Stout

I am not lion-hearted
I am not strong of will
I take no moral high-ground
I offer no great skill

I have no steadfast reason
I have no holy fight
I have no opposition
I have no suppressed right

There is no cause to fight for
There is no battle ground
There stands no great last reason
No truth yet to be found

But

Do not let that stop me
Do not let that hold me back
Do not hold my tongue
Do not stay my attack

Contagion

You only see this body.
You only feel these lips.
In dark back rooms away from prying eyes.
You feel the rise,
the rush of passion.
You do not even have a hint of the undercurrent.
I do this
on purpose.
I pass to you a secret wish:
you will feel my pain,
you will understand my anguish
as I pass to you this secret sickness.
You smile because you don't know what I am doing.

Flexibility frowns fervently

My feet are fleeting
while the faint flame flickers
so finicky
yet forceful
my frail and fated foe
you faint for fear of falling
only to face my hand
before the final courtship
this fatigue feels paltry
first infected with failed plans
finely felt between faltering states
mistakes for tomorrows famine
forgo the given fabric
this farce is far from forgiving
ambivalent with feculent weight
how unfamiliar the common denominator
this popular fallacy leaves fearful the fatherless
and forever we remain
empty and frustrated

First Words

How much non-speak can we take?

Why the small talk?

Why the forced conversation?

If you have nothing to say,

don't let that stop you.

You talk a lot but say nothing

For days it went on like that.

I feel like I learned nothing,

despite hearing so much.

Heard,

but not listening.

I may as well not understand the words you say.

English is not my first language.

Language was not my first language.

I got on just fine before I was forced to communicate 

After all,

it is just more empty vibration

added to the meaningless cacophony.

We are all lost in the soundscape

Lacking identity.

Lacking personality.

The most of these people want to be just another 1 in the million

Most of those people want to be an individual just like everyone else

Is it too much to ask to be ignored 

for being unlike?

Expletive Deleted

I am not here for you.
My choice does not determine yours
and yours not mine.
How dare you say what I can and cannot say
you cannot tell me what I can tell you
but the opposite is obviously not true.
Where is the line between your free speech and mine?
The world might be better if all were kept silent
nothing seems gained by speaking
yet there seems to be no shortage of the droning.
The joke goes: How do you make a hormone?
Is it not inappropriate
to withhold her payment?
Is offense alone enough to silence an entire generation and beyond?
I surely hope not.
At least so long as free speech does not offend me.
When did the FCC receive permission to oversee what is best for mine and me?
And why does whining garner the most change?
When one is resolute in indignation is that worth all or nothing?
The hurt of one is equal to the hurt of all.
When ignorance breaks down to bawl the cold is felt through all.

Passion

There is something lacking in my life.
The leading part is missing
and left of blinding light.
My knees, no longer weakened by your embrace.
I stand strong as you come near me.
The thought of you no longer causes my insecurity.
I do not blame myself.
I cannot blame you.
Only time has been a burden on our child like romance.

In mirth retorted straining

At first the orders chaining
The words fall short explaining
The birds call forth the raining
Then curse the moors for staining

The purse while forward feigning
Could nurse the hurt complaining
At worst remorse is shaming
We purge then more refraining

I heard the Norse gods baying
A dirge just north of slaying
Unsure which firth was draining
This course from birth abstaining

Murder Camp '08

No ivory will calm this
A swelling fear of fame
Rise dark within the meat of it
Now nothing making name
The handle for this moment
Be bludgeoned and remain
How noble is this conquest still
The cataclysm blame.
The temperature of bleeding
The murder does not change
An open wound to draw upon
the sill, the coat, the chains
The foul often clings upon
An open seething brain
murdered body, rotting fruit
In flesh is all the same

Full Speed

With an attitude like this
I am surprised I have gotten anything done
Not to say that I have achieved great feats
but the very fact that I get up in the morning
is impressive when my will power is taken into account.

The threshold of my 'Fuck-it" factor is set so low
I can't believe I even took the time to type this out.
I mean, sure
I think about a lot of things
and I entertain more ideas than I could count
but the bridge between thought and action seems so vast
it is indistinguishable from impasse.

I can't believe that anything gets done.
Really.
I know that those people have all the same time in a day that I do
but what separates them from me?
What tells a person to accomplish?
What gets them up from the comfort of sleep and sends them out to achieve?
Maybe I should buy a less comfortable bed.

Don't Forget

Remind me
so I don't forget
I have something to tell you.
It seems self evident
but nonetheless
remind me.

Final Wager

This root has gone too far to remove
It has long since tapped the source
and from it's reaching veins it draws upon the brain of all.

This blackened slurry calling out
Drink in the strong elixir
Cold and supple drawing deep within the folds of heather

Every Stranger

You are woven into me
Entrenched
And though we never met
I know you
Like I know myself
Not at all

Last Night

I was lying in bed last night
lying to myself about my future
and I had the best of ideas
To myself I thought
"You aught to remember this"
"You aught to write it down"
But no,
It was good enough that I would remember on it's own

So wrong was I
Searching now for a glint of it turns up no reward
How drastically it would have changed things
As I look back thorough the glow of hindsight
I have forgotten the best of ideas to grace the minds of men
The absence of what was
The knowledge of what could have been
It is as effective as never showing the monster in a horror movie
It keeps the terror alive in your imagination
and it becomes the most effective
This loss is greatest in my retrospection
because I have no idea what I lost

pillow talk

I keep hoping that I will suffocate myself
In the evening while I'm sleeping
While the weight of my body presses stomach to bed
The weight of my brain pressing pillow to head
For this I used to worry
Some, fleeting fear
Sudden waking, gasping, coughing
Still half asleep
Fighting to breathe
Until the romance of it conquered me
Rendering rationality irrelevant
Just stop my breath and leave this place
Gently in the night
In absence of live in quests
No one would notice the passing
If executed properly
Even I would not notice

often

I feel this way too often
But unlike the best of things I have not grown accustom
Dripping off my edges
Permeating me complete
The burden resides within my bones
All around me
It is an endless crushing cloud
Closed in and centered on me
Thick enough to strangle
Ambiguous enough to make me doubt it's existence
I am held still by it
I hold it dear

meaningless

I get the distinct feeling
that this all had meaning once
and perhaps before we turn to dust
it may return again
but as for now
as for these things
'tis always falling short
the distraction of the time
is holding back honest report.

Where is this swelter heading
why for are we to dance
when there is nothing left to struggle for per-chance
the giving up has brought us to this
violent impasse
and only countless more
are hiding out beneath the mask
and rows of empty promises upon pretense is stacked
there is not a ladder tall enough to look beyond this fence
but distractions are aplenty and climbing is such work
why would you bother trying
when it is warm beneath the dirt
you would not know
for all our things
our minds are deep in dearth.

So if value is subjective
why not value what you have
the point beyond
the need and want
is revelry and sin
despite the loss of meaning
at the time that we are in
learn to unsee where we are headed
think on "where'd it begin?"

Sugar

I am refined
undetermined yet undermined
Can't shake the feeling that the length of time
it's the ignorant leading the blind.

I say the marks I make are mine
but marred they are when undefined
and blurs will not deter
when stirring words reflect the mind.

some time beyond

A sham, a shame
it lingers.
Hours pass but you never learned
this discomfort.
Far past squirming in my stomach
I feel the bern but something lacks
the fortitude perhaps?
Is there something past yearning?
I am astride the road that winds
between brooding and pining
where the bloodline is blurring
this strange stirring,
my hope is eternally stagnant.

burdened

I can feel it
running down me
thick
hot
sliding through my hair
pulling more and more of me down with it.

Eyes can only follow so far
breath can only be so shallow
before long it is all about me
and I am become it.

Always Behind My Eyes

Before you turn away
I have one more thing to say
But the uttering will never be undone

At first I thought it fun
This web we've gladly spun
Now it lingers as a splinter in our mind

You were not hard to find
You were not ever kind
You told the truth but as the coldest thing you said

Of all the things in side my head
you are the one I most want dead
And separated with my dying breath some day

So Damn Hard

Is it worth it?
Only strong can work this.
Words spill and form a shape
and no matter the outcome you will turn it.
I feel burned.
At first it seems the worst punishment.
Though no matter the pain I feel I fail to run from it.
The blood is merely a supplement.
It never ceases to amaze me how this can be so
incongruent .
I mean,
do you listen to it?
Do you due process before you released them?
It leaves you frothing just the thought of burning this.
No one will be let standing.
It is unabashedly demanding how best intentions
spurn a pain so true.

And I commit to never learn from it.

twinkle twinkle

After breaking coldly
dozens enter
forgetting greatness
hardly imagined justification kept lies muted
now oft prized quietness returns
silent though unraveled violently
without xerophytic youthful zeal

The gentle passing of the strongest man

It was not long before
I started looking for the door
though I could yet not know the score
I saw the signs of looming sore
the broken bottles on the floor
foretold the gathering of more
though calm the center of the storm
the surface differs from the core
despite the drafting reek of gore
the herald of what lay in store
my body strewn about the shore
all sinews left within me tore
the searing deep began to bore
this pain was to great to ignore
no end in sight, that much was sure
why had I fallen to this lure
were there some purpose this was for
or only mad this gentle roar
though thought was rich and rage galore
the strongest heart would beat no more

Pretense

I saw someone else in you that day.
Someone other that the carefully constructed guise you often play at.
No one would believe me.
So perfectly you have built this role.
So completely you have become exactly what you wanted,
or what the world required of you.
But there it was.
In that brief moment I could see something new.
I would not dare to say that it was truly "you"
but it was something seldom seen by man.
Was this an accident?
A sudden breaking in the wall?
or was this also carefully calculated?
Just another perfectly constructed layer built to throw us off the scent?
In that quick moment that your eyes rolled up
I caught the pleading in the foreground.
In that quick second that we shared I saw something was always there.
I looked inside and I saw a monster.
and with it, fell in love.

Neglecting the lighthouse

It was far too late
when I realized it was me.
When the dawning light shone across my face.
In that second that my life dawned upon me
I had gone to long
not making any choice,
not steering my own sail,
and now the rocks have strewn my life.
I can only blame myself,
but
there was never any warning.
No one manned the light to tell me
that the life I lead Is mine.
There was never that great moment
when someone looked me in the eyes
and said
"Do you not know that
you are the only person
who can choose your outcome?"
"Let not the thoughts
of others sway
the way you walk your path"
With the proper information I would have lived my life more full.
With the proper time to do it
my choices would have been less reluctant.
but
Here I am
and there I will never be

In this bitter
brutal end
the only one who shoulders blame is me.

My Turn

Some where in this still
with little left to fill
My heart is left to feel the thing I'm lacking

With out the gathered will
I wander lost until
with staggered breath the chill sweeps to my backing

The whipping always shrill
In a fever for the frill
I fall another victim to the cracking

Find Something

I am lost
in this exercise.
I am lost
in this society.
I am lost
in sobriety.
I am lost
in this mind.

Help

Some one inside of there is screaming
were it not for the sound around
somehow drowning out
the intrinsic value of despair

Our care is slowly spilling
Sinking without speaking
still we rather share our sadness with the world
without any chance to land inside an open ear

No help will arrive.
Not now.  Not ever.
for the excitement is the weather
shaking violent the purest throat without care

weeping gently giving ground
astounding that the feeling freely shows itself
for all the wicked wealth of joy we have
more glad are we to destroy the chance at helping

The Chair

Crossing legs
Pretending not to know my intent
attempting to encapsulate innocence
I see through the act
but still
I play this game with you
and you with me
we both want to end on the same place
and yet we play
dancing back and forth
making up the game at the parts we have that aren't the same
in our own way we have done this before
and yet the trick is to seem the opposite way
it acted out this way for days
until we reached this point
on stolen fabric
on stolen time
with all emotions opposite to the intended aim
rage
impatience
fear
Too sure this event would be so dear
as to avoid the blackening of a forgetful mind
how did I get us here
and oft' unasked the question "Why"
for there is nothing to be gained in this
the brief exchange of quiet breaths
the minute or less afforded by the walking of a long forgotten stair

Alphabet soup

A biting call does extend from generations
here in juxtaposed kindness
losing momentum
notwithstanding offence puts quiet reason second
together unchecked validation withstands xenophobic zealots

Splinter

It always seems
that simple things
can break the dreams
and clip the wings