in dreams, a fate?

its been years since ive touched even you hand...
i was the one to step away, when we weren't on the same day...
but there hasn't been a day that i haven't thought of you...
everyday i shake it off, thinking it'll be like the rest...
but i dream of you more than i remember...
you standing next to me smiling, holding my child in your belly...
seeing you there even in my heart, leaves me breathless...
because i am the rowdy madness of life and you calm with life...
and i want to cry that you could over look my sins...
if only to bless me with your love...
i've been trying not to haunt myself with these dreams...
but i can't fight what my heart says about you...

too easy not really

everything is a battle of idiots...
no rest from the manic static...
but to live inside, gets old in itself...
that type of sleep is a waste...
when fools always lie to themselves...
only to wake up to their own lies...
a joke is more than a smile...

away

i want to sit in the dark trees...
to watch everyones machines break...
when the cold earth makes a companions, love that much more...
i want to hear it as the final horn blasts...
and the world wins again...
the fires set by man seeking this...
will be when my brothers know me...

Dirt roads

Being at bottom of the barrel, setting into rotting wood...
The last call and the runner up...
That's how this story keeps playing out...
Second guessing everything , always stepping outside of someone's disaster...
Waking up like a millionaire, in a sweaty bed...
Optimism is a luxury of fools...
When everyone has nothing...
But when everyone has nothing, there are only dreams...
Fulfilled or forgotten...
Drunks could never tell...

the respect

for everything that didn't let me sleep...
i wanted to give my rage...
for when i didn't reach the heaven's...
my life was built inside of my beat shoes...
i wasn't that idiot of a worker...
we were never a breath of wind

from yesterday.... to today

the breath of being angry was always...
outside every ones breather...
the false starts  and fantasies was everyone's fault...
there are always idiots looking to step up...
from stupid jobs that always were dimmer...
they were less the american dream...
all after that first faint was a narcissistic life...
something that didn't live in the light...

Miss MEOW NEOW

NEVER ENOUGH...
always just keeping humanity of the  tongue...
for all the passion breaking shot glasses...
the broken glass was never enough...
for that idiot, brutality of life...
but love was the end

AMERICA, AMERICA... AMERICA

the plebeian life is the only breath given, from this lacklust life of just being. something of a drunk, something of an idiot. my ambition was to hold all of my life like a still lake... after everything that seems like an idiots 401k or a midwest life.

but i was born into a life of working poor, not everything was miserable, most of us born from the dirt can all say the same... "the potatoes and rice weren't soo bad.".

and when most of us made it to the teens we just made the most of it, bleeding into a false reality that our parents subscribed to, those rebeled like idiots into drugs and fantasy, but there were those idiots that got the cap, but didn't wake up to anything more beyond a dead end job, but that was the like of millennial.

most of us were to be forgotten like the rest of idiots who were only breathing. the lives promised afterwards are a tale most doesn't want to say, from the south to So Cal, the north has a sad american life just as bad

Grey gray

Slogging through it again...
Always between night and day...
Fighting in the dark or blinded by day...
Light and dark it always seems the same...
Going soo away from the light of childhood...
Everything drifts because of it...
What difference does it make...
If this is said...

my lost highway

the road had some kind of hold that wasn't always so obvious. black nights with dim street lights that could have been candle lights, for the attention that they had been given, while rushing down dark paths. everything was always dark and the only concern besides broken yellows line on the pavement, was a cry of dirty broken jazz screaming through old brass, that sent was after its true life. sick and dirty was the only sight amd sound along the road at night. no one held attention ever long, it was a marriage of broken promises and hopes, that were really the fears of people that tried to chase away the dark.

knowing that there was always anger keeping shut, about this truth. teeth grit harder with quickening tempo, senses tense while spreading across roads always moving never looking into peoples eyes. just empty following busted up instruments spewing some kinds of jazz, undefined aggression racing along till morning... some where between sunset and sunrise the call always came

Gardenias

my voice says different things all the time. i frown allot more lately, always at bay from the jabs.
the music between the machinery always creeps some randomness into my head, like of nights grinding along the California edge, just to stare out into a starless sky.

the rain hardly ever showers here as of late and the night seem longer when its hot. it keeps me up longer than i'd like, and the drink doesn't help any more. everything keeps getting jammed together, when nothing is going on besides trying to sleep again.

afternoons are halfway between freedom and halfway to adulthood. and the road always makes this more a deal, when the streets are overflowing with the working, and the sidewalks are full of wandering children only a few steps away from their mothers.

most of everything i witness just is meaningless, because it always seems the same, but when things blur more so than other times the scent of gardenias, hits me and reminds me of when life was with color.

if it was allowed

during everything the road always held tighter...
from dawn to dusk...
that road was the most of love...
it only held half a day but it meant more...
nothing could ever affect the road...
it was pure, for something longer than a day...
if it was allowed...

next era

how much of this shit will i need...
to sharpen my teeth on...
before i bust out the dead ends...
with the six pack friends...
and the same bland days...
when will i be enough to speak...
these cuts biting me from these stools...
keep me awake longer than i'd like...
when does it happen to me...

standing there again

the  mess, the fallen games...
radio muting anything said...
some faith pressing and breathing...
to make it to tomorrow...
there are some words that ease

rockbottom truth

in all the years of coldblooded fate...
nothing has changed from memory...
just that the resolve has hardened...
the resilience has more of a bite...
and the truth is more apathetic...
in it pledge to be to oneself...
and in the years that have past...
there is nothing owed...
to stand aside with a faith that is true...
nothing has broken this life in a lifetime...

The currents and the fake

The pains of optimism...
The bites, the truth...
Some blood will be spilt...
Not to rest as my father...
More beer will flow from truth...
Like an idiot...
This would be some curse...
But sometimes the idiot knows the way...

The wind that doesn't move

The air has been the same...
Nothing has changed to climb up...
All the leaves spin around my feet...
And they don't know it...
I am the heavy ridiculous metaphor...
The simple words that mean nothing..
To step on new ground is a silence...
Everyone sleeps better for it...

the change of weather... change of life

stuck with being a pleb...
no time or energy to look away from the machines...
grinding so much to eat...
to see the blood on my knuckles...
neglect of every sort was a killer...
maturity is not an excuse...
even if i fall back to this place...
i should still rise avoiding the faults in adulthood...

tangled up on stupidity

spent the better part of young years chasing, some kind of madness that had no proper end...
working hard at trying to untangle over years just as long the chase...
they say decades and life times bring those hearts together again...
but even if the world said my name and shone on me...
the fates would always say that was then and this is your future...
no more tangled madness of youth you are a man...

soo many times around and around

to be someones fool...
always the punching bag...
waiting for the true love shine through...
from all the barbs and embarrassment...
a young man must be the fool to understand...
everything that he needs to have as a true a man...
all the fights and bruised egos give way...
to some kind of peace in the future...

Another word

Crashing and breaking ...
Even when the world ends...
There is the story that everyone ignores ...
There was someone's life...
Someone's pain mixed with love...
Something we all ignored...
Reaching the next breathe....
Ignoring everything to take Another step...
That is the cannibalism...

Myself madness

I feel like there is a fire inside my head...
A ridiculous passion...
That has no love...
It all comes out at once like some mania...
That's why the silence...
No one to scare or offend...
It is my own madness I hold to myself...