doomed

petty, low, base feelings,
destroy us at our cores.
they cause us to fight,
and lead personal wars.

all lead down the same road,
to despair and regret.
remember how to be happy?
or did you just forget?

instincts shrouded in culture,
our nature hidden behind the glass.
shatter it and you will see ....
but you can't, alas.

fly

only the pure of heart
can fly over the seas,
on wings of fearlessness
with courage for a breeze.

for they have something
we all go without.
where they have faith,
we have doubt.

a little nugget in our head,
screaming "no, you can't."
impossible is just a seed
growing into a full-fledged plant.

this attitude keeps you grounded,
forever attached to the floor.
if only you learned to let go,
then you, too, could someday soar.

an old crush

a crush in 11th grade,
blonde, large eyes,
sat in front of me
in 3rd period history.

one day she asked me
'do you know when we get out?'
the clock tick-tocked,
but my heart was stopped.

i'd like a crush like that again,
even if i never did talk to her.
i'd like to feel alive like that again,
even if i get hurt in the end.

an actor's death

he spent his entire life acting,
pretending to be happy or sad.
he even died a few times,
in war trenches and beds.

how tragic it must be,
to watch those movies now.
his name in the credits,
like a gravestone to his career.

(sac)religious haiku

you live by god's words,
and you let him guide your way.
what if it's not real?

meth addiction

a cold, dead, white husk
constantly crawling at me,
inch by inch,
and i keep on running.

i gain some distance,
however little, every day.
but when it's time to sleep,
it's back there, getting closer.

is it gaining? falling behind?
the darkness is impenetrable.
inevitably, out of nowhere,
a vice-like grip gets a hold of me.

i punch it in the face
until my knuckles bleed.
but still it hangs on
and i'm dragged under again.

mug

a newspaper sits on the floor,
propped up like a tent.
its pages spilled everywhere,
like guts from a sliced stomach.

only the comics page lies
on the kitchen table.
one headline reads:
boy found dead in ditch.

on the way to the recycle bin
it slips and is blown away by the wind.
a circle left behind by a wet coffee cup
frames the mug shot of the boy.

I fucking hate grocery shopping

The whiny little shits
in the cereal aisle
who don't get want they want
and need to get slapped ...

And the ones who trail
behind their parents silently -
even through the candy section -
They've probably been slapped today.

The waddling pregnant woman
buying a case of High Life.
Who's that white trash kidding,
we know it's not for her husband.

The black thug eyeing an endcap
of Chap-Stic and hand lotion...
He's really eyeing that old woman
whose purse is barely hanging on.

A 30-something dude with long hair,
cross around his neck, holding a Bible,
wearing sandals with socks.
Fucking born-again Christian.

Middle-aged blonde in a skirt
up to the bottom of her ass.
I wonder who she's fucking.
Personal trailer? Her pool boy?

Disgusted, I go to check out,
where a sweet girl rings me up.
She probably wants to kill me
for delaying her lunch break.

Walking out I pass the ice,
and see my reflection in the glass.
This guy - this guy right here -
He's just fucking pathetic.

A Different Kind of Pain

Started smokin' when she left me,
Now it's one or two packs a day.
Mom says it's not good for me,
But I do it anyway.

Tradin' one hurt for another,
First my heart and now my lungs.
If only I was stronger,
If only I was young.

Like I'm lost inside a forest,
Surrounded by decay.
The sun is slowly fading,
I light one up to show the way.

Fake It

There's this little thing I do,
with everyone I know.
I smile and laugh and joke.
I put on a show.

Happy and jovial and together,
that's what they think of me.
When behind closed doors I cry,
until about 2 or 3.

I know I'm not the only one,
who chooses to live this way.
I'm your average, sad bloke,
Trying to get through the day.

Pursuit of Happiness

Chasing it like a dream
that slips through your mind
like sand through your fingers,
yearning to be forgotten.

Seemingly unattainable
like a gust of wind
blowing through your open hands,
never to be stopped and grabbed.

It scampers and hides
down the rabbit hole
that is your soul,
yearning to be found.

that feeling you get

you know the feeling you get,
when you are so parched
you can't even swallow,
and then have a glass of ice cold water?

you know the feeling you get,
when you've been on your feet
for the entire day,
and finally get to sit down?

you know the feeling you get,
when you tell someone close
a big, fat, juicy secret,
and your chest feels suddenly lighter?

that is pretty much how i feel
when i watch you sleep,
feel your touch,
and hear your voice.

little flower

she walks through the garden,
slowly, and with care.
seeking no particular thing,
just looking here and there.

rows of roses and beds of buttercups
extend in every which way.
but what this girl is looking for,
not even she can say.

humming, ambling,
dreaming all the while.
when suddenly she spots,
a mound of dirt in a pile.

a few defiant, withered petals
stared her in the face.
so sad and pathetic
in such a beautiful place.

so when she scooped it from the dirt,
held it close and hummed a song,
that little flower finally knew,
it had found a place to belong ...

i can only truly see you
in the pitch black of night.
you're forever blind to me,
until i close my eyes.

'somewhere' is where you are,
a place unknown to me.
i quietly wait for you
to fill this void in my soul.

or perhaps you're waiting,
for me -
to rise up from the emptiness
and claim you as my own.

you're never truly alone
when you live in a world like this.
others will always share your pain,
your loneliness, and heartbreak.

when it seems like all is lost,
reach out and make a connection.
remember you are one of many
going through this challenge called life.

the best thing about this life we live,
is we can make it whatever we want.
so fake it if you have to -
and eventually it may come true.

live like the next best thing,
is just around the corner.
no matter how long it takes,
because, eventually ... it is.

incoherence

more than anything i miss being a child. i miss believing in santa claus and the tooth fairy. i miss being ignorant.

when the magic leaves your life, and you realize how cold and cruel the world can be, things start to change. your outlook on life starts to warp.

there are no miracles, only coincidences. good things happen to bad people, and bad things happen to good people. things happen for no reason.

the fact of the matter is most people live incredibly boring lives. they do nothing of real importance, nothing that affects a large scale of people, and then they die. that's why so many people cling to ideals like family, to give their lives some shred of meaning.

others are married to their work, to their visions. i have no such thing to live for. not right now.

all i have right now is the knowledge that, like most people, i am vastly insignificant. in a hundred year's time my existence will have meant nothing, like most people. what i do today and how i approach tomorrow, therefore, are only for my benefit, for how i choose to live my life.

life is too short for me to feel this way. a change is needed. one only i can supply. the only question, then, is whether or not i will.

i have no direction to go,
so i float.
i drift like a fallen leaf,
streaming down a winding river.

i pass by others,
happy and content.
while i'm still caught up
and remain in the current.

a fog descends upon me,
blocking the view ahead.
this river could be long,
so i pray for a waterfall.