Tearing out the insides
by pushing all the same old
buttons by hitting them
ripping open the old scars
at threats of drowning
burning our old literature
controlling MY fire
yet the bonfire grows larger
next to me blue flames grow
Needing a pit to release the
pain, the anger, the daily grind
she can find those buttons that
make the furnace come on and I
try and find the those that keep it cool
But when with a limited time in
a world away from here.
finding pieces of bark throughout
the daily times I throw out the
back window trying to forget
or hope the planet fell off the
place she was standing…
mean of me to say,
mean of me to stay.

The warm water wipes away all there is
the warm water bares our skin and shows
though the make-up and daily grime
we get into place in a tight space
When the water gets hotter
we kiss and the flow slows
or is that time?

turning her black hair sudsy and white
the soft soap runs down her silky body
I am drowning on my knees in sweet honey
we risen away the white, we re-sin, later that night
covered in the sheets, covered in pleasure, covered under The dark candle light.

Enjoying her deep blue eyes hiding behind her black hair
smooth skin running on forever, running to the tips of the
toes, tracing little circles up to the tops of any peak, and making
the last summit mount with my lips sealed tight around the pink.
I could last until the end of time, here and not notice the world
outside with wars and madmen running the show.
I can forget about everyone else I've ever shared a bed
with. I can forget my troubles I can forget it all. A perfect
drug one that makes you forget, better then the rest you
could smoke or drink. One that puts a smile on your face
and relaxation with a rub down.

The red moon rises above the dark clouds
the city lights start to flicker and fight
the darkness, I am standing looking
over by the battle scene and taking
in all that there is.
my eyes turn towards the sun flowered
eyes next to me, guided by some unknown
force our lips meet and lock and hold,
as a moment gives way to a minute
it seems to last forever and take no
time at all. We wander back down
the hill we climbed, and see just
all who have come before in these
modern times those city lights
flicker and fight the darkness.
that red moon hanging low in the air,
my muse is there at my side griping
tight to me. We gaze long and hard
out over the sea of lights, lost in each
others eyes, we only find a soft smile
that runs to those minutes that turn to
moments that linger on forever
as our lips meet again in the dark air
I feel nothing, but something special
is a brew in this brisk winter wind.
spring is coming and coming quickly
yet still so far away from the things
that are now, and that have happened.
this feeling is happening and it has
come back to me like the muse
that has her hold tight around my waist
I bend and bow my head low drawn towards
those lips in the dark the ones that draw mine to
them. This is something that’s going to stay with
me and have a tight hold for many more dark nights
with red moons hanging low in the air.

So new
so interesting
I cant wait to know
so much more.
I already know so much
more so then anyone else
I have known before.
Love hasn’t come this quick
But it can’t be anything else.
Hiding in plain sight.
right under my nose.
passing in the same halls
and yet not once did I notice
her passing by except as
another face in the crowd.
but now she has left her
mark on my heart.
and in my mind
her thought runs rampant.
her thoughts run always
through me, I cant wait
for our next meeting
one that our lips are going
to miss being apart for
so long as the ride down.

breaking hearts
breaking heads
breaking down the walls
breathing in the black smoke
breathing in the darkness
puffing out gray or is
that just my breath.
i was once pure
i was once at peace
i was once nobody
and i still am.
i am black
i am evil
by many peoples standards
the dam needs to break
and it should soon
but this isnt helping
my words flow.

its been long and it might even take a little longer, but it will come and it will come in floods...

"Putting Holes Into Happiness."
Kneel down humble men and become the height of our children. Let your heart crawl into your knee and realize that all knowledge lives through imagination. This is the nursery business, always get a photocopy.

Our cultures may continue to disintegrate but we just rebuild with abusement parks, filming the process and replaying it as situation comedy. We wear ribbons, hold hands, celebrate and concentrate on camps that train our kindergartens to shout out "star-spangled" banter.

We will medicate the lunacy of "degenerate" art with heavy doses of old-fashioned (original recipe) family virtues.

"Let's make sure all of these offensive forms of entertainment are shown publicly, and burned immediately as a warning to us all!"

In the meantime, try to stay conscious. We are sitting in the EMERGENCY ROOM waiting for the doctor, a newly elected aesthetician, to come and pronounce his diagnosis. The grotesque, malignant cancer that is our expressions and our views is no longer the disease. We are being told that the sounds and images of art are now the symptoms of the creator. We as the artists, are now considered unhealthy and incurable.

Let me remind you that the deformed scar of one man, is "love's pretty dimple" to me. The generation that lived through WWII accepted the concept of "total violence" as a solution to the world's problems. The mathematics of creative suffering and the milk of human violence are the formulas that our grandparents bottled and passed down to our parents.

These are the "traditional" values that have built "protective," moral walls around our children's world. And it is, indeed, a small world after all.

MM
AD

Thinking of paths I could have taken
thinking of things I never did,
wondering what would be if I had
leaned over the battle and laid
a kiss on those too soft lips
the wavy brown hair distracting
the battle to the side lines
seeing a white loss on the verge
such a silly slow game; damn that hair.
Yet its so silky soft shiny it draws the eyes,
inwards to those soft brown eyes, and the
small softly featured nose, and that only leads
down to those too soft lips and from
there my eyes don’t wander
but mind does.
to those paths I didn’t take
to that fork I didn’t turn right at
to those small things, that
no one ever thinks twice about,
too late.

Here I am lost in my own little world
eyes closed too tight,
trying to write, and it
comes out like shit.
sleep is too far to be
noticed in any fashion
I am lacking all passion
for this babble, for what
I am attempting to write
about wrong and right.
so blah blah blah,
and a ……

The sky shows the future.
the sky shows now.
the night sky shows the distance past
and you thought those stars where still alive.

right now the dark blue sky loses me in the
depths, and sadness. But dead (white is) ahead,
it brings joy and happiness, in small amounts
hiding behind brown locks, the rain hides.
such pale white, hiding the sun the away,
Shooing it with such ease, the clouds offer
relief in a soft hug.

as I turn the corner I see the white turn black,
and the rain comes in floods, flows, and faucets
open wide. The day gets dark and the lights
flip on, I can see but how fast can my wipers
clean my view? How much longer will they last?
As I sped my way home towards, life.
I am forgetting the bad and what got me there.
but remembering why I came.
a soft touch, and a gentle voice such sweetness
cant be known to this world.
its marked and turns angry and mean,
but with just cause, I am there,
I witness, how close death can come
and I nearly dealt a hand my self in a slaying
but with the soft fog next to me, enveloping my senses,
I don’t move a finger, or a lay down a fist.
instead I look forward to sometime when the fog
is there with just me, and with no distractions, I can
breath deeply her scent.

Its getting late I should sleep, it is nice but if I could
I’d be up with you chatting the night away.
if I had it setup we could be playing a game of chess.
We could be at the movies, chewing on popped corn.
if I had it my way we would, but sleep and other things get in the way.
as thoughts of what could have been float through my head.
I look forward to tomorrow and a day with some practice.
If I could embrace you once and again, I would smile.
in your arms, I am feeling safe, I wonder about pity
but it is dismissed, it’s more of missing a soft hand
and a warm body, then anything else.
small and silly and soft white queen,
what are your dreams?
what are your fears?
are they one and the same?
are they mine or are mine yours?
I don’t know until I dream…
and here they come……….Zzz

A soft small white queen.
she daftly moves into place
into my arms, between my defenses.
a white queen with a far off love.
beating back black but besieged in her own ways
I slip I slide, I stumble.
I don’t fall, I don’t plunge.
she warns me of the cliff
and puts up a wall.
Same thoughts, same mantras beat in our minds.
a small white queen, has come to me.
white and black mix, gray is expected but not received.
not one color wins, but red.
a passion, joined together, for hate, for love, for battle and war.
we build and work, not showing anything.
we wait, and I find I am starving before a feast but only waiting for the dinner bell to ring.

I need to explain some stuff to some people mostly gCD.
gCD is used in replace of the word god.
I believe in chaos as a god.
It dictates every thing we do or say.
Its where we came from, that freak asteroid or comet hitting the right patch of water, sparking life, chaos.
Chaos is what decides if you live or die, get hit by a bus or born with a cancer causing gene.
Now D is a different story.
you first must read Huxley’s Brave New World.
D is for drops.
Drops are Time, death, and god
but that’s not how Manson spells god
its D-R-U-G-S.
I am not talking illegal drugs, I am talking about the natural ones that flow to your brain.
serotonin (the happy drug), testosterone (the male sex drive on the autobahn in a high performance sports car).
so god is Chaos, God is drops, god is not some invisible man who knows all and sees all.

I should be reading
I am not,
I am writing
the muse has her hold
its struck again.
and I wonder how things are going to turn out.

I should be doing my laundry
I am not,
I am here, not wanting to sleep.
I am here because something happened tonight
that hasn’t happened in long time.

I should be finding the tangent of X
I am not
I am writing,
I found something out today,
something I had hoped for,
and dreamed of, now I rest
my head and dream of it more.

She slips past,
her sweet scent blowing by.
smart and funny, quick and sharp.
She has a small bleached queen.
She is pure, and wholesome.
while I have become black.

she moves her white horse out.
always her first move.
she doesn’t see me move in,
black and corrupted,
my own black knight.

as we battle and the chaos ensues,
in black night, my own strikes deep.
her white queen falls and topples,
bright white, turns blood red,
turns dark black as my knight moves in,
And takes the space next to hers.
this battle is a loss for her,
this battle has been won,
and she fights the next day.

The things I shared with you are staying that way
The places I went with you and just you are ours.
sentient Sentiment a rock, a movie stub, a branch, a piece of a planet.
An omelet reminds me of a day so not, so long ago, but after
The drama and the history it was long ago.

Seeing a sweeping beauty waltz into the local music, and being attacked from behind
By the black haired Baldwin, bringer of Betsey, bringer of the best. The toad, talked to me first, within our first exit and discussion on the inferno we had eloped with arms.

Sitting next to a haloed angel, with branches for a crown, and a court jester of chasing squirrels the butterflies leap from my stomach to my throat to my mouth to my ears. As I wait for a replay I hear, not, and then sure, and leap to me feet hearing only s, and not n. I wait for our first eloping of the lips, for under the same tree, and I am blown away, and the tree doesn’t even bend a brow.
I remember the good, she remembers the bad, and I know why, her teddy bear family is whole, while mine is falling apart at the base, she can afford to remember the bad because its so small, while mine is too large, I cant forget it, but I don’t remember day to day, if I did, id be darker, or whiter. I remember the good, the tree, the sunsets, the balconies.

Its too late to sleep
Its too early to be up
Waiting for something
Waiting for someone
I don’t know how many more
Ways I can put it with out repeating
Myself but then everything
Is just a copy of a copy
And every now and then
Somebody hits the darker
Button on the machine
And out spits something a little
Better, or worse depending
On what you like or don’t.
I am for the new.
I am against the old
But that’s the
Teen angst in
Me.

Looking at old movies,
of a punk band I didn’t see
on a date, at a venue, where I wasn’t.
looking at it and thinking, while the
cameraman was in the balcony of the
Times in trees, and theaters.
Late nights, long hours in the park,
To illiterate somebody else’s name
Same letter, stuck on my phone,
reading and not thinking,
Almost as bad as crying
Out another lover’s name in
Bed,
Worse on the street.

Reading old books,
On the way to the coast.
Listening to your soft voice
Describe this planet and that.
The one, I was on was love, not this one.
I was happy, I was smiling genuinely
And not just showing my teeth.
I still have the rock, and
Two.
Chunks of my heart.

Looking at old notes.
From a lover.
From a hater.
both are the same.
except the notes from the lover
Aren’t there and never were.
Leaving me with hate
the door slammed shut,
And I am waiting for it
Creak open and say,
Something besides ….ok….
In response to my emotions.
Still waiting for someone to save me
Still wanting
you,
and no one else.

Artists

Artists Are an interesting bunch of people. With out artists life becomes dull, culture’s fade and everything slowly loses life and vibrancy. Each artist has his own style and way of looking at art. The way it effects his fans and audience with each piece of work or his art in the entirety is the value of the artist. Artist aren’t in the norm of every day people they are most things but average. Welcome to the world of the weird and strange welcome to the artist’s world.
Meet Jared Burchett a new and improving artist. Instead of the normal artist with pictures and pants, he uses words. "With words everyone can interrupt and draw up a metaphor to mean something for them, to relate back to them, making words as universal as the langue, and maybe even beyond that." Jared muses. He is 6'1" and blonde, usually clad in black, and smiling; despite on the way to being orphaned in the near future, but then again aren’t we all? As apposed to a book or a gallery, Mr. Burchett use the all to common form to transmit his work, the Internet. " With the net it can be accessed by anyone who stumbles on it or can use a computer, its a canvas ready to be painted." As he continues on about his work "I don’t free write or have a disordered theme. Most of it is ordered and has a common theme, if not to the point of using syntax in my writing, it all has its own style each piece has its own life." Well isn’t that all fine and dandy?
Of course we are talking about an artist here, not some average Joe. His inspiration comes from many sources and idiosyncrasies in life, the irony, the details, the fruit of life; all provide for their own little thoughts and musings. His ergonomic keyboard and Microsoft Word are his supplies. His Site Http://sanelyinsane.blogspot.com is his work, not all of it but the majority of it is there, for anyone and everyone to read. “There is a warning though, that goes along with it, these are my uncensored thoughts and feelings” as he continues on “censorship of any kind should be outlawed, but not in this country it seems we like to protect our children from ‘dirty words’, and other obscene objects. Obscene to who? Is my question. I find many things some people to do be obscene to the point of insanity, but before I offend sensitive ears, I’ll quit here but not on my site.” Jared has many complaint but also has much to contribute to an intelligent argument, on most subjects, including feasible solutions to most of societies problems. With all of this he yet still remains a high school student and diligent newspaper reporter for the promethean.
.

Crushing on someone
wondering if its just you
because they seem to
attract eyes, and lewd thoughts.

you have a Crush on
someone you loved
I’ve got a crush on
the same old one.
and she doesn’t
have one on me

Crushed is where you left
me drunk and in the drain.
wishing for you back.
waiting for the rain.
the cold shower washes
away most of the pain
seeing her leave,
and waiting for the sun.

I haven’t updated it seems for forever. So I am piling all of it into a massive update that will probably last till tomorrow morning, I am at my most lyrical when the clock is pushing one or two and the owls asleep, when my rational side has since begun to snore in his slumber. To keep from telling me that I am foolish for writing, and that no one is going to read let alone enjoy my ramblings. Someone criticized me for something I wasn’t even doing, they called my rants free writes things with out focus. While my rants my jump from short bounds of logic they are not free writes… aside from stealing song lyrics or rearranging palahnuik quotes/ideas/themes, I think I may actually do some real writing.

damn me and my delayed reactions, damn her and her delayed forgiveness. Maybe its just me but seems the time I get worked up is the same time she decides to forgive me. Sorry before the complaint leaves her mouth as I realize my mistake before she has to call me on it. and this makes her mad… and I get hit, but its not felt, until she forgives me, making me mad later. We have the same amount of delay for different emotions and it sucks, mine is anger hers is forgiveness, she has a knee jerk for anger and I have knee jerk for forgiveness what an interesting couple....

Rant, Rant. Rant, on what?
I am not sure I know I am probably lost in a chant.
I have my ideas for my own public humiliation.
I have my words that fill my head.
I have my feelings that fill my heart
if she doesn’t love me why cry when I say nothing worse then she said to me?
I don’t think we hate each other. I know I don’t hate her. I lover her.
I know that somewhere at sometime she loved me. She doesn’t think
my cure for my problems is her. I do. I know when I was with her I was happy.
I am enjoying life, but I am not happy. I am not content,
I am not in the arms of my angel haloed by the sun and our tree.
I am not beside her when the sunsets on the city.
It causes me pain. I wish I could go back to those days.
the asshole left, the fucking wonderful guy he’ll be back soon I hope.
right now I am not me,
right now I am not here,
right now I am not sure what planet I am on let alone species I am.
as of now my history is lost,
maybe my queen can fix it…

I am de-evolving, I am reverting back to a subhuman species one that is either violent or libido driven. Want nothing more then to inflict a bear emotion, a fuck and a fight, one has fists and another has a cock some times its hard to tell which is which. Like wind in a tornado not knowing which end is up and down or right or wrong or left. Not wanting to write about love. no one besides me myself and I to fight. Sounds good, and a wall to punch makes it feel alright. Maybe its time for another emotion but 3 makes a crowed so sleep takes love, takes hate, and takes all. Good night

Where to start? How about the end? How about the start? How about both?
an end to one, a new start, too much shit, how I hate it, I have too much to say and not enough energy to say it in, I left my heart in ranch records with an uttered hey and a recoiling stomp. I moved on it hurt but I drown the pain. How I Hate her. I am starting to despise her, and her smug mocking. She doesn’t speak, she doesn’t care neither do I, in hate we are together where there was love. I moved forward, I quit, I gave up. A weekend that is fuzzy in my head, a weekend that left me with a lack of feeling for anything or anyone. My inspiration has dried and died, with my love. its gone it went away. Why bother putting my self back though torture? I hate so very much I never thought it would be her. I hate how she is smug and rude. I hate how she mocks me. I hate how she mishears things. I hate how she can fuck with me like she does. I hate how she can make me feel like shit. I hate so very much about her, her smell one thing that I found sweet has turned pungent and vile. There is no hope, I have given up. But what I really hate is how much I really do LOVE her.

sorry i have had lack of inspiration as of late too busy too much shit, oh well, ill post soon as i think of something....

With a kiss you aren’t the only one, with a kiss there is another, even sex can be done solo but a kiss, there is something about the lips of someone when they meet it’s like nothing else the one part everyone has but it’s taken for granted like so much. The curve of a woman’s body is like no mountain road, its like no sweeping landscape its unmatched, and each woman has her own unique curve fuck snow flakes, as I run my hands down her back I feel her spin curve and the bumps of each vertebrate, my fingers feel and my eyes see as each has her own, I could get lost in the curves of the breasts, stuck in a circle, stuck in paradise’s heaven. But a woman’s lips hold the true power, for behind them speaks the voice, soft and sweet she can coo, sweet and harsh she can spit and what she says, is all the more intriguing.


(reposted due to popular demand)

Wrapped in gold, a tiny circle.
my finger encased.
a place in my heart isn’t being ripped to shreds like the rest.
its unwavering, its solid, its not going anywhere.
many have come and many have gone.
you will stay. You where there since I was.
always loving. always caring an infinite amount to be given
a nonfinite amount to be received. Giving on the good.
giving in the bad. Holding on tight to what I see and feel.
holding on tight to you gripping and squeezing.
never wanting to let go, never wanting to grow up.
I am here now, I am here forever.
I will weep, I will cry, I will step forward,
but will look back though sad eyes with a smile.
and remember the good nights and the bright days.
I have changed from a small boy to a larger one.
I have changed from what I was to what I am now.
I haven’t changed all that much from what you know me.
my views on the world have become enlightened and my view
on me has changed too. I am not one of the “normal” people.
you know that, I know that, I relish in that fact, why be with
the sheep when you can take charge and change your wool to black?
to standout to be noticed not as someone who follows but takes charge
and Leads, not as someone who moos and bleats, but someone who cries out
with a voice, that’s mine, I am me, you are you, and that’s all there is to it.
I know one day you will leave I know one day I will too.
I already miss you and there’s nothing I can do to stop you from going.
I love you so. I know you love me. This will carry on in thought
in deed in word in life and in death.

The leash is getting too long I must be going
I hit the black and white wall at 71
I see the lights flash and I am already over
with this my social life feels free to suicide
I hand over EVERY thing I wanted or cared about
I have lost it all. Its over but I will live on
the last post for now mail me please.
I am under house arrest. No music, no friends, pleasure
I am saying good bye to all from here, saying good bye to
the one I love. I miss her so. I can’t bear to see her go.
I am sorry for all of the stupid things I have done.
I will pay with blood and sweet, I will pay with my joy.
I wont let it happen again, if it’s the last thing I do.
I was just being a nice guy by helping people out.
I was just trying to be a nice guy, but as we all know
nice guys finish last.


I am not going to be here for awhile.
I cant say how badly I feel. I am not sure how much longer I am going to be able to write
before my tears are doing the typing. I am done I am finished, I am as good as dead, only to be resurrected soon enough.

too much crap going to be lyrical fuck this shit, i hate it so much. maybe i will copy it and make my self a private one one that after 3 months of not posting it will be deleted.. lost forever like something that was dear to me, i used and abused and kicked around. something i didnt want to do but did anyway. fuck i said to much, i didnt say enough. enough of this SHIT. i hate how you play with my heart i hate how i play with yours.
Devi says:
i hate you.

that makes two.

Where has your prince charming gone?
Where has that guy who is fucking wonderful gone?
where is that one you love?

he went with a goodbye
he went with away with 99 days
he turned into the asshole you see

can he return?
will he be back?
when?

yes
maybe
its your call not mine

breaking a monogamous friendship
one that was seemingly in place
for a “single” man.

a minute can last an hour
a day can last a minute
when you’re hated and in love

a bottle, a piece of glass, and a love note inside?
a thick clear liquid, with repercussions and a sickly taste.
not fun on the way down, in the middle high as a kite, and a headache after the fact.

laying with two unknowns,
and not knowing how
or why, a drunken lust not love.

self hatred comes shortly after
self harm comes next,
wanting to forget all

a sponge might have a better life
no feelings no love no hate.
no broken heart.

my stomach is hallow, as is my chest
it seems my heart isn’t beating as strong as it was before.
something might have died inside

it might not come back
I might not want it to
it will end someday

And I will be back here
but at the moment I would kill
for one more carefree day

I would break
I would bleed
I would murder

but in the end if it called for it
I would move on
I would look back though my tears and step forward

this isn’t going to make it better
this isn’t going to solve anything
but it will help me

I send this to deaf ears
I call to blind eyes
I listen for a mute voice calling back

waiting to hear


waiting to see

wanting you to be happy

wanting to kiss away your tears

wanting to not play with your fragile heart

hearing nothing seeing nothing

I whisper

I love you

I shout

I AM SORRY

and I cry in futility

i didnt sleep last night if you need to get a hold of me call or mail me (looks in your at you yah YOU) i am believeing at the moment there is truely no rest for the wicked.........
*is plasterd to the computer screen*
oh gCD tomorrow is going to suck.
*yawns and sprouts horns*

With things going like they are now
youth will be strangled
with things going this way like so much
poor will freeze
with the people in power now
things aren’t going to change
its time to call up arms
its time to change
to switch,
into something different
better for those who want
death of those who don’t
it will be quick, if things
work right, it will end
with things not like now
it will end with things better
for us, not then, the mob
chanting, the mentality
moves, pulsating
pushing, with
which the hollow
voices resound
off the walls,
the jail cells,
the modern jungle,
the sky scrapers,
falling, echoes
rebound, kill the rich,
while they reverberate,
the rich fall,
the bars break,
the walls crumble
monkies bring down the jungle
and the sky blocking trees tumble.
the sun rises,
the youth
breath, sing, dance,
no longer a wage slave
no longer flippin’ burgers
no longer held down.

The past is history
the future is a mystery
the present is a gift
that’s why it’s the present.
“who controls the past” ran the party slogan, “controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.”

Something on my back itches.
something there that’s not right
maybe it’s just me, but I think not.
the whole the present is a gift saying,
its crap.

the past is the true gift, hind sight
is something everybody wants.
without the past, the present is nothing,
but the time from now to now.
oh look see it went away,
wasn’t that fast?

Even live television is delayed, everything
happens in the past, even light can only
travel so fast. And you think that’s
a sunset you are watching?
correction the sun set 8 minutes ago.
it’s all history, you just don’t know it.

the true power is in the past,
bend the minds teach a false history
then destroy the evidence of the
truth, its just that easy, you wouldn’t
even have to destroy, just warp and twist
and you have the future in your pocket.

with the past one could predict,
the future, (if you didn’t have control) because time is nothing more,
then a cycle, it repeats with each revolution.
this group saying YOU CANT DO THAT TO US
the other group says WATCH US!

and a war starts.
and millions die
and a country either gets freedom
or repression
and it starts again.

it’s the future, where life will be
it’s the future we make for me and you.
if we make it there.

Feeling dejected and dead.
elders will die, sometimes before,
sometimes after, lets lose this one,
someone we should thank for our lives
someone who brought us into the world
just left.

I speak not for me or you but our generation,
one day we will be that old guy, or grandma.
we let them pass and get a day off, the generation gap
too big to be herd across, to large for sound to reach
the other side.

with life the begging and it will end.
it’s the cold hard truth, sorry there isn’t anything else I can say.
silence is the best answer, companionship the best action.
we will lose the people we know and care about,
or we may lose ourselves, it’s a matter of
time, luck, and/or Chaos.

i close my eyes, i see your face.
i close my senses to the world, i feel you still there.

spotting a striped someone standing alone, in the cold
i offer my second skin, she accepts, and thanks me.

with this we wait, not paying attention to the green.
with this we chatted, and i find she is waiting.

for someone else, unlucky break, but luck comes and goes.
i move along down the lines; ready to be hurt.

the hurting is something that's not done with intention
but it is done, like every thing else, just the same.

i may get chosen i may get passed along, i may even
get my own say in the way things happen but you never know.

maybe sometime later maybe some time now,
i will get to walk the line and pick.

at the moment i am happy, or so i think
is that hunger for substance or soul?

is that hunger for me or you?
excuse me while i drift off.

excuse me while i wait, stand
aside, to see what may happen and

what will be, chances are they may be the same
but the off chance is the key, the one i wait for.

as i pop and duck my way into the stream, i see
a familiar face here and there.

friends long in speaking with and the one who waited.
with this we chatted, and i find she waited and was betrayed

back stabbed by a trustee, secrets told and known
with no defense; none at all, just a thick hide to

protect and defend, just like my second skin.
orphaned and left, just like me.

seeing you and not feeling you
is worse then not seeing you at all.
feeling you inside, next to my lungs,
i know you are there even when you aren't
within reach, i wonder where you are now...
fighting off sleep with an insomniacs uncanny
ability. trapped between a mother bear
and her cub, please excuse me while i move.
before i get mauled further.
would you mind not chewing on that?
do you mind while i beat this dead horse?

There is no God to which i crumble
No book that numbs my doubts in you

I woke up free today
As free as I can be should I say?

Did you not realize this could happen?
Or how many would doubt the words of fools?
The strong you cannot 'enlighten'
The strong you will not frighten

Turn your cheek to that

this is one i found stumbling around one night online i liked it so much i put it as my signature.

Victims come and go
Victims who’s playing that role tonight?
who gets to be the one slashed?
Who gets to be the one cut up?
The one in the middle getting, fucked.
Being cheated by the world and its fair play.
been cheated by the world, who hasn’t?
But that’s why its gCD isn’t it?
C is one of the gods major parts…

3 makes things better, in most areas, except the bed.
empty accusations, pointing fingers, wildly firing.
putting me between a rock and a hard heart,
what a silly place I find myself.
excuse me while I move.
breaking a bond I don’t want to.
excuse me when I put the glue back in place.
and step aside, while I retract said statement.
I beg forgiveness at your feet.

by the way if you see something in ( ) its me speaking to you YAH YOU look at you just sitting there wasting your time reading this go out and do something else. and it has nothing to do with the poem or writing or what ever....() (now leave go away i dont you here why would I want YOU here?).

Tearing into me words,
that you say or don’t.
tearing into me fists that don’t hurt,
flying like rage.
tearing into me tears,
that fall from your eyes not mine.
the betrayal of trust.

falling from me drops of water
from dried and blind eyes
falling from me drips of red
from a thorn that wasn’t there (go ahead and check the rose)
falling from me, you.

hitting the top
hitting the last chord,
hitting all alone.
hitting the bottom of the rope
in a noose.

all in my head sights of you,
happy, sad, mad.
all in my head your scent
your hair, your clothing.
all in my head feeling you,
next to me, in my heart.
all in my head you were hating me.

Lets move out of the organized crap that has recently been clogging my brain, and lets move into free form ranting, you have to love it and if you don’t why bother reading this just skip ahead. It will turn lyrical in a second, like all things I try to write why put time into it if you sound like Ben Stein calling for Farris Beullar. Monotone and bland, like recycled food, shit brown, recycled culture everyone steals something from someone, the bible, Wicca; Shakespeare, the bible; everyone else, everything else. Its called the langue of English, the western world, you cant copyright the letter A so why even bother? Its all been said its all been done, there is no way too get out of the cycle of shit… well there is but you wouldn’t like it much; better just to deal with it. even if you thought of it first you didn’t, look harder in other places where angels fuck and devils kiss. Never mind my rambling its late I haven’t slept, if I don’t make sense, do I care? I might decide to fix it some time I might not ever, again deal with it.

Saying some things that should be
unsaid is the joy of pissing people off.
Telling them exactly what they do NOT want to hear.

Saying things that should be
said is the joy of making people happy.
telling them exactly what they want to hear which is the truth. (most of the time)

to hold the one that’s not in my heart.
to hold the one that should be sitting where you are.
to hold the one that I am is a lie.

this fake.
this fraud .
this liar.

it burns me inside to hold her.
it burns me inside to hear you say don’t touch me.
it burns me inside where you have touched between my ribs.

the short person.
the small person.
the good friend.

when it’s her instead of you.
when its you instead of her.
when it’s me and you I am happy.

holding something that doesn’t belong.
holding something that shouldn’t be there.
holding someone who shouldn’t be in my arms.

the tall one.
the one I loved.
the beauty I had.

the beauty I have lost.
the beauty that brings pain.
the beauty that could kill


and I wouldn’t Care.

I had this idea,
earlier in the day.
I had it,
and tried to
hang on to it
it didn’t work
I lost it
the muse
flew far and fast

I had this idea
it changed on me
it told me one thing one day
and another the next
this idea it changed
the muse became a hag

I had this idea
I thought I knew
I had it in my grasp
under control
in my power
and it didn’t last
the muse I had to abuse

I had this idea
it was mine
it wasn’t only mine
it was yours just as well
I am sure you have had it too
this idea of
love.

well that was a backlog of things i needed to get out, there is some of mine some were in here, oh well. is it just me or would it be ironic if i went insane?

A victim you call me, a victim I become, a lover you call me, Casanova doesn’t hold a candle to the son, you create pain I turn the weapon upon the maker and let reign my arrows and solid steel fist, it is said you cant squeeze blood from stone but you may get a tear from me when the finial blade hits its mark, you are the best the sharpest the brightest the sleekest and you find your mark, my heart, quite well. I am sorry if haven’t shown you how I feel, but how can this thing feel like I do? This little faces make no true emotion happy sad to the barest mocking, the love I felt and do feel from time to time now and again, I hope comes back. With this being said I must say good night.

my ragged breath comes now to me, I cant breath and not feel the rib where you broke your way in, where you feasted and forgot, where you said so much and so little to heal, where your anger is showing through. I miss you, I miss you when my day was filled with you and nothing but you, I miss you today, I miss no other like I miss you. I have loved no other like I love you. It is something that is returned, my romance is running out I have been pouring my hearts blood out and its not being refilled, or even returned except with anger, and its like filling me up with oil; its just not working. I believe I need to fill my self with your sight your presence you being around me should do it I hope. Right now I need your response to me; I need to see your view. This isn’t made for a fall into guilt it’s for a fall further into love, and I am with you in the trip or I am already down there deep. I am stuck here for another 6 days by myself; I can last if I see you on the 7th day. I am sorry if I missed a sign or took a wrong turn, and said something stupid. You hurt me tonight, badly, and I don’t think you even realized it; Carlei even saw it. As I spiraled into my own pain and self loathing I see a sparkle of hope, a gleaming brilliant toad, it glows red, then before I know it, it catches fire and burns me to toast, as I roast and turn on the spit I don’t have time to think or catch the clues, and its no longer my heart being eaten its my being, beginning to get swallowed whole into this depressing place in one I have rarely visited. I become a sponge wanting to be just that no good no bad just mediocre. In this place of reflecting alone and by myself I sit and with no lights no music I think, I know, I am. And then you come and rip it away with your brains and your beauty you take it and don’t give, you suck me dry, never mind my fangs in your neck trying to get back what you are stealing.

I use blades for woman because they can bring joy, and bitter pain, and when you have a woman in your arms, its like having a blade in your hand on one end she can protect you against the world, and with the other she can kill you with just a flip. I am sure the same can be said about a man from a woman’s view

With a kiss you aren’t the only one, with a kiss there is another, even sex can be done solo but a kiss, there is something about the lips of someone when they meet it’s like nothing else the one part everyone has but it’s taken for granted like so much. The curve of a woman’s body is like no mountain road, its like no sweeping landscape its unmatched, and each woman has her own unique curve fuck snow flakes, as I run my hands down her back I feel her spin curve and the bumps of each vertebrate, my fingers feel and my eyes see as each has her own, I could get lost in the curves of the breasts, stuck in a circle, stuck in paradise’s heaven. But a woman’s lips hold the true power, for behind them speaks the voice, soft and sweet she can coo, sweet and harsh she can spit and what she says, is all the more intriguing.

It turns out,
I am in this world,
This world you want dead.
And I don't know why.

It turns out,
You're pointing your guns at me,
Guns fully loaded,
And I don't know why.

It turns out,
She's changing you,
Changing you in ways I can't explain,
And I don't know why.

It turns out,
You've carved me into something,
Something you no longer want
And I don't know why...



A Carlei, if you want more check out here Cell. Go to here for more by her

God bless the good guys, god is nothing more then a make believe invisible man who keeps millions in controller by fear and the good guys that’s a electronics store, what a sick sad world it is. All of it is crap, red tape that needs to be sliced and diced and hacked though. But we need a blade to do it all, we are the wielders of our own destiny or so we are told, in the land of the free and in the home of brave, we don’t have any of those things anymore. You call a hell fire brave? You call freedom this bureaucratic police state?
HA….if this is freedom try buying something they call a weed. Try walking down the street at 1 am, try being different in this society of norms, with the laws set for the majority the minority gets screwed I have said this before but until it changes I am going to keep preaching my words. With Tyler’s eye, all I need is a kiss, a burn, a chemical branding saying you aren’t the only one with these thoughts; there is some one just like you.

The land of the free.
Under the thumb.
Divided and conquered.
TV keeps us numb.
Coast to coast.
A lala land.
From cradle to grave.
With our heads in the sand.
Nice and easy.
A convenience oasis.
Screwed with a chainsaw.
All smiley faces.
Born superheroes.
Mega fantastic.
Serving the one and only god: plastic.

A bang for a buck.
An eye for an eye.
In the U.S. of A.
We just live to die.
American dream.
A lifeless horror.
The western world has no tommorow.
American dream.
Yes , No, Maybe.
American Nightmare.
Wake up baby.

Imperialism with the best of intentions.
Our nation's built on ruthless expiations.
Policing the planet in every dimension.
Protecting the world by armed intervention.
We live to kill and kill to live.
The principle is always take never give.
When cash in hand is the judge and jury.
Things look the best.
When the vision is blurry.

We stick to the rules.
We're polite and pc.
We live and breathe idiosyncrasy.
No need to complain.
Or kickin' up a fuss.
We sold ourselves out.
Now the joke's on us.
Captain America.
Somehow acquitted.
Denial denial.
We all know he did it.
Innocence pride.
Stabbed in the back.
In the home of the brave.
Defense equals attack.

By Destroy_the_orcs@hotmail.com….don’t know who that is but i like it.

A drama student
Though never in a play
Dreams have all been bent
To keep this up all days

She hears the bell ring
And She joins the masses
"Angels" less their wings
Sitting pretty in their classes

A loner with no ties
Class to class She darts
Blonde hair; Blue eyes
She needs to look the part

She wears pink & light blue
With dresses & heels
'Cause that's what girls do
No need to sense or feel

The bell rings the last time
She gets to leave the masses
The "angels" all divine
She holds her breath as she passes

Then she bows to the devils of that day
To hide her head of Faux Blonde hair
Mascara smeared all away
By an endless stream of tears

Here She writes until real late
She didn't want this chore
This unpaid, unknown job She hates
of being a high school actor



Again another Heather, if you cant tell i like her writing.

Beauty is plastic
A rose will always die
Everything's a lie
There is no Romeo
A kiss will never
Heal the slightest wound
No matter how much
Children grow up
You sweet mother coos
Those monsters you fear
Not under the bed
But outside your window
The real truth I know
To be accepted
You have to conform
Since the time you were born
Color inside the lines
Ignoring the truth
Confirming to the lies
And all hope dies.


ok i didnt write the words but i did order them this way (another heather peom).

I am the silence
I am the sound
I am the reason
your stomach drops
your breathing stops
your eyes pop

That far away movement
In the dark, alone
The one you can't see
The one you can't hear
I am the thing that in you strikes fear

I am that thought
In your head I loom
I am that silent creek
the one in the yard
the one in your room

I am the thing
no one wants said
under the bed
in your head

The truth you already knew
Who's really scaring who?
I'm more afraid of you



This one isnt mine but it sure sounds like it. Its by Heather a good friend of mine. You can reach her here .

With a muted voice I cry against the masses.
With a blind eye I witness atrocities.
With deaf ears I see the people.
With that taste on my tongue steeple topples.
With the feeling in my heart I surge forward.
Seeing the ball drop again and again, another year.
Hearing the people yell and scream in my ear.
I taste the bubbles slap my tongue and with that.
Things are changing or so they say, but for what.
Goodbad, nicevil, rightly wrong, depending on the side.
Each is right, one mans freedom fighter is another terrorist.

I am waiting probably in vain.
I am here now.


It is coming soon.
It is rising.
It is crying out with a muted voice.


People are realizing they are living a lie.
People see they are blinded now.
People are being lead, but are changing.
People aren’t leaden any more as alchemy happens.


They are going to rise.
They are going to revolt.
They are ready.
They just don’t know how.
They are just waiting for the cue.
They are just starting.

We are waiting for war.
We have their voices.
We have their fists.
We have our weapons of mass distraction ready.
We have our police state just waiting.
We have the land of the free by the bills.

She is ready.
She is waiting
She can fight.
She can die.

You and me vs. the American dream.
You and me vs. the Norms.
You and me vs. the world.


Use us,
Abuse us,

and die…

here this is elizabeth, she is on the outside, she is the view get used to it.