, the infliction
What do you mean, the words get twisted
Infections, choose properly or be torn down
Shit upon, drugged around and forgotten
This is the world in which we live our lives
Video graphed disturbances bombarding our every move
Don’t worry someone is always watching
Smile and go about your life

A little bit of everything in this one… Yes… My brain doesn’t stop… Even when I ask it too.. Anxiety much?…. 

A Lie Preview

Part 2. Missed Part 1? It can be found somewhere within the bowels of this website.

The pharmacy is in the back and is the only real reason we exist. There are sixteen aisles in the store, only two of them matter. Aisles thirteen and fourteen, this is where we keep the over the counter medication. They are also the two numbers I have grown to hate because if the customers aren’t telling me their life story then they are asking me where something is. I say these two numbers so much that when thrown a curve ball of a question that has nothing to do with what is on those aisles I still say thirteen or fourteen and have to quickly change my answer. It is the little things that make you go insane.

The store has everything anyone could need in a live or die situation. Of course some things cost a lot more here than some other places, but the deals are fair and we get a lot of the locals coming in regularly. Every day is nearly the same as the day before it, but every now and then something changes. Like cigarette prices that have risen since New York State decided they needed more money to redecorate their offices or spend on hookers. In case you were wondering hookers are getting quite expensive it seems especially since the cost of their cigarettes went up. It’s a vicious cycle that every one of us has to pay. Because someone has to be making money off of something.

My break is almost up and I really don’t want to walk back in there and put on a fake smile, like I give a shit. I don’t know how I got myself into this situation, but yet in some twisted way I do. If it wasn’t for the drugs I don’t know what I would do with myself. I am rather confused about how everything really is and I often wonder if it is my brain that is lying to me. I throw my cigarette down on the ground, it makes a hissing noise as it penetrates the snow. I twist the cap off my shitty energy drink and swallow another pill that I most certainly need to get through the rest of my shift. It is another long day in hell and I welcome it with a smile.

The thing about it is. That it is really hard to chop up this book or burn it. I mean I guess you could, but who has that kind of money? If you do then you are in luck because…

 

Look I’m not very good at selling my soul which is why I have to do it and not someone I pay is doing it. Jesus that’s a bad sentence. I’m not sure what about it is bad. I just don’t like it.