Wind Leafs

When you are erased write your lines back into the poem of existence – when ignored step up and swing the bat on the front lines – organized religions a sham a mechanism of control – I can’t remember yesterday but I remember tomorrow – I wonder what he is doing right now – slap myself for being pitiful – the lecture drags on my mind island jumping from thought to thought wind leafs dance in the absence of the son.

Despairing Hope

What do you do when you want to flee yourself hide in the darkness from your own hope – hope hurts more than despair – today hope causes my soul to shrivel – I want to know if my hope has a chance – I am afraid fear will kill that hope – I don’t know how to rationalize or compartmentalize this as I have done other things in my life – lacking the ability to do so terrifies me – it’s how I dealt with family and friends small hurts and long years piled on one another – it enables me to survive – if I can’t control this hope like I have controlled other things I fear it will devour me – the darkness of despair has already eaten at me a little – I feel that wound fester brighter than the ray of light that hope brings – I can’t outrun myself.


I am afraid of the future & ashamed of the past – not any future nor any past – I do not delude myself into believing I care about the grand scheme – my future & my past I wish to ignore – remain lost in the labyrinth – should I pay the piper or dance with the devil or make up my own soulless saying – the past taunts – the future crooks a finger – I hug my knees & howl at shooting stars – what else should I do.


I am tired of wondering what your weight would feel like on me
I am tired of wondering if this will pass or continue to haunt
I am tired of wondering what your hands could do to me
I am tired of wondering if this is pointless
I am tired of wondering what you mouth would taste like
I am tired of wondering why I scare you
I am tired of wondering how your tongue would dance
I am tired of wondering how you could fill me
I am tired of wondering what it will take to stop wondering.

Mark The Spot

A stain marks the spot – all that is left of someone’s existence torn down to a stain in the carpet – the neighbors did not hear the end – they were too busy with their own sordid lives – the landlord is replacing the carpet on Tuesday – today is Monday – the next tenants will never know about the ghost that remains in the living room under the east window – some things merely cease to be – to have ever been – once that happens nothing will bring those proofs back.

Random Sense

If I enjoy being lost does that mean I am not lost

I live in a tiny little yawn of a town that rests unnoticed by most on the side of the interstate

Trust yourself and explore where IT takes you what IT is doesn’t matter

The words together make a painting with no definition

Pancakes and chocolate cake with two-day-old coffee the breakfast of champions

Please do not tell me about the other girls you like I can only take so much.