Goodbye Krampus, return to your castle of jet

No 'Ho Ho Ho' for you, old friend

Don't Krampus style big ears!

Elves we may be, but we're hard as gnomes.

Winter's empire is advancing through snow

Christmas spirits keep the supermarkets going

What do we do with a drunken Santa?

Asked the drunken Krampus, shall we give

Him mulled wine and keep him away from

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From spaceships of harmony

Into the fires of Hell

Mouldy undertaking no more

A trodden mind, angry in the Nut Bar

I need more than seven words, please

Neil Young – grim and grizzled –

Summoned by starship –

Says he can’t go because of his terrible I.B.S.

Drinking tears to dry up the well, pointless

Advertising tissues then.

She wasn’t always fifty ...

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I struggle greatly with the idea that I am inconsequential.
Unnecessary.
Irrelevant.
That I am but a flash in the lives of those whom I cherish.

It takes not but a moment for me to be convinced that my time in their hearts has expired.
Yet several lifetimes could pass, and I would still fear the day my nightmarish internal prophecy would be realized.

The warmth of someone’s love confuses...

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Signorina Gherardini's

prophetic visitations

of a drunk's

medical conference

before film-reels

of attentive eyes.

Franco dubbed

this, one of the world's many crises;

xanthelasma,

as Dylan dreamt of 'Highway Blues'.

There is nothing here

for the common muse

to hammer

a nail upon.

I'd prefer the eyes

on a plate, on the ledge;

newsprint in the cavi...

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pull out thre trigger u know how it go 

call up lil leek cuz he still got that 4

when I'm down bad I do not got nopbody

release all my problems when I drink this bottle 

still fucking hoes man I just fucked this model 

nobody know about all of my problems 

call up tequila u know she gon solve it 

I wanna stop drinking but I got nobody 

I try to reach out but they always dec...

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Over a decade has passed, yet at times it feels as if it has hardly been a day

My body follows the passage of time while a piece of my mind remains frozen in that moment

The scars have faded, yet I still see them shine as bright as the day he carved the reminder upon my flesh

Written in a language only my eyes could distinguish

A lifetime has been lived, yet I still return to that litt...

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Night after night sleep evades me

Worry and doubt racing to flood every corner of available space…banishing any chance for the peace my mind so desperately needs

It is a summer night in the south, yet I feel cold

My body curls in on itself, struggling to keep the shattered remnants from falling apart once more

My eyes sting from tears I’m too stubborn to let fall

My voice abandons m...

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What do you see?

Do you see my cracks?

Worn down by a life of this masquerade

Decay hiding behind a lovely picture

Do you see beauty as the sun shines upon me?

or my crumbling pillars?

...do you see nothing but ruins?

Something destined to be forgotten in time...

Can one find elegance in the desolation?

My walls may bow, but my foundation stays strong

I have weathered...

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I feel cold
As the blood in my veins harden like cement causing any task to grow exponentially in its difficulty

I feel cold
As tears build behind a damn that would not allow even a drop to escape until it crumbles to the ground on its final day

I feel cold
As my stomach begins to devour itself in desperation from its starvation all the wile refusing to take in any sustenance

Taunting ...

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Today I smile, which is one of many lies

I boast of strength, resolve, and pride in myself…all of which I do not currently feel.

Breathing is strained…my body pushed past exhaustion.

My voice a lifeless recording rattling off lines that are perfectly crafted to fulfill their purpose of deceit

Limbs creak in their protest to keep step with a dance born from music long since forgotten

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The bucket of water distorts
the image of the sky when kicked
a mirror stretching into infinite ovals.

In this I am a golden leaf
and the light stretches through me
a ragged parchment in candle-light.

Where the green shadows
intersect with the love we live
I can see a buried garden-

a lazy, hothouse dream
of terracotta and porcelain
and thieves in the night

that went to sleep u...

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I saw it as growth

I was proud if my progress

...to be able to speak of my struggle

...to be able to be openabout something I always kept inside

Always the one to suffer in silence

Always telling people I was "fine" when I was falling apart

I was proud

But it would seem I was wrong

No one wants to hear it

No one wants to see it

No one wants to know it

So be quiet.....

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