Windy days

Windy days sweeping what's mine away in the air
around me.

The Faults of humanity, war

Crying solves nothing.
As all violence is bright,
and there is no way to conceal
it from the world. From the peoples
sight.

So what do you want from me?
Yellow fires and Red, innocence
I will not give in to the cries and brightness of humanity
We throw enough paint at one another already.

I will live in
bliss, I will know
sadness, melancholy, somber
more so than I already do.
Oh yes, I know these emotion very well.
Enough to know that I wish I didnt.

But without miseries
We wouldnt be able to submerge our souls
to the joy, playfulness, and love
I know lives with in all life.

It is for this reason that I repeat,
All violence is bright
crying solves nothing.
Tears only mock us with their presence.

This is an irrational
behavior but I never said we were perfect.
Humanity have weaknesses and flaws that is bright with war.
But that only strengths my resolve
in allowing no one to ever get the chance to see
tears, from sadness, running down our
cheeks ever again.

Draft 1 issues poem

I am fucking beautiful
When I look in the mirror and see my alabaster skin, silky and untainted
I becoming giddy and warm inside for I am pure as snow
My baby soft head, is smooth and shaved down the to scalped.
I love rubbing lotion on it messaging the meaty flesh that cradles my superior brain within in its walls.

And I hate covering up my skin head just because some uppity, nosey ass folks down at the unemployment don’t like my swastika, tattooed right in the back of my white noggin.
No I cant see it, Yes I did want It there,
Got the nerve to look at me like I am fucking Hitler himself and deny me the rights I was born and obligated to have.
No I am not Hitler, I aint that luck but if I got the chance to meet I would give him a good slap on
the back and say well done.
But it wasn’t enough for God help us all, look who is running the county.
Next thing we know, were going to be swinging from the trees and hugging on one another like
We are all at some damn hippy fest.
No, I don’t have no job all the spicks and wetbacks got em.
What do I do all day?
I sit on my stoop, morning, noon, and evening and watch.
Watch as the coons walk by with their heads down because they know I am staring.
Listen to the radio as the japs and jews, gays and muslims dominate this country, bring it further down the path of disgrace.

Laying with our women, spoiling and corruption our children
But one day, we are going to have our holy war just as God intended
Blacks versus whites on the street and we all know who will be victorious.
I get hard just thinking about it.
And just so you all know, I aint going no where until that day comes
This is my home, I was born and raised
Just as my daddy and his daddy and his daddy
Born and raised
Right here.

Cliche

We will never be able to get these days back. I could say some cliche ass line about making the most of each minute, each day, each second, each month... But I am pretty sure they will be either be ignored or forgotten instead of actually listen to.

Stupid people piss me off. I am tired of having huge globs of bullshit like substance being spat out of peoples mouths, and it landing right next to my ear. Then like some sentient being try to absorb itself into my skin, as if I am some kind of fucking sponge. I stand there rendered speechless because I cant decided which string of curse words would be best to employ to cause the most damage when scaring them away from me.

But I can only dream

For I am too nice. And would not want my feeling hurt if I were a stupid person. So I absently nod my head like I actually give a damn. The one thing about stupid people is that they are blissfully unaware of their own stupidity, and for this I can not fault them. No matter how much they piss me off. God I hate being a nice person...

The trick is to fake it, till you pist them off.

I am pushing because how we get to be alone depends on how much work we put to in to being together.

So far away cant even come up with a proper title

I feel as though am sitting on a swing above everyones head. Just swinging swinging swinging away. And obviously no one knows I am here. But I can see their thoughts as I am spinning and whirling in my lone delight
but is still forgotten
all the same.

Noose

I wanted to pull your halo down,
But not watch it slip around your neck
Only wanted to bring you back to me
Except you hovered
just inches above the ground
instead, Such a mess.
I cant stand to see you drifting,
swaying every so slightly from side to side
I couldnt reach the knife high enough
to cut your halo to lower you down.
I couldnt reach you anymore.
I could only turn my face into your palms
and kissed your cold wrist
And cried myself to sleep under your
dangling feet

Tiresome

I am awake, when I rather not be.

Damn it, fuck, Okay okay okay okay okay its all good.

Damn it, fuck!

Damn it

Damn it

damn it

Click, flash, and snap...

Dont you just love taking pictures? Something about capturing the moment that you will never get back. But its fun right? To keep that memory alive...so much fun. I have taken so many picture in the last couple days, I feel caught in between the flashes.

Im still sick...but better, I guess.

Fuck, damn damn damn fuckity shit.
*sniff*
I gotta cold.

God Is An Astonaut - Echoes

I'm not that happy. There are moments but those are never permanent. The bird behind my ear likes to travel. Her wings tickles my skin with each flap and flutter. It mimics my heart beat with her every smile.

The warm weather didn't last. Good, I don't like the warmth and pleasantness of a sunny day in the middle of Autumn. It throws me off balance and makes my world tilt.

One of the few things I like about living here, in hoodyland is that I get the joy of experiencing all 4 seasons to the fullest. Seasonal affective disorder becomes my best fucking friend.

I am slowly, writing again.

Its cynical and self-adsorbed. Nostalgic by nature, often too focused on past experiences. But that is nothing new.

This type of writing can lead me to deeper insights or to downward spirals of melancholy and/or painful unresolved feelings. Now dont that sound just fucking great? But solution number one: Dont think about it. Suppression is not the cure but the wound, being covered with a sticky band aide.

Its only brief relief, but that moment is all one needs to become distracted. With kisses and presence. Yay, physical distractions.

Searching for meaning,
noticing what is missing, and what is there. Feelings of melancholy and nostalgia,
and longing for the unavailable.

I got so high the other day I forgot, who is me? what I think I am. and where I thought was. Laid strung out on the grass for everyone to see this different world.

I gave the children a brief look into reality. We are not all fucking perfect, I know this to be absolute truth and I basked in it. But everyone is so damn dull in this place. 2D, in what it is to feel. I feel it was my purpose to remind them that they were sheep.

You appreciate the special, the humane and the beautiful. beautiful. beautiful.
You like to put your personal signature on everything you touch. Its the nature of a creator. Change, change, change will capture us all.

This is a good morning.

D E A R
(common)
m u s i c .

S y my girlfriend cant stand it when I get inspired.
How Vast and Efflorescence meaning flowering blooming, have me in a kiss? And You Have Made Me anti-socially, Deaf.

Great!

Dante' Hot ass Oven

Accidents, alcohol, and suicide
The glass was broken in my hands

But I couldn’t stop drinking. Too far gone. Can’t taste the alcohol anymore. So I didn’t notice that my wrists are bleeding.

Dying was not part of the plan

But life is change, quietly. I will go out fucking screaming. 2nd floor, second bedroom. With regrets and only night sweats keeping me company in between the sheets.

As I march my way to dante land

I grab the bottle and like the way it feels on my lips. Reminds me of a loud tragedy. This bane ending. This fading heart beat. This slow blood drip on hardwood floors.

And over the sound I can hear the angels’ scream

My name