Wednesday, May 22, 2019

And I Pray

Not a religious man
But some days I too
Close my eyes
Fold my hands
Whisper prayers to
Any god that will listen
Beg and plead
With voice quaking
In need of direction
Some source of action
But all I hear is static
Perhaps all gods are dead
Perhaps they ignore me
Just like everyone else
And I fall fall fall
Deeper, sinking into the mire
Till all that remains
If a pair of folded hands
Above the scum of the earth

Dead gods don't get signals through.

Saturday, May 18, 2019


blessed are those that do not feel
the need, the lust, the hunger
perhaps they are cursed too
inert in their satisfaction

there is a always a price to pay
we all choose our sacrifice
when the cinders are flamed to life
framed by a blood-streaked grin

perhaps this dream will never end
there will be no awakening
the planet will cease to spin
like the hands of a broken clock

and then a hammer will fall
to strike down the unbelievers
but will it be that impressive
if there is no one there to feel it?

Look, we are in this together and I am not done yet.

Tuesday, May 7, 2019


fragmented fever dreams
slip and slide
through the playground mind
makes no sense
no rhyme
a bored dystopia
another day another pain
from something that is yet
and so it will remain
the zombies shuffle
necks bent and fingers sticky
sliding on drool slicked screens
searching for new dreams

Monday, May 6, 2019


here's something for you to wear
it's nothing complex, just a mask
to cover the mask that you wear
hide yourself well, so they can't tell
how you feel underneath your skin
the face you were given
isn't that a mask too?
How are you feeling today?
How are you really feeling today?
Is everything okay?
Does it hurt anywhere?
Are you scared?
Pull this mask over your head
Everything is alright
Breathe in and breathe out
No need to fight

With the flow
You know?

Imagine Pacman, but with teeth!

Friday, May 3, 2019


in the pit of your stomach
at the bottom of your soul
a heat grows
till it's uncomfortable
then morals defenestrate 
ego crawls back in its hole
and what's left is
a naked need
that's all
after the aftermath
pick up the wilted pieces
to build the walls
once more
till it's time
to break them down

A study in our sins.

Thursday, May 2, 2019


conversations dwindle
lines of communication grow slack
only words that do the needful
all others are kept back (by choice)

we fill our heads with noise
our eyes with bright colors
to stave off the cleaving
that's stressing the cracks (that no one mentions)

maybe we were born with these imperfections
perhaps we picked them along the way
now the glue that held the pieces together
is drying and flaking off at the seams (whispered screams)

every night we suffer the dreams
of what could have been or how it should be
the world is not a hell hole yet
but it's on its way

The c-train continues. Are you having fun yet?

Wednesday, May 1, 2019


look up
raise your digits to the sky
hands folded in prayer
waiting for signals
that will show you a path
waiting for the answers
to the questions you have asked
but the blue skies
are just that
chill in their silence
while the vines crawl up your spines
the green rust curdles your blood
the leaves take over your skin
till you are nothing
but antennas
raised to indifferent skies
waiting for signals
that will never come

No answers, man. There are none.