old writing from early last year.
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No one can tear us apart
better than ourselves.
Self inflicted wounds
that can not be seen.
They cut deeper
hurt more
and scar worse
than anything on the surface.
Tread softly
your foot falls in the mind.
It is a dangerous place
with traps abound
and a man can strangle imself
with a thought.
Feel that heavy weight on your chest
as your breath comes shorter
from the crushing weight of shame
as you suffocate
all you can do is weep in the dark.
A mans last breath should be
an apology for dying.
Not an apology for
having lived.
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As I circle the drain
in this emotional spiral
I can feel my blood.
Feel it pumping.
Feel it mocking.
It burns as it runs it's course.
Remind me I'm alive.
I wish it wouldn't.
Of all the things
I'd rather not be reminded of.
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I'm nothing but a walking apology.
Apologizing for the existence of me.
Stumbling through life in a state of regret
begging forgiveness of the people I've met.
I am homeless in the rain.
this down pour of consequence
no shelter remains.
and I beg forgiveness
in selfish greed
I apologize again
for making you read.
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Very old rambling-
All the children spoke of the man
who held the world in the palm of his hand
and though he was just a man
he was still a god in the eyes of children
and mad men.
and the children asked for ponies
and the mad men said, "Peach cobbler may still hunger for more apples than Betty, Steve, and Clark can provide, so let them have the birds that sing no song, but their silence is more beautiful than any racket any finch ever made."
and then the man put the world in his pocket
fished out thirty five cents.
bought a newspaper
the headline read:
World goes black, and what the hell happened to the finches song?
Has anyone heard the finches?"
but the man with the world in his pocket did not read this.
Cause rugby was on page A7.
So the children get no horses,
and the mad men challenge the finches honor.
and there's pocket lint surrounding the world.
Cumulonimbus Pocket lint.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
No one can tear us apart
better than ourselves.
Self inflicted wounds
that can not be seen.
They cut deeper
hurt more
and scar worse
than anything on the surface.
Tread softly
your foot falls in the mind.
It is a dangerous place
with traps abound
and a man can strangle imself
with a thought.
Feel that heavy weight on your chest
as your breath comes shorter
from the crushing weight of shame
as you suffocate
all you can do is weep in the dark.
A mans last breath should be
an apology for dying.
Not an apology for
having lived.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
As I circle the drain
in this emotional spiral
I can feel my blood.
Feel it pumping.
Feel it mocking.
It burns as it runs it's course.
Remind me I'm alive.
I wish it wouldn't.
Of all the things
I'd rather not be reminded of.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
I'm nothing but a walking apology.
Apologizing for the existence of me.
Stumbling through life in a state of regret
begging forgiveness of the people I've met.
I am homeless in the rain.
this down pour of consequence
no shelter remains.
and I beg forgiveness
in selfish greed
I apologize again
for making you read.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Very old rambling-
All the children spoke of the man
who held the world in the palm of his hand
and though he was just a man
he was still a god in the eyes of children
and mad men.
and the children asked for ponies
and the mad men said, "Peach cobbler may still hunger for more apples than Betty, Steve, and Clark can provide, so let them have the birds that sing no song, but their silence is more beautiful than any racket any finch ever made."
and then the man put the world in his pocket
fished out thirty five cents.
bought a newspaper
the headline read:
World goes black, and what the hell happened to the finches song?
Has anyone heard the finches?"
but the man with the world in his pocket did not read this.
Cause rugby was on page A7.
So the children get no horses,
and the mad men challenge the finches honor.
and there's pocket lint surrounding the world.
Cumulonimbus Pocket lint.