No Apologies 

Time ticks and I shutter.

The thought of lost beats to my heart

Cause an emotional clutter

In light of the darkest of all colors,

Tougher than carbonized steel.

I have become the uttered. The phrase of 

despair that’s better known as the 

instructor.  Undercover as another and

more demanding than your Mother.

I spit and you will stutter.  I have eaten the

 Lord’s own supper and I could care less 

about that over exemplified Mother 


Take my time, I.  I guide my lines.  I take 

my time while I make bloodlines.  I own 

my life and I don’t sit the sidelines.

A higher power keeps on calling me.

Calling for my disbelief.

It reaches out though I’m not naive.  

Esteem in my mental physique defeats the

 unreal belief of the bastardized thirteen. 

Two thousand years later, a rapist from a 

book still asks you to believe so that power

 can be held by man in hopes to only 

spread the disease.

Take my time, I.  I guide my lines.  I take 

my time while I make bloodlines.  I own 

my life and I don’t sit the sidelines.


Your Doing Your Best

Live for the moment

In momentary relapse.

Kick back as your ass

Falls to the floor, your stance,

Locked legs and heat aplenty

Brings a faze that phases

Your smiles behind screams,

Your dreams are pleased

And you’ve been attacked

By your selfish pleas.

They stack the lack

Of wisdom taking

Down your vanity.

So please, take hedonistic 

Contradictions to a place

In which o person will miss and

Push back the tracks

Made in decisions

From revisions 

Still cutting the ribbons, 

Counting the stitches 

Sewed into sadistic stimulus. 

Disgusting at best but 

It’s complex and a mess.

Fortitude leaves me vexing 

On the brittle breast 

Of the naturalistic visions

In Suttle moments when you declare,

When you state “your doing your best”.

Mentality’s Fading

Take your time.

Take all that you need

Because I know the line

Doesn’t appear as fine as it seems

And the seams between

Once meant everything to me,

But the scenes I’ve seen

Flabbergast, twist, bend and

Extrapolate my being.

And, I’ve been thinking 

Of meaning, reasoning

And these troubling dreams.

This means so much

But I’m exhausted, reluctant,

As utter defeat seems freeing.
Take my heart

To a place

That hangs my head

High and straight.

This dream seems lucid

And out of place.

Reality, jaded,

Am I okay. 

My mind is scathed and

This mentality’s fading.

Life Is Good

Life is good

As I tread down the path

That’s taken my heart 

Down a different path

From what was to be expected.

Now I sit and teach,

I preach numbers and letters,

Songs, voices and 

I reiterate the collective.

Married, me? Yes,

But it wasn’t to be acted upon.

Single man wanting the world

Giving up his wanted dawn.

Giving his everything and

Anything to his bastard spawn.

I wasn’t married at the time,

I love the hearts I have made of mine

And I don’t mind

The lives I’ve helped create

Taking over the very life of mine.

Heavy Minds 

Hearts hang heavy.

Nerves stray steadily.
Focus treads quietly
While cynosures stride
They trudge tirelessly.
Purposely spawned
In Acerbity’s arms.
Locked on
Like a mad man’s love.
Certainly strong but
Broken to a point of absurdity
That harmfully deteriorates
A resonating scornful matter
Of a blank page of unwritten regime.
A basket case
That tastes the napkin
He licks the casket
And can’t wait for the moment
That you to come back to life and
They don’t know that
It’s hard to walk
It’s hard to move
Breathing is hurting
And your thoughts are in divide,
Compromised and lacking precision.
Concise in transmission
But you’ve been broken so far down
That it’s not worth the deposition.
Fuck that!
Demolish the current composition
Make your voice heard by permeation
Neutral isn’t your only position
That you can be positioned in.
Take aim,
Remedy this reciprocal inhibition
Because woman didn’t fight
To simply not be listened to.
Choose your path but remember,
You’re a person to. 

100 People 

One hundred people

Follow me.

They sit and read

My lacking imagery. 

Trying to imagine

A story of sorrow

As it tapers a dragon

So blatantly devoured

By worn out rhyme schemes

And taunted soliloquies.

A daunting task to grasp

As I holster my unnerving 

Path that rests.

I’ve been taking a rest.

Some have been taking a look

At my words, I’m sure

That I’m a little unsure 

of the words I’ve served 

To the digestive tract

That inhabit my fans.

The readers are masked

By IP’s and a monitors glow. 

Pixels that make a word

They make my words understandable

And I’m thankful for that.

I’m thankful for you

And everyone that’s ever read

Even one word of the writings I do.

Stories are nothing

Without a reader to interpret 

The feeling I exhibit

To the minds that need nourishment. 

I’ll continue to feed you

Whether or not you bite my hand.

I’ll continue to need you

Because I do this to keep from going mad.

One hundred people

Read me and

It seems to be 

That it looks to me

That there’s at least 

One hundred other people

Just about as crazy as me.

Thank you.

Saturn’s Arrest 

This creation is a white blank page.

We grow and flow in intimidation 

That strolls along the inflated 

Home that knows and shows

The limitations I’ve owned.

Once this lifetime,  

Twice was alright and

I’m beginning to notice

The short comings of focus

Like locusts that persist

On devouring my “this”.

Fly through the membrane

And cycle through this shit.

Debility exists

As a permanent fixation

Of displacing arrangements

Fragmented by my scape goat.

Show no worth,

Belittle my intelligence 

To extract my very worst

While destroying my accomplishments.

It is arrogance,

Bottled  like an expensive fragrance,

Made from the fat of Kings 

While the blood of the demented

Is what wreaks the cringe

Of the souls while we sit and sulk

In a pitiful attempt to attend

Our very own funeral.

My funeral is suitable.

Divided by the notion that

I’ve extrapolated my muscles.

But I live in a dream land

Filled with buttercups and rainbows.

I’m given to no real end.

I’m the master of my own fables.

I have no real power in the matter

As much as I can grab the air

And pull down Saturn.

I Have no culture

I.  The counterparts of Cronus.

My time is a filter that’s filling

Everything except my hearts rest.

I’ve invested in the progress.

I’ve repressed sociological molest.

Although I can’t help but obsess

In my very own self-interest.

That enough is enough to make 

Me want to forget.