Truth

 
I want to cut the shit    
all this talk of great things in my life  
small words about nothing big  
  
I've graduated from snorting coke    
traded it in for a all day high    
one line & i'm set    
      
METH    
      
i'm a tweaker    
I tweak on writing    
it will keep you going all night  
on the drug march    
      
Hitler knew what he was doing      
employing this drug    
i'm sure it kept his men loyal      
with the need of this bitch    
      
I've never felt such lows    
while coming off of a drug    
it's so coniving      
makes you think      
you can just play with it    
but it has teeth  
you bite into this bitch    
it bites back    
      
damn it i'm too old for this shit    
& my brain plays mind games    
I have a 100 excuses at least    
why this is the miracle depression cure    
& it really is    
until you have to kick the cunt    
& she comes after your throat    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
    
  

There is a part of me
who only wants
to wake up in the woods, alone
my morning practice - percolating
oil-slicked coffee
drinking from a tin cup and
blowing smoke rings from a
goddamn Lucky Strike.

There is a part of me
who only wants
to sit in a Parisian café, aloof
my observations - poetic
inspirations
scribbled on napkins
smudged with chocolate from a
decadent croissant.

There is a part of me
who only wants
to be immersed in your desire, rapt
my only ambition - sensual
tongue probing ecstasy
penetration of your
quintessence, punctuated with
multiple orgasms.

There is a part of me
who only wants
to start a revolution, incensed
my decree - crashing
corruption’s party
bitch slapping ignorance
spilling blood from the
criminals of complacency.

There is a part of me
who only wants
to be healed from all my pain, scar-less
my enlightenment - curiosity
co-mingling with irreverence
propelling me into mischief
embracing the world, as is, with
fearless love.

Like trying to write when your ink has spilled from your pen,

words lost in the disarray of poetic listings,

This heart is silent...

Flesh cold to the touch...

Seams shredding under dull unsharpened knives.

Each pierce is forced...

pain to feed lack of feeling.

The numb that has possessed my chest for times present and times past is the only flow through veins corroded in rejection.

Bitter comes in flashes of red...

And crumbled pages make it's bed at my feet.

Death whispers her desire for what remains as I cling to the shards that bled me dry in the first place.

I choke on my thoughts...

Scattering in my throat..

In fear of spilling words that hang me on the podium while my body is scrutinized by the judge with no right to judge in the first place.

The wolves stalk my rocking back and forth with starved eyes,

Waiting for me to venture out from this hole I keep myself pinned so they may feast on my screams that no longer exist in the silence of voice.

Choices were made and I selflessly gave what would wither to ash,

as leaves in the cool autumn wind in a weak moment simply needing to hand my burdens to set in another's hand.

and they faded one at a time,

bleeding every crimson strand of life from my vains.

Replacing in me poison,

the sickness that leaves me in shambles hiding my shell from deaths grasp...

Even as I know every part of me is gone and burned to ash.