i guess i needed 4x4
or 2x2
the day was through
the couplets ended
your heart was suspended
near the car in the parking lot
time was a guiding dot
blinding what was left to live
you give the things you've got
until you lived too much
then you just steal

and the days carry on with a knife and a whisper
instead of a wife, as if i could kiss her
and these old eyes focus on the locusts
swarming in these lonely fields

forgive the forgotten
rotten stories of past lives plotted in fake plots
monotonous droning about past ownership
death was never in it for the glory
neither was a slice of life
i'm sure it must be nice
to wake up
with anything but the ache to take these ticks
out of your skin
no static
the message is clear - well you're a lonely addict
how many lives must have it before i start to contain that rage that seeps secretly onto the page, ever since i knew my heart was in a cage but still beating, there's

no defeating the monsters in my maze
so what's it gonna be?
another verse of poetry? hopefully killing the guilt off while you cough and get sick, such simple sentiment to write with
i get lost inside the woodwork, carving a tunnel, out of these deep represses
even though it mostly just depresses and stresses me - regards me as a failure
how's the novel going?
*****, where's a camera?
you look at life through a slight lens while i pretend that by four years old i didn't have it figured out then
i'll just take a pen and a piece of paper
so lonely behind this broken mic
i swear if life's a *****, let somebody else rape her
i'm elsewhere
falling down a well where the ghosts appear in each dream, in each sequence,
and i can't stop feeling a dream, even when the light seems decent i just don't seem
to see past the scheme, like everybody was thinking of me
a narcissistic martyr with a card on my platter
ace of spades?
it's just the queen of hearts
the empty dream that i just made
filled with a thousand pennies
i guess that's five hundred thoughts
but i've bought more than i needed to spend
i need a friend
or a gun
i need to have some fun
pretend that i still had that passion when i passing that gas station on the corner in detroit
there's no point
it's just pointing fingers, lingering on the past
thinking about lost figures, the iconic nature of killers
because maybe it's easier to live than take a life
so forget the knife, i'm committing life-likes of violence, simply for the purpose of getting higher
if the breeze won't take care of the fire then i'm supplying oxygen to my supplier
fall back a couple of steps?
what's it like to go higher?
high and hungry,
it isn't money - i was happy with just a pepsi

what is written is rarely meant
and my days would surely be better spent
attempting to pay the rent
or maybe i'll go back to being vagrant
a sage hiding in plain clothes
with nothing to expose but the transparent nature
of the ways that you can't contain a savior, especially when i'd stick three pins in myself just to become famous
terror is in my hangar
flying off the handle
the pot is boiling over
nothing but bursting metal
exploding and tangling these dangling metaphors into a page's worth

i am a pack of newports and a good pint
make it the whiskey
quickly, whisk by the question if i'm attempting to commit self murder
my health commits acts of restlessness itself
defenseless to my deathless health
when i still take whole bottles of pills
don't ****ing need help
take a chill pill
until you freeze up like enemies
step to me, you better end on your knees
so sick of the ****ing phonies that i'd have to call holden caulfield, fill up a stadium, with all these fake deals, when i put myself on the court until after dark
have to end up in court
well, i guess it's a start
because if you want to play on that field
you have to show up there, of course
this is the final report
the news is dead
it's the oldschool with new rules
and unused tools that have still been abused so frequently i'll get a ****ing sequel before the first degree, even if it was premeditated, you can have my misery and throw

it in a glass bowl, *******, swim around like two lost souls, that **** is history
victory is just so sweet
if i had to wash iconic feet
to act downplayed
i'd rather be complete with a bottle
you're odd, little models
of self-extension
oh, i'm pretentious?
who's the last person you mentioned?

hate raps are some fake crap that you play when you get eight-tracked till the bass backs up further than the girls in the club way back, when i still made tracks,

like i was running in the snow, zig-zags white as the paper, when you're a creator the deface legacies of your favorite writers from when they went from miners to

majors, in an army, place your behavior equally if you wanna speak to me, these thick thieves want to give me the third degree but i'm burning up so much from excess

of wine and lack of sleep
***** a little more, see what bitching is for - *******
i'd rather be stapled to the floor than to take a couple faces full of stitches
seven by three
am i only dealing with prime numbers or something
because i can only pretend that even my knuckles broke, you stuffed up in my throat, the computer broke, along with the keyboard, then the second i get bored i'll

write in blood what i spoke, tap it into a stone with a hammer until i became enamored with the power of words again
no, i'm making friends
i have a few too many
so if i counted every two pennies that i spend giving advice then maybe i could capably take a couple back without having a ****ing panic attack as i walk out the door
don't do drugs
yeah - that's what they make xanax for
as i pour anxiousness from my pores on the next poor person that stops at the store, looks on a cell phone and then see i've written more
how dope can you be if your not doped up?
on planes every other day and even coltrane needed a shot to get him through in the mornings
warnings are for children
i'm building a crime scene
not a ****ing pavilion

Nice

Dang plastic, that one was long.