The Sock-Monkey As Alone

I am Feeling like I am already dead I want to know, why? is there no hope that this life will improve or is it a posture? or worse   can       I         not            face the                  sincerity The unironic bleakness of trying to be honest To myself for once This isn't the time for rhyme and meter whatever time it is it is close to midnight The glow from the screen of my laptop as I type honesty is respecting your time without it becoming the business of being a door-to-door salesman of framing every indignity I have seen this week betrayal, coercion, and goodbyes of being blamed     and threatened without even knowing why I keep telling myself The impossible task of this poem Is being interesting but sane

the burden in my hand Wishing I could start, anew I know it's raining again yet, without an answer I feel the need         to express             some consolation prize

The gentle cliches like rain on the pavement The clinging of truth to tired metaphors like vines growing on a lattice Though in reverse I thought I reached a point... where I could let go... I have a practice: I call it depression. I sleep a whole bunch I eat to much and I try to not do what defines me   I  think I will continue for some time unable to talk about what I am going through   It's the nature of the fire to consume what keeps it alive.    

(Headlights in the dark) In the near dark Right before me Slowly stalking Forward No other lights on in this Backroad but those headlights A Window rolls down ...anxious I wait... And older man Glaring in my face He screams a banshees holler ...It would curdle milk Pedal to the floor he roars off Laughing I dont know where I am going after this But still I continued my search Trapped in the old poem Dreading the long walk home Dreading having nothing to say

(Little miss Sunrise) She is  bundled up  against single digit Temperatures The shovel  isn't getting the job done Returning now With a crowbar in hand Like a horror film She deals with the ice With heavy swings Lifted over her head (arms raised high) Chunk! chunk! chunk! The ice cracks Her nearly numb hands Can feel  her bones Like an X ray "I hope the neighbors didnt see that" She says to no one She starts her car Ready to start the day And get to work

No Love is lost for the end is near What we lose will make things clear "Contaminate memes With your 8 bit dreams" He sing's but no one's there to hear

                                          "To start with, here is a list of things I hate." -Tim Rogers.   I based my life on a lie, but the reality is there is a new mode of expression... It is irony through irony as sincerity or as it used to be called sarcasm.   Tim Rogers was my hero who I stalked (I didn't actualy stalk him I @ mention him four or five times on Twitter). then one day after a spree of @ mentions he @ mentioned me back, with a napalm bomb of reality, just the two-letter word "hi" and I was destroyed.   The important thing here isn't that Tim Rogers owned me (which he did!) it is that for some reason this articulate funny man brings out the inner troll in internet losers like me in a way that is embarrassing to the species.   It is like he inspires children to write a letter to Santa Clause and not ask for anything. His writing is rambling indirect and sometimes a blinding light to the rest of game journalism, almost as i

I'm looking out my bedroom window Watching the snowflakes in shadows  Dancing as they fall As drifting they stall There beauty so fragle they tremble

The death drive will not be repressed By the hope that we claim to confess The sun at full run Is speaking in tungs While darkness does grow in the west

In the rain I watched her dance. "what do you think at first glance?" The rain on our skin Washed away sin. While her smile left me in a trance.

Your the one thing that I do miss... In the darkness that bears witness. It won't leave or quit, Or let me forget. That pain's the part that we regret

None can be a reason for itself. Complicating more than is felt. The Mushroom cloud Is Tao to the Tao. The Technicolor gate into hell

The evening light is full of sorrow. Whispering thoughts about tomorrow. "Liberty is lost Because of the cost". And like the ghosts I march and follow

It's not the land of milk and honey These dreams cost to much money on ramen and rent My money is spent While losing faith in humanity

Love is kind but is also treason.  It's there but not always in season. Tired and confused  Her lips felt truth... A smile of gentle contemplation

The tears that well up from the deep. Willful nightmares filled with screams. Never one to lose That life is confused... The cause and effect of memories 

Limericks are best at comedy This does not change life's tragedy I don't want to cry But the tears decide If we learn the truth's absurdity

This nightmare gives me goosebumps... an absurd carnival-show like stunt. Perdition and sin Are Putins close friend. The antichrist is named Donald Trump.

The tears that well up from the deep. Willful nightmares filled with screams. Never one to lose That life is confused... The cause and effect of memories.

 If we could walk in another's shoes Would we have fellowship with truth? Naive and pampered we measure standards... Like smiles judging a broken tooth...

Sharing when there is nothing to say because I need to communicate the poem is a web-spun to trap the flies for fun two different lives wounded in strife say goodnight to light... lost.

Dreaming this will not end... they become nightmares misleading into hopeful lies ...wake up.

The rich herd us with a bearhug Tear gas, bullets and Billy clubs The youth fight there wars Why they act hardcore Coercing the maid in a hot tub

         My heart is a grave    (a series of limericks as an epic)             1 Love is not always romantic sometimes it is a cynic a life confused but never amused from birth until it is finished             2 a dream is often avoided until its moment has ended but still, we will try until we will die our judgment is the sentence             3 the shadow inside the abyss whispers inside each sentence that what I believe might not redeem without my wilful repentance             4 It was an age full of confusion.... Each individual had a vision.... That they are exempt From truth they resent That our voice is only opinion.             5 It was the age out in darkness, To which we came to bear witness. Yin and yang rhymes With the punchline. All we can do is ask forgiveness.              6 For the moment was plundered Of all the joy and its humors. If not our kindred What can be sacred? But they're sold as goods for consumers.               7 there once was a man

love is tinder and confused a game we play and may lose surprise your sweetheart but don't give her a start kindness is the measure of truth

  a wolf listened to the scorpion "it's my nature" said the bug minion "to strike what I hate to send them towards fate" *crunch* "That is all in your opinion".

there once was a man who felt sorrow. for love, he would beg steal or borrow. but it didn't work there was only hurt... Now he's a ghost haunting tomorrow.

there once was a man with depression. who tried to make light of the lesson... that all that we love does come from above... and a grant will pay for the session.

there once was a man who found meaning. with hours of childish daydreaming. but then he woke up as truth was tough. he felt so much pain he died screaming.

Glowing a dead channel don't be a failure the abyss will always love you... sadly.

  With nothing but a pound of flesh and the look in your brown eyes. sometimes I feel a confession of hearing this prayer of delight.   hide a reaction, begging for trust that I care for the sensual... not to be consumed by this lust as you undress like a ritual.   your pale nakedness honors god. A prayer full of confusion as much as your song is a bond, please articulate this lesson...   as your spread naked to see your body has a temple's warmth. A hallelujah song of the dream inside there has been a storm.   You're the bread of this church... in gratitude, I drink the wine. there is a fire but hope hurts. You're a light leading the blind.   Your music is a heartfelt drum like a war-cry fighting darkness. Victory rests on your tung. Your wet labor will bear witness.   The reflecting light of the moon though it is the light's glory between your legs, I am consumed... by the grace of god make us holy.