I remember feeling dying
no life sighing
no kite flying or falling
balling my eyes out while I'm trying
to stick close to current
words surge in a burning
lack of courage and tour is urgent.

Yeah, baby, I remember,
embers of black of december,
feeding of frenzied fenders
and eating off of the metal
tell-tale sale of a sell-out
about to get of the shuttle,
kettle screaming while I'm dreaming face down.

Call an assignment,
late homework,
what a jerk,
my teachers think I'm still denying it.

Not about addiction,
the classification is fiction,
it's the strict and savage sad **** that'll listen,
when the pistons glisten -
I was sitting beside the freeway,
waving flashlights, going through DT's the high way.
But this guy waved,
laughing and smoking Newports.
He fixed the transition line and I declined offering him
a hit of weed
'cause life was too short.

So that's my lesson.
**** stopping confessing.
Blessing blazed in the dazing light
of a satellite sponsored by Sprite and drugs for depression.
Can you imagine what I'm guessing?
Stuck in the same obsessions,
compulsion couldn't queer the steer I'm dressed in.

Bi or gay.
Easy to say.
And they're funny words to me 'cause they offend you either way.
Sensitivity drains, but pain doesn't.
Come out the closet to a round of applause but hope you're you've got your gauze sent.

I'm waiting for the murder.
I'm waiting for a naked corpse on the road -
when she fell nobody heard hear.
But I'm the reassuror.
Sure, my friend's a ****ed up fiend
but if there was I ever a shepherd to kill
I was his stirrer.

Take me up sideways.
No highways or bi-ways.
Celibate, my sacred set stays,
but still I find myself ****ing.
Waking up not in clubs but next to
a different pair of thug girls who are
used to getting beat and being mugged.

To the point I'm non-existent,
but still remembered.
Oh, friends, rejoice the black december,
with no capital.
I've seen people run like animals
to feed off the flesh of self-deemed demons,
and damn - behavior's damnable.

So I come not with a knife.
I come not with a life to expose
but tags on toes that express nothing but strife.
Regress into regret of my fight.
Never winning is grinning in light.
I'm tattooed with shame with no game in my sight.
Let me explain.
It was a pill for pain that chose to be my wife.

I never asked.
She found herself in paragraphs.
And all these sleepless nights, please believe that.
And leave for it, it's over.
Rat-a-tat-tat over my shoulder.
Not gunfire but boulders
running down colder than the mountain peaks
that made me seek out a life that's sober.

I dwell still in the past, stagnant;
and, no it can't last,
the assurance of impermanence, it sure is ancient.
No assassination.
I see the tube stuck down my throat.
No requiem.
My soul is carried in the rhymes I tote.

But I'm sick and broke.
My bag is open.
My skin soaked in whiskey and tears -
oh, I'm sure open to hoping
there's more than just the morphine.
More seen in the heavens and earth
than the underweight birth of some hated fever dream.

Keep my style and my letters,
correspondence;
I can't help but think the best of days
is already upon us.
Synonymous with suffering.
Buttering up lesions on the treasonous life, guffowing, covering.

I'll hide in the shallow water.
Wait for a girl.
Spill my red slushie and hope it appeals as it twirls
'cause these blackouts run together like rusty pearls.
I'm sick and sad of imagining myself
as my dad in a different world.

A long one, but a good one...

very nice...

So much is said here- I'll just say WOW!!

so many directions, so many currents, hard to keep swimming upstream wondering if your headed towards niagra falls....very deep and filled with thought...nice

awesome awesome!