Arguments behind my eyes, so much to do. One voice says "go to the library already damn you, you're just wasting time- you have work to do". Another, "stay and write, it's seeping out of you, this story's been a long time coming; don't lose it!" The last, "Movement is once a year, it's not worth missing, you can make up whatever you miss, except living".

I am wasting time. I do have work to do. I am missing out on life. I am loosing the story.

Crippled by my indecisiveness.

When The Dust Settled (an old cowboy song)

When the dust settled,

And the stampede faded away,
I was left alone in the draw,
Watching the sunlight fade.

It's long and harsh,
This forlorn land.
There's little in the way
Of homesteader mercy,
And what a man has,
He takes with his two hands.

When the dust settled,
And she was lowered in her grave,
I was left alone on the plains,
Shivering by my campfire, alone, afraid.

You know how good guys,
Become bad men?
How brittle, bright red hearts
Become old and gray?
It's because of love, dove;
The love of a woman like you.

When the dust settled,
As the folk went and as they came,
I was left alone in the city,
Holding only my old hat, and my new shame.

It's colder at night,
I guess you could say,
When you've got a hard bed,
Ancient, endless horizons;
All misguided gullies
And absent plains.

When the dust settled,
And I saw it was settled in vain,
I was left alone in this world,
With only my mistakes.

When the dust settled,
And the aching bone dawn came,
I was reborn in the morning,
Hard and cold, but fully awake. .

Oh So Simple (Just try to pretend)

I'm oh so simple,
Uh huh, her.
I'm oh so simple,
Uh, huh, him.
I'm oh so simple,
Step into the other
Room for a minute
With me.

I really like you
Right now, for
A minute, we could
Be friends. I really
Love you right now,
For a minute, we
Could just dance.
I really want you
Right now, for
A minute we could
Just try to pretend.

I'm oh so simple,
Simply a man.
I'm oh so simple,
Simply seeking hands.
I'm oh so simple,
With simple demands.

When The Voices Are Gone (you might find yourself all alone)

Where are you godhead?

My forty-six and two?
Where are you edge of
Progress; upon which I
Sat so many winter nights,
Legs dangling down
Into the abyss of unreason?

Chemical muse, my gentle
Shoulder top devil, urging
me on; you are gone too?

Delusion, my sweet obsession,
Have you abandoned this
Despetate man too?

Where are you infinite fold
Path that spirals in the clarity
Of my warped mind's eye?

Love of love, do you wait for
Me, calling longingly and whispering
Of such beautiful tragedies?

My belligerence, do you still
Linger here in the jaded core
Of my greatest epiphanies?

Where are you transcendence?
My shiva, brhaman, vishnu?
Where are you end of
Madness; the noble aspiration
Of selfish ambition I made
This all into?

This Is The Hole (where my soul used to go)

This is the hole
Where my soul
Used to go;
I assure you
I'm empty,
More Empty
Than you will
Ever know.

Once I had
Faith, Once
I Had hope,
Now all I
Have is this
Gaping hole.

I've become less,
Oh yes, I have.
I take my solace
In random hands.
I have no meaning,
I have no control,
I am just a hole
Where a soul
Used to go.

Languid (ravenous)

You were languid,
Stretched longingly
Across the table spread;
A grand buffet.
For all the fangs,
The toothy maws
And hairy paws
Of civilized discourse.

What we discuss,
Stays between us.
What we discuss,
Is a matter of trust.
What we discuss,
Is our disgust.

For our broken towers
Building babel upon
Babylon lost in the sands
Of asphalt tomorrows
And concrete realities;
Our grand central epiphanies,
Our abused formalities,
And ravenous tendencies.

When The City Sleeps (i'm all the more alone)

Empty eyes drifting out from a dark alley' stretch,

I wander on the pavement, taking solace in my steps.
And one for one, each for each, I'm further left alone,
With more dark thoughts of departed lovers to roam.

I find cold comfort in familiar peaks, each belonging to
Half empty buildings, my city belonging to each.
Down past Penobscot, Cadillac Center, Renaissance
And past the plaza too, is my old haunt, my mayhew.

In the drifts and gales of swirling December snow,
I lean against the rail, over the river and into the glow;
Of another city, who is loved dearly by another man,
Windsor loitering listlessly, the same as I am.

I know a thousand people, their faces, their names
And for each of them, I feel little but a distant disdain.
I've lost more people than most have ever known,
And for it I feel quite cold, and all the more alone.

Cast The Angels Out (passion plays hemolck)

Cast the angels out of her eyes,

The lover's breath from her lungs
As they heave and fall, furious
In the seething cimmerian rise.

Cast the angels out -
Of those sapphires hanging
Like stars in the night
Of this lurid bedside.

Take her grace and beauty,
Her stuttered attempts at
Noble vanity which leave
Longing lips cleft in sigh.

Cast the angels out of her eyes -
When the heart dwells within Eden
Before dawn has even broken
Passion plays hemlock to the wise.

I Expect To See Opium (Engulfed in my needs)

Booted feet on familiar concrete
Every crack holds histories
And every building breaking
The sky into a menagerie
Of blue-gray patches like
Stained glass windows hung
In rattling panes shaken
By the stiff wind of rainy days-
Holds slipping memories.

I have grown older, old it seems
Walking through the parking lot
Plains and these urban valleys that
Were once the edges of the earth
Laying in wait like a virgin brought
To my bed, ready to be conquered,
Engulfed in my need and made,
Somehow, a little more complete -
But this a different season of life.

Where I expect to see opium
smoke spilling from my teeth in
ribbons and streams a man walks his
Dog, and smiles and nods while I
Stare at his loafers, a little confused;
And the alley, a few blocks down,
I used as a bathroom stumbling from
The Detroiter to Locos more times
Than I had hoped, is now home
To some transient I do not know.

This is not my city, and this can not
Be my skin, stretched so loosely
And hung by such excess flesh; this
Is not my life, coherent and contained
Within the constraints of a nine to five,
A beloved son, child support paid on time
(or almost so), bill upon bill while I'm too
Busy with this and that to miss being high-
I'm more of a ghost than flesh and blood man.

From time to time I'm greeted with those
Old faces in these strange old places
Contorted in forms I scarcely recognize
With their sun graced complexions,
Rounder waists and small, beady eyes
And I wonder if their thoughts circle
Like a mirror making rounds at the table
-Just who we've become?

I wonder if they shake their heads in passing
All the places where all of what we knew happened
And, as I, hope they make it to bed early tonight.

It Was Good I Guess

It was good I guess,

Nothing much, but with

No one to impress.

Fun for a moment,

Fit to entertain,

But it feels just fine

As we fade away.

I'd tell you not to be sad, if for

A second I thought you were.

Truth is, we're all just fleeting

Figures walking in and out the door.

Everything is temporary, even

Mountains fall apart.

Not all ends come in flaming form,

Mushroom clouds are for special occasions.

This, darling, is just the changing

Of the capricious seasons.

Think of me what you will - good or ill

But I've been around a time or two,

Long enough to not need reasons.

We Were Random (and now I am gone)

We were random,
Nonsensical and unsorted -
Tossed together by
Happenstance and hunger,
Chewing each other
While other's tastes
Still lingered on bitter lips.

But you were still,
Crushed by my kiss.
Held down in my bed,
By rough hands
Covered in soft skin.
Left to smolder,
As I lit a fire,
For another.

I'm a callous man,
Sharp teeth behind
An easy smile.
I've got no apologies,
And don't want forgiveness,
It's just who I am.
Don't be so sad.

Four letter words
Are all profanities,
Each and every one.
So don't dare speak
Them to me, you'll
Only ridicule yourself
For such blasphemy.

My arrogance is obvious,
If you care to see;
But I know you don't
So we'll just call it misogyny.
So I take my leave,
Pull my pants from my feet,
Say goodnight gracefully,
While it's still pretty.

I wasn't always this way,
Quite the opposite really;
Once I was aching,
To feel something truly.
Someday you'll see
Just what I mean,
When your heart is hollow,
But you know it's better
Than being heavy.

Sit On The Sidelines (not a compliment)

I sit on the sidelines,
Watching with rolling eyes,
Your absurd masquerade -
Your silly little lives.

I raise my eyebrows
As you saunter by;
They are the things that
Lie above my eyes,
Which something made
you decided were wortless,
So replaced them with
Badly drawn lines.

This isn't a metaphor,
I hope that's not a suprise.

You're such a sad thing,
Such a wretched sight.
Still dressing up in costumes,
Like thirteen at thirty-five.
You're such a stange creature,
Not unique in the least,
More common than dust
But so desperate to be
Prom queen in dim lights,
A lead role in the scene.

It's really just absurd,
And a little obscene -
But I guess your proud of that;
It's not a compliment.

There's nothing special about
You or your life, and I'm not
Saying there is about me
Nor mine. the difference between
The two is that it's as simple
to see as any stop sign;
I can see it clearly,
I guess you're just blind.

Whales Swin In The Water (A song)

Stop in and sit down beside er'
She's always so pretty at night.
Lone at the bar nursing a drink
She's always been tryin to fight.

And when she speaks it's only to me
but the words are more for her.
Tell er just one drink and then
I gotta leave, the road is callin me.

Whales swim in the water,
Wolves hunt in the woods,
What's true is true hon,
You got no self control.

So park yourself right here with me
And we'll pour one down so we can see
What's at the bottom of those glasses
Or if it's just more whiskey.

Whales they swim in the water,
And wolves they hunt in the woods,
What's true is true darlin,
You ain't got no where to go.

You know,
You ain't got nowhere to go.
You know,
So drink with me.

Born In The City (A Song)

Burn all your bridges

Into blackened ash
Let go of your sentiments, child
They'll only hold you back

All the roads you've walked
Well they were all lies (weren't they?)
You were born in the city
But it's the country where you'll die
Make your peace with one foot in the grave
It's not fickle, it's just fair
And doesn't care about you
Let's not call it fate (ok?)

Burn all your bridges
Into blackened ash
Let go of your admonishments, son
They'll light up friendships fast

All the sight's we've seen
Didn't really amount to anything (did they?)
You fell in love with the city
But it's a farm you call your heart home
Make your peace with the fading lights
You can't stay lost forever
Where ever would you be
Without some certainty?

Where would you be?
Burn all your bridges
Into blackened ash
Don't let ghosts follow you
Out from your past.

Cause they will.

In My father's Car (I see him as old)

In my father's car

Driving somewhere,
Where I forget;
I see him as old.
The mortality spreading
Like spiderwebs
Out from heavy eyes
And running to his cheek.
I know he thinks of death.
Not in any discrenable way,
But in his knotty hands
Which his eyes linger upon
Too often as he drives.
I think of him, cold
And lifeless laid out in a
Casket wrought by my hands
In mourning; it's a promise
He mentions more than
A younger man would.

I see death, and I am afraid.
It's slender hand upon my shoulder
And my heart curls around
Thoughts of my father. That
Day which will come, that day
Which grows closer every time
I see his hands upon that wheel,
Knottier than the last. I think,
"will I be able to count back to
this visit, the number of times
I spent with him".
I do not want my father to die.

Thin Love (the remnants of the women i've known)

The remnants of women I’ve known

Oh, how they come

And they go,

All the women I’ve known

Who leave little behind;

Little but trinkets,

Semiprecious possessions

For me to find in time.

I take each to task of memory

Roll them in errant hands

Long divorced from

Acquainted flesh

And cherry lips,

Bleeding roses down

Alabaster, finely sculpted necks

Rooted in the heart of

Absent, once beating breasts.

Oh, the women I’ve known,

How they come and go;

More unique in what they leave

Than in what they bring.

More the same for my thin love;

Less the river, more the stream

Less the ocean, but perhaps the sea

-Deep in a center mostly unexplored

Shallow around the edges,

Rimed by pleasant breezy beach.

Left in the sand, a brush I do not own

Or laying in the corner a book I do not know.

Each a moment left behind

A remnant half remembered

A name and a face I can never

Quite place nearly as well as the

Pointless things, the shoes she usually wore.

But I am not sad, no never that

When I wake to find another slipping

Past my loose fingers towards my open door.

For when she leaves there will be something

She leaves, beside my bed or in her, their, drawer;

Beside the chair where the two usually sat, across from a

Painting given to me by Precious, or perhaps something

As simple as a fallen barrette; whatever is left,

I will keep for a time, cherished and appreciated

And in my own way sacred and enshrined,

A talisman to figment desire for a receded

Much loved feature; eyes, or scent or taste or lips;

To all the thin loves which never grow thick.

Poverty is a Hereditary Disease (A Song)

South Carolina

Sing me to sleep

The day's been long

And I'm a restless thing

Oh, South Carolina

My sweet

Sing me to sleep

They say if you dig deep

You'll find hell beneath

And I'm one to think

It's always waiting

Right beneath our feet

Down in that hole

Before the sun thinks to shine

Crawl our way out

When the daylight is dying

My father dug before me

And his Pa before im'

The blacklung took em both

Take me too I presume

But there's men in New York

Detroit and Washington DC

Who make all the money

And they need electricity

When I sit down at night

Coal dust staining my skin

To eat an honest meal with my kin

I thank god for that mine

Because poverty, it's hereditary

And my chldren gotta eat

So at night, when I can barely breathe

I make myself sing:

South Carolina,

Sing me to sleep,

The day's been long

And I'm a restless thing.

Oh, South Carolina,

My sweet,

Sing me to sleep.

Love Eclipses Love

So long to the days that led to nights of chill spring melting bloom.
Electric lights behind lovers eyes that would sigh and hum in rhythm
With soft moans and tugs. Tangled legs akimbo and emotions
All rearranged to fit the narrow space of the backseat of that old
Chevrolet.

We were young once, and young still; but something died with
the sun’s dawn that day. Maybe our innocence had loosened,
Ripped and striped away, like the pile of socks and jeans at our
Feat. We conquered the hill upon that battlefield, and cheered
Flushed from cheek to cheek with the thrill of victory!

How little that seems now;
In my arms. As he gropes blindly,
Eyes to prude to see.
Such a small thing. . .
Leads to such small things.
Yet before you know,
They ripen and grow.
And a light of love
Is eclipsed by love brighter still.

That chevy is gone now. I wonder some days where it went.
Maybe to a younger man with fresher dreams and a taste for
Older things. Who appreciates the beauty of that 56 chevy as
I no longer can. And in all honesty, I am sad.

Once, the stars seemed to pour their light down, in and upon
Me. Life was nothing other then easy. Love nothing but words
On a page printed upon my lips.

But now, now I understand.
I understand, and for that child, I am sad.

Spring Is A Time Of Mud And Sadness

I long for the winter. The soft
Alabaster blanket that buried
The cities scars. Let one sleep
Like a child, secure and warm
Bundled within a mothers arms.

A serenity lies unspoken
In a chill night’s air.
A fragility that haunts
Windy eyes, Which for a
Majestic moment, seems
to brush away our desires
With the sky’s frozen tears.

But as beauty fades with age,
Innocence recedes with the
Seasons. And soft white skin
Gives way to hard pavement,
Cracked an gray and sad.

There are no flowers yet,
And some days I doubt
They will ever come.
All before me stretches
Of concrete and refuse
Seas. Broken but hopeful
Lies and Nature’s refugees.

I long for the winter, and
A good night’s sleep. A mask
To cover the mess we’ve made
Of everything. To me, there is
No beauty, only sadness, in spring.

Every Day Is Epic

Every day is Epic.

The battle to beat
the bulge beneath the sheet
I've become.
To rise-
Or fall,
Beside the bedside's shore.
An island spread out
Beneath a misty, threadbare
Sea.

Startled by the shriek
Of the electronic eagle
And it's blinking beak.

Every morning the land
reaches out to meet
the sea.

Every day an Odessy.

Be Free Jesebel

Don't be afraid,
Be who you are.
No one has any
Standards for you,
Not anymore.

Go ahead, be
Free beautiful,
Burn your dreams
To keep warm;
Eat your heart.

We are forsaken,
Ground into dust
Deep in the earth.
An honest attempt
To live pretty lies.

Don't be afraid,
Be who you are,
Everyone who cared
Enough to judge you,
Doesn't anymore.

Go ahead, be
Free jesebel,
Embrace your nature,
Spread your legs,
You pretty whore.

It's ok, really.

Spent the day sitting on my front porch, watching a sunny day slip into twilight over the elementary school's rise -right across the street from me. Children still straggle out, parents in tow, until they get in their cars and go. So, I've been thinking about the state of things; Civilization cum society bleeding into my ontology - all existential and mulled over like the Chai Tea and Cheap Sangria sitting beside me. Eternal and distant, held gently in hands desperate to wring themselves in petulant phantom worry.

But I feel fine - and that seems cause for alarm, deep seeded worry which should worm into my mind, eclipsing the steady advance of night with horror, panic and fright.

In the distance, I see through gently touching eyelids, vines climbing and reclaiming all that we thought should exist. Parks, with their contemptuously manicured lawns over run in thicket by thistle, green and verdant and lush in a way which causes so many gardeners bleak dismay. I smell the ancient remnants of ash in the wind, shadowed by the bouquet of pollen infused with the coming may rains. In the deeper distances, where our megalithic towers once stood defiant and proud, they are forgotten things, humbled and slouched. Along dequindre, gratiot and mansfield, the concrete paths have become cobbled, as the roots of trees seek to sweep them away.

Yet, I smile, sip my tea and pop a grape into my mouth, recline my shoulders and turn my oracles gaze upon the south.

Fearsome and gray the russet sky gives way to the most marvelous plume of cinder shot gray; I am beholden. Mushrooming above lands unseen, from which I can feel the subtle shock waves as they are relegated to the annals of our misbegotten history. In the fire and flames and screams which travel to my mind's eye unbeckoned, undreamed I see the horror of all that I've been, and find the seeds of beauty left to wait in the ashes of tragedy as our sins are forgiven and our path made clean. It is then, and only then, that I understand that I am not steel, nor invincible or beyond the soul's pain, but rather at peace with what has come, what is, and what tomorrow brings.

Blood To The Bone

I was not born in a hospital.
I was born by the earth
And the sky
Converging into
My mothers womb
And the drip of
Swollen rainclouds
that made their way past my mothers tongue
And into my unfinished veins.
In them, the african red
soil in which my ancestors
grew their crops, distilled
Into the iron of their worn hands.

I am not a child of a sick place
But of creeping fields that
Wind like emerald snakes
Beneath the eye
Of my brother bird
Or wind in dusty furrows
Above the tilling heads
Of sister worm, of cousin beetle;
Who feed as brother and I feed
In the same completely
Different way. I am a child
Of man, daughter of sky and
Scion of earth.

I am the blood to the bone,
Not the body.

Math Headache

six years of math in six days.
wish I wouldn't have burned
so many fucking brain cells
because numerators are filling
in the spaces between
and dividing my my mind
multiplying my id by it's root
making my ego scream
the bottom twenty
is a hard place to be
when you're used to being number
one
hello, it's nice to meet you
humility.

Algebra doesn't care about the
difference between the bolsheviks
and the maoists.

Trigonometry is indifferent to
the nuancees of the shavists
and the taoists.

let's not even discus pi.

All The Pretty Pictures (Well darling, even yours fade)

All the pretty pictures
We took in the park,
Or we took on the beach,
Digging in the sand
With our bare feet.
End up in a box
Scribbled with half
Remembered names.
It's sad to see
That when I close my
Eyes at night
I can't remember your face.
I could not count my lovers,
I can not recall their names;
They are buried in a box,
Deep in my closet
In some cluttered grave-
Less moments I recall
And more ghosts of feelings
I don't remember having.
Even pretty pictures fade.

Hit A Woman (and she'll love you forever)

It seems it's sad and true,
Hit a woman
And she'll love you forever.
Heard them say, in a song once:
"If she knows your paper
You know she'll have to burn you".
So I'll take my heart cast in iron
Jeweled with bits of jade,
Because their hands are vandals
Obsessed with pulling things apart.
Let them dig their nails in
Oh, well, go and let them try
Because it's all one piece, fused
In shape in peace in part.
I keep a heavy heart
To keep my eyes and hand light
As to find the body's curve of
Whomever lies with me tonight.
"Don't be honest, never tell the truth"
Allow your wild hands to roam to
Whatever is offered to you.

Too Flighty To Be A Friend (I Am)

Well it's always a matter of convince
When the weather's fair,
We'll make a plan to meet.
Head down to the park, catch a show,
Spread out blankets on the beach.
We'll wait for clouds to grow heavy
then drink ourselves to sleep.

It's so plain,
To be unloved like this.
It's my fault,
Because I never call.
Once the precedent's been set
It's hard to forget,
What a shitty friend I am.

Well it's always like this I guess
I'm only ever half here,
Because I'm always in my head.
I'd invite you in if I could,
We would watch my errant thoughts
Flicker by when I think of you
So you'd know that you are loved.

It's so plain,
to be unloved like this.
It's my fault,
Because I never call.
Cause it always feels so cheap,
To have to try,
To be a good friend.

They say everything is temporary
To get through a bad day.
But not me, that's what I say
When someone I love slips away.

Yeah, that's what I say.
That's what I say.

Saviors and Self Absorbtion (go hand in hand)

Over that bridge on 1-75, where the smokestacks choke out the stars. Where you soar over the heavens that were pulled down to the ground, By envy, greed and oil refineries. I saw jesus siting by the road side with a battered sign, said "will save for food". Seems everyone's fallen on hard Times lately.
Well, I sit and wait for February to creep up on me, another birthday I'll play off in to obscurity. As far as anyone knows, I've been this age forever. And year after year things get better and better, for everyone but me, everyone But me. I don't mean to sound pretentious, insincere or Selfish, but I am, I am.
So I walk down the road in the wake of snow plows. And ignore the red drops that Drip from clenched fists and stain the dirty street side alive. It's about time Someone gave something back To this city.
I go down past the ghost lurk lofts, and the dim wit diners. Past the brick work Roads and the empty clubs. Past the fist and through the plaza, find a spot by the rivers edge. And bleed away into the sea. Down the streets and through these veins. Out the casket and into the river. Through the water and to the lakes, open water waits beyond;
And the depth of what lies between the land. Far, far from the hands of man.

Maine

This jetty too far removed, that tempts the sea’s serenity;
Land’s end, forlorn coast. A stretch of broken gray granite Teeth. Misguided mouth that clenches Against white-capped waves.
Hurled insults, shattered words, all fade into the wake.
The placid surface, pious in it’s slate sea indifference, slowly Swells and sways.
Goodnight kisses against the ports weathered Face. This cradle rocks to and fro as stormy clouds Gather and Grow.
The horizon speaks of squalls; the air of muted gulls.

If Home Is Where The Heart Is. . .

When the shadows grow long and my shaking hands weary,
I look to the melancholy sky.
Shifting so slightly, And drifting lightly into the arms of night.

Day flickers and fades As streetlights ignite,
To haunt the pavement with their tepid glow.
Alone in the dark with nothing but echos and and embers,
I shrink deeply within my soul.
Desolate and old, cracked and cold, the streets always feel like home.

The Scene

We weep for friends and family,
so readily fallen,
Then dance upon their graves.
Tooth and nail, your plastic vampire fangs.
When I pass from this world, you will remember Me too.
Only the me that you Remember, is the me that you can use.
I hate you all.

Waters So Shallow

Another cut leaves her pale skin scarlet; another
Tear leaves her closed eyes barren. She’s got
Something to prove. Covering the wounds she
Longs to show to everyone in the room, clenched
Teeth and embarrassed smile, they all know.

Cries for attention draw only frowns, and cuts
Don’t go over nearly that well. She never wants
Pity and plays on apathy but the need is in her
Eyes. Scars and smiles, tears and bleeding lies.

There is no comfort in a razors kiss. Only desire,
Desperation and pretense. We like to believe that
There’s depth to our pain, but it’s hard to admit when
The waters of truth come from cuts so shallow.

The Beast and The Flame

Give me just one moment
And I’ll smoke till I can’t breathe.
Take away this
And you take away everything.
This tightrope walk
A minute mile
Weep your tears
While I smile.

Take away this
And you take everything
Take away this
And you take everything
Take away this
And you take everything

I am the serpent of Midgard
Swallow you all whole
The dragon that consumes
And pig that wallows.
This beast of fire
Has burned his last home
Run for the windows,
Weep for your own.

Take this away
And you take everything
Take this away
And you take everything
Take this away
And you take everything

Give me just one moment
And I’ll smoke till I can’t breathe.
Give me just one moment
And I’ll choke on your needs.

The First Time I Fell In Love With You (should have been the last)

Consumed, by the hollow of
Your eyes. Winter came and
Summer was swept away, with
No chill to herald the frost.

How can I feel so cold,
When the sun shines?
How can I be so afraid?

Bitter, I shy away from
Your liars lips. Hands that
weave cats cradles and
Other thin games.

How can you be so cold,
When the sun shines?
How can you be so cruel?

Confused, I can't tell night
From day. The sun hides
behind the moon, consumed
by thoughts and fears of you.

I Wrote This Long Before I Was Wed (and was right with uncanny horror)

We stand upon the shoreline, a crushing
Expanse of tumbled giants and broken
Pillars that reach out towards the sea.
More lie beneath the tide, hidden from
The eyes of those above while we hide
From the eyes that lie at the bottom
of that breach.

Upon the rocky perches where the angels
Build their nests, from the bones of children
And threads of a wedding dress, we gaze into
Our eternity. Stretched beyond the hazy sun
And the dreams of lovers come undone, we try so
Hard to believe; that there is something out there
Greater then what we see.

I used to bring you daisies, daffodils and dandelions
That grew in the medow just behind those cyprus trees.
Always withered, with broken stems no less, you'd take
Them with a smile and reward me with your lavender kiss.
Now we know that when something is lost, it can never be
Once again known. A rose by another name is no longer a
Rose.

So we sit. Staring with hollow, empty eyes at what
Gave these barren cliffs life. Fowers may still
Grow behind those trees, and something may still lie
At the bottom of the sea, beneath that undulating surface
Of what we once believed. That something, whatever it may
be; that something is greater then you, and more then me.
So we sit and try not to forget the sweetness of dandelions
And lavender's scent.

Twitch, Ride and Roll

Hey man, we're stalking shadows again.
Creeping down that one way street. White
Knuckles on the wheel and long glances in
The rear view, ain't nothin but broken streets.

But we're searching for that something that
We seem to be missing. Those twirling lights,
All red and blue, against the sleepy window.
Someone to tell us to just go home.

Slowly rolling like the sweep of time, there
Are lonely headlights slicing gently, intensely
Through the thick dark night. Eyes adjust to the signs,
And Reflexes twitch to steady shaken minds.

The roads are dark, but long and calm. Each
Street laid out, each house a row. There's
A driveway somewhere, and a neglected bed,
That calls shadows to their reluctant end.

Lifeless

Where the sidewalk ends and the street begins
There's a tomb for the dreams of pedestrian
Lives that were passed by, born deep bleak.
We call that walk the march of time
And the sign above reads kismet street.

Well, there's somewhere past the azure
Curve of this restless earth where the souls
Of the meek find respite for the week.
Sanctuary for the weary, solace for misery,
And alabaster blossoms blowing in the breeze.

We wished upon the winking of marketer's stars
And now find that something in life is lacking.
The promises of Saturday morning's, superhero chic,
The nightshade kisses of lover's trysts. Instead there's
Just the womb, the breaths to the tomb and death's sudden teeth.

The American Dream (is cheap overseas labor)

Pax Americana and atomic thoughts,
You buy the words kid and it's you
They've bought. Digital diatribes
And Monday genocides, all pictures
In a box. Behind the screen there's
A child screaming and a siren singing
The glory of a dream well spent.

America, Americana, dayglo green,
Toy robots, plastic chairs and toe socks.
Disposable cups and vacant wants;
A plastic bow and suction cup arrow
From the dollar store down the block.

What Love Can Not Purchase

From the edges of the scene, I creep and I creep;
Like the sideshow sneaking up on the freak. A
Home, the unknown, the miscreant and unclean.
The heart's miasma and stage lit drama stealing
The show from the performer in the ring.
She's a saint and a queen, a dancer and is seen.
My heart and my hands tied in ribbons and her
Dance. Like the songs that pour from the speakers
Whispering out to me, Be something,
Be unclean. Well my hands dart as they part,
And I shift as I sift through a pocket of change
For something to throw; some sublime offering. A Rose,
Or a Rose is all I can dream, with pockets jingling
And empty. She's a queen and a dream, painted
All pretty and delicately conquering the room
With her dips and her swoons. Shadowed eyes slide
Close as she takes her bows and collects cheap
Bills from the stage. Not a rose in repose waiting
At her feet, only the oblation of the profane and obscene.

Oh, You Are The Lilly When I Am The Weed

As I navigate, your twilight eyes
From compass point to compass point,
And wander far and wide in the depths
Of doe brown tides; I realize, I'm lost
And the sea is swelling into stars.

Where the shoulders curve into a slender
Neck, my fingers crawl as you sprawl
Over me. Like the lotus and the lily I
Feel a bit silly, tangled in the weeds.

Over the arches of delicate reaches
And the valley of her back, beads run
In rivers to the throes of lustful quivers
As she quakes and feints with lip and
Tongue in the building joy of loss.

At the beginning of time there was an
Embrace between all and none, and we
Can feel it in the march of a steady beat
And lovers stretched to infinity and one.

Boyhood

Falling leaves and sleepy trees, the kids from down the block,
Playing tag on the rail road tracks and tossing broken rocks.
We were summer still when fall began to teethe.

Twenty-one speed Huffy dreams
And a vacant midnight street.
Watching stars between long yellow lines
In front of the funeral home on Biddle Avenue.
A hand to hold when the night got old
And a silhouette against the creekside dawn.
A girl I knew from summer school
And the boy she barely saw;
Tangled in power ranger bed sheets and kissing
Inches of salty skin.

A smile in the hall and ghostly fingers against her neck,
Nod and Smile; but don't look back.
There's only empty streets and a boy you've never met.

I Think She's Free

She thinks freedom is climbing out the window
And leaving the door unlocked; or driving when
She could just walk. Screaming over speakers
Drunk, underage, at the Token Lounge. When
We talk it's in little lovers' whispers, about the
fall of the Berlin Wall or socialistic revolutions.
And she punches me before each kiss.

Now I can't say if she's really free, because we've
All got our ties to worldly lies, but I think she just
Might be. She just might be that thing that we
See in the darkness of sleep, dancing on the edge
Of what we call our lives. The flicker fading from
A newborn's eyes at the sight of toys and TV.
The silver lining of a thundercloud storming.

We've been something for some minutes and
Nothing, but I know this was meant to be. She
Ties me up and burns me in effigy. To the god
Of sweet nothing, the air in the breeze, the water
In the seas. And there's no reason why, no motives
To hide or insecurities to disguise. No reason why.
Other than she can, and can is the essence of free.

Emperors, Gods

We were children then, strewn out like sewn seeds
In an old truck bed. Waiting for the sun to set, the night
To come. With pockets full of our parent's money we'd
Go to buy magic cards and black coffee. We'd stay up
All night, laugh and fight. Then we'd ride our bikes
Down Biddle avenue until the suburbs fell into Detroit.

Now we're old I guess; we get together less. There
Are jobs to work, people to impress. Lives to grow,
Responsibilities to address. But we're still more than
Less, friends I guess. We talk online, and we get
Together sometimes to drink expensive beer and
Compare how things went this year.

I remember walking through the city in the snow.
Streetlight white on slick dark streets. We were full of
Pills, to keep away the world. Gods of broken
Streets and shitty clubs. To alive to speak, to fucked
Up to see the end of our divinity. Pantheon's fall,
From the building tops even gods seem small.

It's been years since those divine nights. Nothing
But men again who talk, half remembering what
Once had been. We're hollow now, more so than
Before. Because remembering is escaping the
Fear of living more. It was an angel's kiss, the
Future's eclipse. Nothing we can follow anymore.

So when the end is near, I'll hold to old tales like
A broken spear. Useless in the face of death, but
Something solid in my hands. Some sign I lived
When we were kids, cause as adults we just quit.
There's nothing left but this fear of death, and the
Thought that once, we were emperors and friends.

Lovers and Liars (are sometimes synonyms)

Arcane emotions, soul forevermore
Bleed through the flesh, sweat of my pores.
You beside me in the twilight rise,
Contemplations paranoid, sibilant lies.
Touch sweetly, bend weekly, into the fire
Of your lips. Crash cordially, into you tired.
The swell of the sea, you beneath me. The
Water of your body, the salt of your skin.
Teeth and breath, shoulder and neck. Rise
And fall, slide to sail. Chasm's caress,
The weight of duress inside me. Cut away
The ruse, we're a kind of mutual use. Blank
Hearts for broken starts and the fear of
Being true. Laugh and whimper, the truth's
Sad whisper; we're a pair of empty bodies
Burning for better lovers.

Civility In The Face Of Love

She walks in from the cold, pristine in the dimming lights
Like a snowflake melting in my open hands. Subtle, sliding
From corner to corner, taking in the room with shimmering
Hazelwood eyes. Feeling quite unable, I make my way unstable
On six pack legs to the bar's deeper dregs; one more drink I
Just don't need. Tonight is tomorrow, as the dawn reaches out
For our little corner of the earth. When friends have made
Their goodbyes we'll slip off into the night; onto the beds that
Lay waiting like empty scabbards for dull blades. Home for
Wandering knights on the crusade of life. I'd rather not go alone.

So I ask her her name and she asks me why. Well, I could say
It's because fate pulled me here today, and the stars held sway
When you walked into this room, because my eyes were pulled
Right to you like a feather falling, a siren calling, a new day
Dawning. Instead I shrug, raise my bottle and tell her I'm
Obsessed with Plato; The Republic, and civil society. It's my
Duty, as philosopher and poet, armchair lauret to make her
Acquaintance and buy her a drink. She says she's Kristen,
And favors Rasputin; the mad monk of Russia. We sit and
Talk, about reading a man by his walk. Kill a bottle of Vodka.

Six years later we're screaming again. Like we have been
For longer than we were truly lovers, bed mates and bill
Partners who huddle together despite the miasma that
Lingers, to keep lonely wolves at bay. And she asks if I
Still like Plato, the Republic and all of that bullshit. I think
For a moment, -no, I say. I prefer Rasputin and chains around
My chest with bullets in my back. Fighting fate in the deep
Black waters of the Malaya Nevka for the chance to live
Again. She smiles, and those sienna eyes drown my pretense.
We may not be lovers, but we're partners; pitiful against the stars.

Google Hearts Myspace

Socrates loves Trotsky, carved on a cherry tree,
Down by the old idealistic cemetery.
The tombstones all read, with an uncertain uniformity,
..This is where we find our solemnity...

When the wind blows, the branches like to bow
So that they can caress the loam .
Where noble men sleep in ignoble rows
Is where I tend to be compelled to go.

In the halls of man's knowledge, vast and ignored
Men and women drift towards typing boards.
They turn their backs on all of the books stored
And sidle up to the blinking screen discord.

Because we have our Hemlock, and our revolver
To the head. Our electronic suicide culture,
Our belligerent apathy for the words our forefathers.
Our ignorant bliss and our simpleton succor.

I find something sad that there are no more idealists,
Only wasted, jaded, jilted pragmatists.
Who fail to see the forest for the trees. Pessimists
Playing cynics, lyricists playing linguists.

That graveyard is closed, bared by thick broad gates
And silent save what the mute might debate.
Because there are no more scholars, only those that orate
From elevated pedestals and are put up with to placate.

What shall become of our futures all bright and shiny
When the gilding is scratched; and we
See that there is little substance beneath the chassis?
Google loves Myspace, printed on business stationery

Everyone deserves a Eulogy

Quit smoking the other day.
Quit eating meat a month or so ago.
Started working out again.
I eat healthy now, exercise, go out for coffee
With friends and beers after that.
My pants fit, well really they don't,
The belt has about five new holes.
You get what I mean.
I can't go a day without a fortune cookie,
I get all nervous if I do.
Don't do drugs,
Don't think I will again.
Just don't need them.
I'm happy, I guess, but things
Could be better. But they aren't,
So I try, but not too hard.
I can't quit thinking about
this poem I read, called Ash
Wednesday, by T.S. Eliot.
And how the obvious things are
The hardest things, because they're
Jut right there, easy to see.
And there is no time but time,
No place but place, and time and
Place all one in a moment the same.
It's pointless to wonder, a waste
To dream, or make theories for
Solutions when there is no problem.
I can't sleep, and I think it's from
Missing the nicotine, or maybe it's
Just that I don't like my bed. When
I lay in it, I feel like I should be
Doing something instead. The retaining
Walls break, and my wheels start spinning,
The thoughts and theories flood, and
I'm just a machine left idly running.
I'm sick of having imaginary conversations
With real people. Or thinking so hard
About what I should say, it never comes
Out the same in the end anyway.
Because there are no words, other than
Words, and no people other than people,
When we're together in time and place.
And the only reason I'm here, typing this
Out, is because Lucky Dragon is closed.
Otherwise, I'd be driving up there, to
Buy a fortune cookie, and smile at the
Strange look the cooks always give me.
Because I just want to know, one way or
The other, if I really do have a lucky number.
If wisdom can come on little slips of paper,
That I can look forward to the future.
Because it all seems the same, the present
And past, the only difference is, that I'm
A different man; another train, on the same
Tracks. And I'd really like a cigarette.

Durable Plastic Flags

With the utmost certainty, propensity and vulgarity our world is decaying around us as we speak. There is no proof and none is needed; for as the preacher commands the word of god from twisted tome whose words lay silent and undefended as they are warped with word, thought and deed, I speak The Truth. Those whom are saved, worthy, willing, enlightened, openminded, undermined, simpleminded, in a complex manner, meter and mantra know this to be so. To those who dissent I ask of thee: Why do mountains flee from the sea and turn to sand upon the beach!

We have pillaged the pauper..s hat, raped our mother..s womb, and sat with satyr and sucker within a dollar theater and then fucked quietly within the room. We have eaten the apple, shit out the seeds, made a fool of man, and become Kings of Thebes. We wither wantonly and cannibalize these corpses to quell the hunger of sins which bring salvation to thin red lines in thin green times; and we are fat.

A man born to man of privilege is blessed twice, once for his birth, and second his entire life. While man born to means more meager is cursed thrice, his birth, his life and once again for his frail and heavy eyes.

FREEDOM! is what you must die for if you would be free, other options consist of death and slavery. Old glory hangs in tatters on a freight trucks mud flaps, coffee cups, shirts, skirts, condoms and a patch right beside one which points out quite coincidentally, ..Fuck Iraq... Freedom isn't free, it costs seven cents an hour and sews shirts and skirts in Beijing.

We pray to the red herring in his holy church of industry, engineering and The American Dream. Progress will save us as it damns us, and we will stand proud before The Savior on that last day with more durable plastic and disposable plates!

We have little to weep for, as we have done nothing great; only survived for a moment and belligerently engineered a disastrous fate. The sea will rise and hush the land, as the stars are brushed aside by the smoke of the wealthy hands. We will fade away to a man, leaving behind only durable plastic flags.

Pesant Hearts (and their mighty prophecy)

Let me say just one thing before I pass off into the gray:
That I was here, and wanted only to stay.
When the years teach you to cry, I hope your tears come
Out bitter, dry. That those azure eyes bleed into the sky
A deeper blue, far deeper than you or I.
I'd still kill for them, their wanting gaze. You're nectar
Breath and honeyed flesh. I'd rip the stars from the
Spheres and make them into deadly spears. To
Lance the beast of passion's teeth; to sing
This soliloquy into your ear.

The arc of time is high and long, and what are men
But shadows drawn? Along the road
As the sun sojourns from point to point, to set and
Rest for the lonely night. And what am I but a fool
For you, who marks the day in any way as
To tell when you won't be coming back to me.
I'd like to say I'd made my peace, with decisions made,
Respectfully. I've moved on to in pursuit of dawn
And live to love another, sing another's song.
That would make me a liar.

From the abyss of swirling mists, through purgatory,
Pandemonium and limbo long, I've taken on;
A darker shade of gray. Maybe, but I doubt it, it's better
This way. Because sometimes longing is better
Than the loving because all passions become mundane.
Still, I'd take just one more kiss from those murderous
Lips, and bathe these wounds in your deep red bliss.
Some battles are just meant to be lost, and
Peasant hearts are the warlord's cost.

A Vessel, Broken (and all that it contains)

She says it's the little things she'll miss,
Like the summer nights in the park and
That first burning kiss. The stars all stitched
And sewn against the dark cloth of night,
And the crisp warmth of a winter day's light.

And it wasn't really so bad, not really. A bit
Absurd where the features blurred, the faces
In the crowds screaming aloud, "What else
Can there possibly be!" Well tell me.

There are menthol cigarettes smoldering
In glass ashtrays. Warm scarves tied around
Thin necks like nooses. Waxy candles that
Smell like cinnamon and vanilla. Lovers
That hide away remembered moments in shoe boxes.

There are stop signs ignored in the night. The glow
Of tail lights far down dark roads. The sigh of metal
Meeting it's own. The showers of glass that rain down.
There are lovers dying in loving arms, whispering
Softly of what they'll miss the most.

There are things I'll miss, I well know this. But
I'd rather die there, the cradle of her form than
The shambling storm that will come. All red tears
And black howls forlorn; a broken vessel spilling.

One Night In One Stanza

I take too many sleeping pills, and drink to much coke.
I've got that insomnia state of life, where the Sunday
Is Saturday is Friday for all the difference it makes.
There is only one day of the week, today. The divisions
That dissect hour to minute to second fall away as the
Memories replay. Her short black hair cropped back
In my fingers to the rhythm of her sway. Pale pink
Lips, natural and soft, pressed against the curve of
My neck. Tangled all tightly, my breathing heavy,
Her touch lingering lightly in the scars that she left.
Lovers don't sleep, rather are reborn in each others
Arms each morning anew. She's still here with me,
In the raised lines she left on my flesh. Whispering
In my ear as I cling to the fears of a life better lived.
And no sleep comes, because I'm a lover still, like
A phoenix with no urn, smoldering without fire,
I long with desire, for her reincarnating arms. I'm
The spoke of the wheel, the center of the cycle, the
Daylight berating, the night sky mocking what this
Murky life disjointed is lacking. The voice in the dark
That screams out for hearts to open just a little more.
I'm the day without work, the night without rest, the
Dusk without beauty and the Dawn without light.
The half missing the whole, the actor with no role,
The empty alley with no transient to call home. I'm
The computer's sterile glow, the tinny taste of cigarettes
And sleeping pills circulating at four in the morning.
I'm insomnia silently digging it's fingers through my
Hair and screaming out to in the thin night air.

Adam and Eve ( before the apple)

She once said to me,
As the summer sun
Filtered through sterling leaves;
"Maybe once, we were Adam and Eve".
And what a beautiful thing
That would be to believe.
That some souls cling together
Seeking their completion in each other
Through eons marching into ash.

I just don't know, where souls
Come from, or where they go;
But I'd like to think,
That once I was a king, and she
A queen, divided by deep seas
And the coasts of distant tragedies.
Or perhaps, soldiers who met their
Final day in some deadly embrace
As enemies who made peace upon
Each others blades.

I hate how I need her, how her
Strength makes me weaker; the way
She destroys the cynic in me.
Because I'd like to believe, that we're
Always alone, there's no greater meaning,
No souls vigilantly seeking and only
Coincidence in our meeting. I'd like to
Believe, that one day I can be free, like
Fallen leaves blowing quickly down her street.

The Big Empty

lost and gone- hey baby, welcome to the big empty. everything you thought, you thought wrong. everything you got, well it's long gone. Fake it till you feel it, Try to believe. Tell yourself, that there's still anything. I know what you feel, I know what you think - but trust me, it's not what I mean. You can't fix your head with liquor and pills. You can't save your face, you can't save yourself. You used to be Ok, when you were destroying yourself. Now you're just fucked. Now you're just out. This isn't a poem, it's not a fucking song. This is just a note to remind myself that I'm fucking wrong.

Driftwood

I used to be a tree,
Part of something greater-
Connected to the sky.

Now I'm just a branch,
Floating in the sea,
Growing worn and smooth,
Washed up on the beach.
Waiting for hands,
To pluck me from my sleep,
Throw me in the fire,
Just to watch me burn.

The storm broke me,
The waters washed me clean-
The fire sets us free.

Casual Hearts

Casual hearts worn on loose sleeves, we handshake our souls away, we no longer believe. It's simple, the animal instinct, the red eyed beast of passion's teeth. I get it, got it, would love to agree, but I've grown, and that man is just not me. Because I love, and suffer and cry: just as often out in joy. I feel, I bleed, I have a heart of stone -rigid and set- that I keep tucked away now, hidden and not shown. Once I was a poet, but now only a scribe, scribbling out my ragged mind in pretty diatribe. Grim and worn, aye I may be, but my heart is not casual -it can not be.

It's not you, it's me (it's not me, it's you).

It's so silly,
Let's be civil for a second
-Friend.

Don't for a second think
I'm not thinking
Don't for a second hope
That I'm still hoping.

I'm only dumb for so long
And then just done done done
I'm only gone for so long
And then just hum hum hum.

I guess whatever,
I mean so long,
I guess forever,
It seemed so long.

The thing is,
Let's be simple for a moment
-Friend.

We're already dead,
Ghosts of who we were.
We've already passed,
The rest is just the test.

I'm only broken for so long
And then just ok ok ok.
I've only got this life
And then it's just away away away.

Hands grow heavy
Hearts fade away
Our strings are the price
For our stupid mistakes.

Burn Your Bridges (for you have no home here)

Don't think for a second
That there's still a crossing;
That bridge already burned,
We're just waving from our
respective sides of the river.

We all break down,
We all have our
Pyromantic moments.
We all fuck up,
We all fuck around
On our selves.

Don't think for a second
That there's still a home here,
That building is condemned,
We're just sipping lemonade
On the porch for a moment.

We all loose grace,
We all have our
Temporary halo.
We all find our way,
We all are saved
But still stained.

Burn your bridges into black ash
-Let go of your sentiments child
They only hold you back.
Puppet strings don't keep you grounded,
You're dancing on empty air
-Cut them, if you still care.

So Much Less (i belived)

we were so much less than we ever could have believed. Not quite honest, but to be be received. The heart strings pull again, whispering of silly things and abandoned dreams, of africa, of china, of japan and cherry trees. I think of lovers lips that spill deciet as they suddenly emerge and just as deftly, recede. I think of you, I think of me, I think of the child never to be: and it is a truth I hate to see. Yet this is the choice, the decision made so I bow my head, accept my fate, throw my memories to the wind and walk away.

The Last Conversation (i had with myself)

-Man I want a 40.

Addiction is addiction, and you sir are an addict.

That's not a fucking opinion, it's a fact. Deal with it asshole.

-But I'm sober like 90% of the time. It's one fucking 40!

Do you want to be sober 90% of the time?

-Fuck no, you know where I can get any pills man?

Yeah,. see. Quit being a pussy and own up to it.

-Dude, I really don't see a problem here. . .

You remember that one time you told your dad Mike loaned you part of his rent money, and you can't pay him back so you need $20 bucks?

-Ya. . .

Remember how you cried and begged and pleaded?

-. . .We don't talk about this.

Remember how happy you were when he gave you that $20?

-. . . .

Was it for Mike?

-. . .

Was it?

- . . .no. . .

What did you do with it?

-. . .I got E and went to the club. . .

Proud?

-. . . .not really, but fuck, that was like five years ago.

Hey, why is your car all dented up and shit?

-Vandals?

Try Tequila asshole.

-Dude, that's just the hood.

Why is the hood dented?

-. . .

WHY IS IT FUCKING DENTED!

-Because I got mad when I hit Dustin's car and started jumping up and down on the hood screeming at the car. . ..

And that makes sense, right?

-You had to be there man, in the context. . .

I was there, I am you dumbass. The part that's remotely sane and not completely self destructive.

-Well fuck you, you have it easy! You're not the one with the problem.

WE SHARE A FUCKING BODY!

-Dude, at least we're thin again. Give me some credit for that, I'm the one who doesn't eat.

Remember New Years Eve, oh, say 2004?

-Yeah, that was a fucking weird ass night. . .

Remember sitting in Brandi Doll's hotel room, fucked up on a handful of pills and half an 8ball? Remember sweating so badly it was like rain while you were rolling the joint? Remember trying to compliment that guy on his tie and not being able to talk and having to have some coked out bitch translate your retard mumbling for you?

-Ok, so maybe weird wasn't the right word. . .

Yeah, so you're on the verge of OD'ing and people want you to leave the party so you don't die in the fucking room and ruin their night. . .What do you do next?

-Go home? Hospital?

Try Speedballing at Jacci's loft till dawn. . .

-When you put it like that it sounds bad. . .

How the fuck else do you put that? I mean, really, what the fuck TJ. How do you even begin to make that sound good.

-Well, I did make out with that chick with the pigtails and librarian glasses. Man was she hot. Hell, I still think about her when I. . .

Dude! For christ's sakes you moron. You didn't even get laid!

-Rub it in man.

Remember laying in your bed the next day feeling like you were having a heart attack. Remember when you couldn't breathe? Remember vomiting all over yourself and thinking you could feel your heart stopping?

-Ya. I still went to work though. I'm a fucking badass.

Great, when the bombs fall only cockroaches and you will survive. I'm sure it will be fun.

-Whatev, pussy.

Remember what happened when you were separated and showed up at Crystals drunk on Tequila? Where's the steering column cover to your car man?

-. . .In a bush. . .

In a bush.

-. . .ya, in a bush, ok.

Remember driving up to city with Tim?

-Dude, ok stop, fuck you, I'll just go to bed or play solitare or something.

Good night TJ. Don't fuck up falling asleep.

-Screw you asshole. Night.