Sentiment

Sentiment favors the absence of presence
Willingness to forgo this moment for one thought deems superior
The act denies the soil of sun
Flowers remain buried waiting for the better light of yesterday

My father taught me to drive
My mother fed me with vocabulary
My grandparents taught me to fish
My uncle gave me keys to tolerance

Yet to dwell on these moments fondly is to leave the planet
To serve the dying star of my thought
Who’s only reward is to cage me in the conflict of fission
To cut me with a blade made of longing beneath my head held high upon lofty and empty intentions

My father taught me to judge
My mother fed me with complaints
My grandparents taught me to fight
My uncles showed me the path to excess

These checkpoints in memory we hold like ever vigilant soldiers
Trained to kill compassion on sight
Consider the meek a matter of weakness
Only the ones willing to drown in the black oil of nationalist rhetoric are worthy of being alive

We who love competition
We who love the game
We who run to or from deaths door
We, one nation, on whom the sun has set…

Swing till you start screaming

Habits broken and fixed again, numb the pain of his backhand lashes
Drink drives men to sing praises of heavy handed facists
Her love for him built tall walls of stone that took less time than expected
Unholy matrimony kept her striving for a nexus

Get a baseball bat to protect you from the demons

This led to a buffet of men mistaken for the broken prototype
Left her with the convenient excuse of excess
The necessary compensation was two scoops of Catholic guilt
The kind that led Christ beneath Mary’s dress

Step up to the plate, soon you’ll be swinging

Beaten by bad decisions and the distress of a mothers enslavement to her cast
Brother and sister formed the bonds of a secret pact
One bound by the blood spilled in beatings and neglect
History is no long term lover and she makes you fight for her respect

Swing a million times, then a thousand more
Swing till you start screaming, swing till you find the cure

Though your entitled offspring points out the known implications
Shows you scars your mind has traced a million times
He only hope light finally reaches the darkened corners of your mind
Cause his father’s wish was to keep you both afloat in a sea that’s too unkind

So I’ll swing till I start screaming, I’ll swing till I lose my mind
I’ll swing these words and cave the skulls of the demons you leave behind…

Love, Light, Rain, or Pain

We all get a chance to bathe in circumstantial glory
To live a story many will never hear
Wishing we were something, when that’s all we ever were

Broken down, built up again, down and up again
Cells akin to the passions of a whim
The noisy silence hammers our skulls demanding to be let in

Choices matter, then they don’t, making sanity insane
Yet it always feels like living when we drown in love, light, rain, or pain

Drown with us
Drown within
Feel the weight of your own veins

‘Cause it always feels like living when in love, light, rain, or pain

 

Islands made of trash

Crushing loss, the sensations of defeat
Never impress the dark and tiny angel stirring underneath your feet

Another tepid song by washed up jellyfish on the beach
As giants carry contemporaries to shores you will never reach

Will your voice be heard? Will it scream from brazen brass?
Or build upon the sea of sound another island made of trash?

But it’s my heart
It’s unrefined
It’s pure intention
It’s never-fucking-mind
No it isn’t!
It’s tripe, banal, out of body, and completely out of time

Answers are a given, cause equations never question
They only offer sugar water while preventing any cure

Frustrated with solutions
The diluted dissolution of feigned intentions pure

Will your voice be loved? Will it lead to endless cash?
That’s the route upon the sea of sound to an island made of trash?

But I want worship
A christ-like body
All the attention
Ego unrefined
No you don’t!
You want joy, you want contentment, and a love that will last

Or you can continue nation building from your island made of trash…

Wargames

Is it impossible to reach?
A sacred space, void of time
Is it impossible to gain?
The fame that traps the willing mind

Is it impossible to imagine?
Failures stench becoming sweet
Is it impossible to fathom?
We are most creative just before we shit

Is the desire to hate fame unwillingness to accept rejection?
Will the rehtoric and duplicity keep you warm?
Or will you finally listen to the wisdom of reckless abandon?

But I can’t! I won’t! I shouldn’t have to!

Force the hand of fate
To ensure a moment of acclaim
Or sing of love, death, and tears instead of succumbing to these wargames

Held Here

Thought about her consistently for years
With the kind of love and admiration that requires absence
The time has come to use this medium to cast a note beyond the fence

Some core element wanting to show her gift appreciation
Perhaps she doesn’t realize that it was received?
More likely that she’s forgotten that I ever made her bleed

The night she inquired about his transgressions, there was calm
A damn of poise holding back a flood of emotion
Feminine intuition instinctively flexing at the futility of male honesty

The lie from my lips began the revolution
It thrust the killing blow that made crimson from little white lies
Freed the prisoner from the dank cell of the mind

She soars through imagination
She whispers in the ear
She weeps at the misogyny
She will be forever held… here (points at heart)

Sanctimony over the callous behaviors of the past
Apologetic afterthoughts floating in the waters from which ships already sailed
The ego reaping the fields of it’s own plentiful crops

Regardless of these half-truths the point remains
Her shape, smell, thought and imprint left this tattoo on my heart
Forgetting would be easy but I can never seem to start

She soars through imagination
She whispers in the ear
She weeps at the misogyny
She will be forever held… here (points at heart)

A woman can give a man from her past anything but love again

Free Coffee

If no one knew what benefit this was for
Where would we be?
Would the very social fabric of our minds begin to creep out of our ears?

If no one knew the name of their favorite killer
How would we know?
What to be addicted to?

If no one knew that it’s godlike to question
Would answers continue to cripple?
Can mortality be redefined?

Practice parsimony with your creative airs
Seek the constant motion of the meaningless affairs

If no one cut ties to the revolution
Would the reformation of the psyche still be worthwhile?
Or shall we cater to the fascist from hemisphere right

If 99 friends are in struggling bliss
Will we all have to empty our pockets into the money changers fists?
Maybe there will be free coffee?

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