Tuesday, September 19, 2017

insomnia isn't real

wipe the sleep from my eyes
i am done with lying dead for a few hours
i know if i can hold off sleep enough
i will wake up from this dream
hook me up to the coffee machine
plug some Metallica in my ears
give me something spicy to eat
tonight, i do not want to sleep
but no matter how much I shoo the sandman away
he still creeps up and behind me with sandy fingers
i turn around in my chair to catch him unaware
but where was a ghost, not just a shadow lingers
so i'll put my head to the pillow tonight
with one eye open, other shut tight
and i'll count the sheep till 50 thousand
till i see the morning light

Thursday, September 14, 2017

3 AM Again

what is it about night
that makes poets out of some men
perhaps it's the darkness
or maybe its the silence
maybe night carries blades in her mouth
and a promised kiss of violence
night is an enchantress
she doesn't walk, but she floats
she whispers filth in your ears
she fills your heads with evil thoughts
and then she takes you in
head sleepy, heart seeking sin
but the distance between night and day
is already getting thin
the yellow monster on its way
you bare teeth at another day
the light is nothing else but pain
as you want for night again
but you breathe in the comfort that
somewhere it's always 3 AM

Friday, September 8, 2017

the juice

chewing the pulp of my days
spitting art and skill on the page
while people fall victims to crime
I sit here and try to rhyme

a middle finger to everything
that tries to stop me from doing this
a silent litany of fuckyous
even if i am just taking a piss

it's all shite, maybe so
but what of it
born from the ground
we all go back into it

and when the judgment comes
you can stay on your knees
while in your mind you wonder
was the juice worth the squeeze

or you can stand up and paste a smile on your face
spit in the eye of the executioner without any grace
put your neck to the blade and tell them to be quick
there are angels in heaven waiting to meet you
I think the readers are smart enough to fill in the things that were unsaid.

Monday, September 4, 2017

Teeth Salad

a teeth salad will be served today
in halls of doom and gloom
you need someone to save the world?
you won't find me in my room

they paid their way to Valhalla
to halls of silver and gold
where the mead is warm and flat
and the food is getting cold

in the silence of the night
a voice screams out blame
this war, this mess, this bloodshed
is part of some big game

the pawns have taken over
the king lies shattered, broken
they ate the lock in their madness
Pandora's box is now open

Mischief. Madness. Mayhem. 
And I only wanted to read the news.

Hello, me!

every day I wake up
with a smile on my face
that I hammered there
the night before
a reverse make up
a daily shake up
but I look in the mirror
just to be sure
if my hair is alright
if my eyes look alive
if there is a pep in my step
if there is jive in my drive
the thing that stares back at me
is even funnier than I am
its got a grin that spears the mirror
till the happiness starts to blur
the smile that reaches its eyes
and I wonder
if it's still me looking at my reflection
or my reflection looking at me
and wondering
about the smile on my face
When you look in the mirror, do you wonder, too?

Wishing for the Seas

They say the cure for everything is salt water
Tears, water, or the sea
Because I would not go to sea
Won't the sea come to see me?

Would the waters rise in this city
Till waves lap on my feet
Small fish eat the dead skin
While all around me people swim

I want to breathe the ocean air
I've heard it's pretty fucking lit
But I won't get out of this room
Poseidon, just get on to it

Send me a wave or a thousand
Let the cars float on tides
For when the water rises
It won't take anyone's side

My heart flooded.

Sunday, September 3, 2017

the fist

life's fist, is the size of a comet
hurtling through space for the face
of some unsuspecting victim
instead of me, i'm glad it's him

it shatters through the skin and bone
smashing the face into the ground
where there was a face now only pulp
and pulp doesn't make a sound

a burning track of destruction
lies smoldering in its wake
when the fist of life judges you
you just can't get a break

and so the broken man lies
in a heap of dust and tears
a shattered present, a negative future
add to sum of his fears

I've not written in a long time. It's time to change that.