before the middle, ending the beginning

i don't get to sleep... i don't get to have the love...
restless world settles around me...
there isn't a resting for this heart...
always further than arms length...
there is always a restless breath...
even when its bathed in alcohol...
longer nights waiting for the break off...
some kind of silence trying to shake off...
everything that doesn't burn...

given

for every child that breaths fear...
my breath that lacks will hurt for the innocent...
everything is following dream...
no man could give more than the life given...

ha... it happens again

after everything that didn't hit...
and after every name that was unrequited ...
how many hit did it take to sleep...
and forget the epic trial and faith given...
to another one who kept quite...
never a peep of any folly or a win...
it always ends in an angry swallow of emotions...
always followed by the cheapest of rot gut...

white lights

watching the white lights from rear view mirrors, always from behind...
they creep across from dark streets, streets that were never noticed...
they never meet with blessing they just always stare into mirrors...
the lovely dreams are always just beyond the red lights...
everything always seems dim after those reds become white...
its when everything goes black do all those lights be lost...
left holding a line between the dim lights ahead...

here's to finding words later

sneaking past, avoiding looks and situations of shame. In the past few months after the pretty moments that were spoken. words were spoken like a poet but didn't fit in the normal dialog. something in those sentence seemed like truth and to be seen now with the cloak of words was some sort of death...
and if in those days before were less than a dream, this fool was always stepping between being on fire for saying words with more feeling... as a fool these were the only feelings that could spit.
after all is said and lost before the next day... looks are only given, like more than words, a simple grace that only in this painful moment can be left

bottoming out

there are some parts of being from the dirt, that are better than others. but in the sight of making it to a better night, always seems to be spilled on a workers shit with your own name spelled across the right breast.
nothing can be expected more than the "can't stomach them or can't stand them". how many of these insults and depressing nights have to had to find the silver lining?
its a crap shoot hoping on not having a seed grow in that shit kind of life... the cheap whiskey and beer is what fuels, this self loathing about potential.
every drink is the last that will lead to bigger and better fortunes outside of the working class dreams. dreams of crossing the greatest's of oceans that can't be seen from the windows, or running lost across even greater plans where men fought for a glimpse of those oceans.
and when the last call comes everyone always sounds like they're bottoming out till they press their alcoholed blood across a mess of life... something lost or checking out.
everything always seems that proves a 20/20 version of everything till everything is lost with a disruption or complacent falsehood...
always dreaming to see more than the gears, more than the bottle. everyone has to bottom out before they see the fear they hate.
maybe another drink before these questions can be asked again...

If I didn't

I'm a stamped out letter in the mud...
I can say what I mean...
My words are vague and unsure...
If it wasn't for my weakness...
I'd have a photo of a daily failure...

Berserk

Who could find the meaning between breathes...
Don't know why the words have too much...
Even if all was given there couldn't be truth...
But there is no shame in living otherwise...
There is too much to say about anything....

where the fire never caught

between the decades of lost direction, there have been at least two times that my eyes gave way to a weakness. a weakness that i may have wished to have slept through, for better or worst. even when i had to when i had to submit to another, my eyes still held dear the look in the brief moment that i should have chased then and regretted later.

but as with some fates it is better to have acted then to say "better later, than never" not in the story of the heart being love. a child may not know, it only has truth for then and not of any agenda.

from a decade beyond the fight out of childhood, the time was past too many petty sins that didn't matter, but struck a different life afterwards. a night that was breathing fierce alcohol and an anger from losing before this encounter... it was all revenge against the cowardice of youth.

everything was shot down after the guilt of fear in the late lies that wouldn't hold today... too much alcohol and poisons had changed the fate that was in that battle for adulthood.

years to be after in a ram shackled mess a cool black haired beauty questioned my name as truth stared into my heart when i gave her the same when we crossed. we should have run off then but i was still lost in her and confused about what i believed.

after the long breathes i took afterwards it was all over and there came a new darkness that held her that i couldn't fight, it was her drug that she loved more than the fate that was that moment when we lost everything... but nothing came of it other than another dumb drunk fight for remembering another stupid night.

YOUR WORDS YOU EXPECT

If my words were worth the breath...
Would a shiny dime...
Cast a light...
that could fill a stomach...
Even if it was  dark...
What is the worth of some true filth...
That oddly says a truth that rattles beyond one day...
Could that be worth more than a bellys worth...
Forty hours worth gives some faith in those remains given

The real man

I am the real man...
I am not the thin pale aristocrat...
I am the pleb, that cut my hands to eat...
My sweat, my station...
Only give blood to what I say...
I am the real man...
I fought though another day of work...
Of traffic,  of anger, of sickness...
Because to those hungry looking poets...
I work even with these words in my heart...
I have to be the beast, with the mind of a man, and a heart of the poet...
My medicine,  my faith is the real man with grit...
I am the real man...

Between the truth and faith

From the darkness I see less but neon...
In the burnt dark cities, I see more amusements...
If the truth of the shit that made men...
Could last longer than a dream...
All those rough edges are from dreams or poems...
Of idiots who lived deep in the real truth...

like a fool

By night I sit waiting...
For who or for what...
I sleep when it comes...
Always silent and empty...
Am I a fool who waits to believe...
Again how long does this tired night last...
I can remember staying silent too long...

gossiping gospel

You sit and chop away...
 at listening to the gossiping gospel...
From the idiots and liars...
Another morning lost, not doing right by anyone...

quiet crisis

Quiet crisis of no blessing...
Being less than half a drop in five oceans...
Because if it hasn't happened by now...
There is no legacy...
What good is it to make someone happy...
While nearing autumn, the flame is tired by then...
That's a meaning less god gift...
When the pages are frayed...

feeding the silence

Tell me where it seems clear...
If you could spell out the way to me...
Maybe I could find rest...
And not search for something...
I can't find inside my head...
Tell me how to be clear and subtle...
Tell how fix this life the way I wish...
Before the fire and rage for it sinks...
And everything seems the same over and over again...
Stop me from feeding the silence...
Hopping for the answer from no one...

better

I am the mess to be seen slipping...
Better that I fall in my yard...
Than to fight in the street...
Better that I have no children to hate me...
For my health to have no wife

if not

I spill out long ways across an empty expanse of bed..
With a belly full of meager spirits...
Wondering how I am to fit everything together...
Where does my story start...
When am I relevant....
If not why am I...

walking out

Combine everything that you expect and realize what is what you see...
Was everything you expected granted...
Do you get to say with a sigh life is how it should be

some generation

There's no love in this heart...
There hasn't been anything in this mind...
Since the tenderness has been hardened...
Was does it take to figure out the next...

i golem

in all the rough words that seem like blood...
some kinda words that don't fear...
was all for nothing you can understand...
for its too deep of you...

unfiltered idiot

too much words for an idiot...
love or hate couldn't be a truth...
but some confusion that's indifferent to truth...
is all the wage given as a saint...
but not always requested...

some solice

of all the words that stop the world...
they are something like stupidity...
without riches that pay more a few lives daily wages...
even for all the grand words...
all that can be guaranteed is the plebeian life...
for all that expected isn't from the words I speak...

Mind games

I know where all the pieces are on the board...
But for my piece, I am not to have anothers fate...
If what is to be given to me is the same...
I give only to me and walk away into something else...
Because there are so many moves before I'm lost...
Stuck to the bidding of a weak game...
I will find my own answers...

On time

The business end of living...
Words are the explosions...
Ones that have no meaning...
There would be no time...
No time for contemplation...
The seconds need to be in their places...
Diviation is only for living...

Feedback the reverb

If I could lie without a liars face...
Would I be able to stand without skidding down the tracks...
Always searching for a simple cover to get to the next day...
There might be kind of secret about it that doesn't yell...
From hallways lined with empty brown bottles...
Something to beg for and the reason to wake again...
Facing another day as broken glass after saying "goodnight"...
Where in the mystery that doesn't stink of rank hate...
Sleeping to escape more of that limit...

The color is going out

As noir seems the norm, the dawn will break eventually.
But till the end the sickness, of darkness with it forever will hold.
And with any grit, life worth living will a simple scracht... one you can't bear to look at. For once, with the whole be a beat red all over.

A sweet little tale like a beautiful murder

Spent the better part of a decade chasing a stupid hope. Wasting time, money on a thing that wasn't ever sure, always with the faith of it being about timing, like it had to go right at some point.
Funny that now there is no right way to waiting for, none to speak of. So now there is the life, living like its cut down the bone, with a raw nerve exposed and always itching to look for another stupid waste

Some sort

From the shallows screaming about gallows...
Looking really hard to find something...
Bowing and finding reasons to die alone...
Falling on days that shouldn't be believed...
Hoping not to see the sun again...
Living and only see boundless dark night...
Comfort in sleep of sort...

Grit, grim, godawful

Light splashes about with a heat...
And is unwelcomed on mornings unsettled...
The fright of rolling over to hide inside a dizzy head...
Fighting the night all over again...
Trying it again to find something that isn't always...
Where did that peace go to...
Waiting and Hopeing for the darkness to start again...
So that the new fight for some control can playout again...
Behind closed doors these stupid stories only 2 or 3 repeat...
The definition of minds wasted only dreaming again...
Of being some kind of hero and not being just dirt...

Few options

Staying by starlight piecing together missing parts...
Rock n roll keeping together the wasted searches...
Sometimes, everytime never seems enough...
Even if everything there's nowhere else to look...

My words screaming afterwards

To learning how to speak...
With only a bleeding sick vocabulary...
Wishing to speak words without terror...
Pushing at the brave words...
Maybe in this life I could show you...
Once I've found those words...
Without any little help to get me in the door...
So that I'm not out time or place...

Different lives in different lives

I should left more than a decade than to be buried tied to a life of the no ones...
Could have jumped off of mountains into bright cities of culture and love. Or it would have be sleeping in cold bricks, warming with whiskey...
Daring to live as if I don't fall here in my home, where I was born, where the looks I get are of the neighbor who doesn't speak...
Nothing has been betrayed in making a life like my fathers, because he never had the money to spoil me into being frivolous with what little we had...
Sitting as a plebian, dreaming of others lives, making sense and terms of this one...

Where i wasnt part of the story

After cutting away a heart full of anger...
And with time the ice melted...
I learned to laugh again...
Seeing how life moves anyways without me...
I can be happy for you and yours...
I always knew you'd make a gentle mother...
Even before you were...
And with all that I wish you well...
I won't follow you towards your path...

Burning someway

As the night riders flash by...
And weekday buzz fades...
Late night silence becomes the only time...
To see the world, only in darkness and sounds...
No voices, no faces, just this time...
Silence that's less unsettling in time...
The darkness is fitting after the warmth is gone...
This is the place of belonging...
The rushing sounds and lingering haze Highlights...
Everything that don't always fit...
That's why in the end of nights this is it...

Like some sins

I'm not allowed to speak or break some sins...
Anything I'm allowed to do is stare and hope that my hands keep clean...
following words of the righteous...
Everything always seems like rain...
Believing things I hear...
Everything I need, everything I need has to keep me slow...
Some of those days I feel off I miss...

against the summer

I remember staying up late summer nights...
waiting for that single light...
a small invitation to the same reclusive mind...
the one where all the same dreams and hopes live...
again and again do they try to reach the top as original...
night after night waiting out the heat of those summers...
avoid the boiling sweat from another drink...
mornings were always worst than the winters...
were the sleep was easy in rainy days...
but summer has the accusing sun that burns some truths out...

For a purpose

For a young man to find his purpose...
Is his goal in life, before he becomes old...
Its not in someone else make to him a purpose...
That purpose should be a reason of his own...
To find it, after years of clawing through dirt...
With a scream hunger for a companion or a guarantee...
When the wandering has found its end...
Home, for the restful will be in that purpose...

What it almost was

When life happened...
Everyone scattered...
What was the waiting for...
Its like this always...
In all the nights whisper songs...
Of horrible silence...
The pairs found how to kill something...

Fighting the wrong

I felt love through gritted teeth...
Always waiting for that dumb sucker punch...
I anticipated that bite of hate for years...
Behind the grin of a bottle...
Always tense, the ending would always be explosive...
That was always enivietable...
Maybe its my nature, maybe its my fate...
But that tension is always held between the teeth...

Highway song

Some kind of american mess...
Always keeping the faith...
Beating out the time for as long as possible...
Hopeing one time to beat the road...
Out of this town, out of this life...
Nothing ever keeps this heart down...
For the price of another day...
And maybe the price of a beer...
Always gotta be coughing this faith to the next day...

Value to the plebs

Feels like I'm always waiting for my generation...
The one that forgets me...
The can't hear anything behind the buzz of acceptance...
I wanna be able to speak as an adult...
No words break outside to them...
So all my money and life is from picking up change...
Because I sounds like some idiotic bum...
Till the next life that values the plebs...

Mothers

Living about being mothers...
To get the mercy she gets...
For the pain and sacrafice...
She has given for her truest loves...
Those that were closer than any man...
The ones held tighter for most of a year...
And for more than their lives...
The ones who believer her before they knew time...
She would die for those ones...
To dive into the hate and pain for they're lives...
Who would give up reaching the end...
Just to see them wake in the morning...
With no weight of the world in their eyes...
Their innocent eyes are the only thing wishes...

The darkness over the shoulder...
Is something like a challenge...
Something to step ahead...
Some fear seems to sealaway the truth..

Debts...

In honesty, there are words that anger...
For things done with best intentions...
To suffer for honesty...
Cruel fates of the choices...
Where the blink of an eye...
Is slower than the sigh of disappointment...
How the joke always plays out...
Is anyones choice of viewing habits...
In working to get a choice...
One that could be less...
In the least life could move on...

All those fences of distiction

The waters run deeper and darker, than the failures you hide...where your sins scare you more than waking up...
You know how to that dark will at bay...
Practicing a straight face at the glee...
Writing about that face on every dark page you find...
Most days you can't meet at the middle...
You lie about imbalance, you smile from one side of the fence...
The one that wasn't always there...
You keep the beast aside to play at being a human...
That's where your wrong there are no fences...
Not while you are human...

Its all my words

In all the stories of the women I've had...
I could never measure to the women I didn't...
But not ever did one hold my heart...
In all the years of nights I failed...
Not feeling lost or stupid...
There is not one that haunts me longer...
Than that one dream, one where I didn't speak...
Not one holds my heart...
There is no thrill at not breathing...
And when speaking words don't mean anything...
There is nothing breath to even walk away...
There isn't one told have my words...
Even with the passion or the fury...
Its all my words for me...

Shiny things

Soo many stories, soo many days, seem the same. Getting older living a lifestyle that has no definition, aside from the fits and tantrums of not enough to rent or eat.
People come fighting and dreaming for their slice of this. Something that some would cash out for only one last drink, one last good night, or a goodbye.
No adventure, no life, living to pay the bills when that's all that can be done... like a devils choice for an oppurtunity that would be wished away for the chance of being someone else...
Someone with purpose and power beyond keeping the lights for another night and a belly full of the cheapest brandy for sleep.
Somewhere a dream can be, somewhere outside of the greying life. The white hair makes make it more obvious, that there is no king in this rented castle.

Its always just relative

As only a drowning man can come to terms...
To be at peace with the short comings...
The failures...
The fates of less attempts...
And the ones that seemed like jokes...
That would could only be funny towards the end...
The hollow faces and the words of morons...
Could seem like nothing having to wake...
And make a smile for the world, if only for a few meals...
After sometime the feeling of drowning is only relative....

Matyr agenda

Everything I say is some kind of burn...
My truth isn't the world...
Everything is ignored...
Ignored for the constant...
The words of lame men and women...
Those voices not giving the truths...
Only the bandages to set them along...
All those challenges, all the voices...

Conviction

In this life there are convictions...
Ones well met, and those that are the death...
Many seem faulty and worthless to many...
But life is conviction...
Without it everything is grey and pointless...
Forgotten is the title of that lifestyle...

Hesse

How is it that a man could sleep...
With not some pain...
Is that what it is to be a man...
One always struggling to maintain...
A face, a lifestyle, or other...
Fierce to battle the balance...
While to lay near a softer...

The season of bewitching

Where the new season starts...
The signs are everywhere...
But still slipping and sliding down...
Hearing the words and looks in faces...
But failing to find the moment...
Instead to pine over the lost chances...
These are the days of wonder...
The way of not understanding...
When its all laid out, so simple...

My Valentine

Even if it isn't a cold winter...
The dark always make me cold...
To remember the lonely silence...
Only to have it disturbed by rushing people...
Rushing in their cars getting away from...
Or getting to some warmth laying in a bed in that cold night...
Its always cold to sit silent spinning records in the dark...

Searching titles

Would've been good...
It would have worked well...
But not everything follows wishes...
Some impressions are wishful thinking...
Making those kinds stands are empty...

The silence

Not everything is apathy...
And not everything is lies...
But you won't know till tomorrow...
Could you tell the truth in moments...
Speaking just to say the words that fit...
Something to fill that question, the silence...

Words aren't always lies

With less words...
The meanings, tear deeper...
Lost between looks, like an idiot...
Gritting of truths, is more than those words...
For all those fucking sounds...
A soul can say more...