All Cut Up

Intensely felt,
Gashed down deep,
But unable to bleed,
Caused by a thing,
It feels like from which,
There’s no being freed.

It’s immense,
Needing stitches,
Though it won’t be sewn shut,
The best of soothing salves,
Can’t begin to mend the halves.

Weighted down,
By something not seen just felt,
Nearing now to the bottom,
Not quite but almost drowned.

Invisible,
But so powerful,
Easy to forget it isn’t obvious,
Since it’s gathered you such an audience.

Uncomfortable,
As a broken bone,
It assures,
You never feel at home,
Though you know it’s just in your mind,
And indeed,
You’re in reality just fine.

It seems fake,
Compared with headaches or toothaches,
You’ll be told to suck it up,
And made to feel like a fuck-up.

All too common,
Because society is rotten,
Sick in the head,
Is what will be said,
An insult,
That will make you see red.

Never talking of emotions,
Always leads up to explosion,
Tragic though,
That you must choose between,
Being wrecked,
Or causing some bullshit commotion.

A Note From Above

Dated: The Beginning Of Time (AD)

To: My Children

Maybe not what you want,
But what you need,
Will you accept the gift this time?
I pray you heed.

Other opportunities,
May seem like something,
That you’d much rather,
But in the end,
If you go with another option,
You’ll wish it was by my hands,
Your story had been penned.

Something or someone,
Is always knocking,
Some should be kept,
The rest told to keep on walking.

It seemed meant to be,
Sewn up so fast,
Until it exploded,
With a powerful blast.

It turned destructive and deadly,
Provided by,
The wrong authority,
Instead of me.

Wake up!
Wake up!
I see every second,
The whole play-by-play,
That’s leading you astray,
As I hover close by,
Waiting on you,
To open your eyes.

It’s right under your nose,
Being handed to you,
On a silver platter,
But it’s not what you had in mind,
So to it you are blind,
Not what you wanted,
So by it you’re daunted.

It’s in your way,
Like a stumbling block,
But only because,
You’re hard-headed like a rock.

Time’s ticking away,
On your mental clock,
You see just one road,
And it’s making your shoulders,
Carry an unnecessary load.

Receive what’s right,
In front of your face,
Stop shoving it away,
Because in the end,
You’re the one who always pays.

And the price every time is hefty,
You sometimes feel guilty,
Or dumb or embarrassed,
I suppose such is the way,
When the area is so gray.

You wish it could be,
More black and white,
And cause much less,
Of an inner fight,
But the war is real,
So just remember,
My saved sinner,
No matter which you choose,
Only one’s the winner.

Each time you lose,
Is like a blessing,
Accidentally refused,
Seek wisdom before,
Making a choice,
If you elect to listen,
I’ve a very loud voice.

Signed With Love,
The Lord God Almighty

Two Fourteen

This thing,
“Valentine’s Day”,
It reminds me of those church people,
Who only remember,
On Christmas and Easter,
Who is King and Master.

It does not matter,
What they say,
It’s just stupid,
And it’s always been that way,
It does not matter,
What is said,
If it makes you that excited,
You are fucked in the head.

A heart worth snagging,
Will never be impressed,
By heart shaped boxes,
Maybe I miss my guess,
But if that’s all it takes,
For a fucking yes,
You haven’t won a thing,
Worth all that bragging.

Mr. Fancy Pants,
Is taking her,
To the dinner dance,
How very predictable,
But the rest of the year,
You know they’re miserable.

Making time,
By skipping work,
As if he’s not,
Usually a jerk,
As an added touch,
He’s picked up cheesy flowers,
Knowing it’ll amp up his advantage,
That when you’re out on the town,
You will let your guard down,
Mentally sign yourself up,
Together for another year,
Bound to be,
An even deeper disaster.

Bears and candies,
Line the bar,
When you wake up,
And head for coffee,
In your jammies,
This is supposed to make right,
Every time there’s been a fight,
Please don’t fall for it,
Another fucking year of bullshit.

**********

It’s not the life for me,
I prefer to be free,
You may call it lonely,
But I say,
It sure as shit,
Beats your misery.

**********

Godsend

A flood of peace,
Swept through my soul,
It temporarily patched the hole,
And made me feel,
Almost whole.

I was able to sleep,
More than a wink,
Like I hadn’t,
In almost a week.

**********

But let’s back up,
To when thunder struck,
And every imaginable,
Type of hurt,
Made me wish I was under,
Six feet of dirt.

There were hot spots and cold fronts,
But I must be a dunce,
For I held out hope,
That this time I may be taken,
As more than a joke.

The hot spots did not last long,
They were like maybe just the first bar,
And the cold fronts were endured,
As long as the rest of the song went on.

**********

So back now to present time,
I could not think,
There was every negative emotion,
Swirling through my head,
Like a storm out in the ocean.

I tried to calm down,
But as no definitive dreams came,
My mind continued to drown,
Then I remembered a trick,
That can solve any problem,
And the only thing needed,
Is a certain book about two inches thick.

Without a doubt,
It was time for supernatural help,
Answers weren’t coming on their own,
I’d have to conjure them alone.

So out came the giant purple volume,
And I closed my eyes,
To ask about the burden,
Eating me up inside.

I call this my magic eight ball,
And it always answers when I call,
My hands were guided to the exact needed excerpt,
And I was prompted to pay attention most especially,
To the one numbered as twenty.

Oh I don’t know why I was even surprised,
The response was just what I had surmised,
And that night I was able to close my eyes,
And sleep for the first time in ages,
Soundly until the time came to rise.

**********

Now if the patch can hold,
Until the conclusion,
At what’s bound to be,
One hell of a reunion……….

Ruined For Good? …..Let’s Hope Not

Blacker than the Ace Of Spades,
More ornery than the Overseer Of Hades,
It’s convinced its keeper,
This is how said one’s life should stay.

The One who within it beats,
Hears nasty beasts,
Screaming things insane,
That get received,
By its brain.

To said one,
The unseen results are dangerous,
It’s worth a wager,
That said one is full of anger,
Though it’s hidden so well,
An average acquaintance cannot even tell.

No,
Said one wouldn’t want to hurt a soul,
But to attain a goal,
Those who care must go,
And so the hardened heart beats out its message,
And said one ‘teaches them a lesson’.

The dear owner is taxed,
To the max,
He means well,
But the way things come out,
Us who pay close attentions,
Can see the incensed inner hell.

What a fucked up way to live,
From time to time I wonder……..
If my soul was also that color,
Might my mind too bellow like thunder?

The Most Difficult Easy Task In The World

Sort of like the color blue,
He’s acting bold,
Kind of like navy,
Then another day,
I’d describe him as more pastel,
Listless and boring,
With nothing to say.

Snow ,
Whether slushy or fluffy,
Can be compared to her,
She’s much the same,
As the color white,
Because like that,
No matter what’s going down,
Be its consistency boring, annoying, cold, or stuffy,
Her color’s hues barely vary.

One changes face,
To fit the situation,
Everyone is a fan,
Because he always fits,
As the ideal man.

The other is the same,
One hundred percent of the time,
Always speaking her mind,
Fake is not her kind,
She cannot do it,
No matter who would approve it.

Apart anger boils,
And progress spoils,
Then when face to face,
All seems to get erased,
Brains go blank,
The only thing in mind,
Is this attraction they chase.

He feels unworthy,
Of her beauty,
Uncool and past his prime,
And that she may just want,
To bleed him out of,
His last dime.

She feels unaccomplished,
Almost stupid,
Next to him,
He’s so educated and polished,
It leaves her,
Speechless and astonished.

Each day this is left unchecked,
One or both is vexed,
Please guys,
Just meet in the middle,
Once and for all,
Resolve this riddle.

Lock, Stock, And Barrel

What is 100 proof?

It is full strength,

Not watered down,

Not diluted.

100 proof,

Comes off as in-your-face,

It is flamboyant,

And not for the faint of heart.

If angst is inside,

It should fucking shine,

Not be kept bottled up inside,

So others won’t think you corrupt,

But the same can be said,

For experiencing joy or pain,

And even of feeling mundane.

Own yourself,

At 100 proof,

Don’t go all lame,

To become a crowd pleaser,

Camouflage,

To acquire an unnecessary entourage –

……….That’s just too fucking ridiculous.

Not many can take me,

At 100 proof,

They expect everyone and everything,

To be just like them,

To speak and act and react,

A replica of what they would,

Newsflash motherfuckers,

I’m not a brainless block of wood!

There’s many things,

That come 100 proof,

People, faith, and alcohol,

Do you have it?

Can you take it?

Or will the trust put in you be shaken?

The Proverbial Angel And Devil

There is a battle between good and evil,

It’s raging in everyone’s soul,

It takes two halves,

To make any of us whole,

It goes a little like this:

“Do this,

Or I’ll get pissed”!

And,

“No! Please!

Don’t listen to that!

I smell a rat”!

These two whisper battles,

Day in,

And day out,

Trying to win my affections,

So I’ll follow their directions.

One so bad,

He should make me mad,

But when he speaks,

I hear happy squeaks,

The opposite so good,

I should maybe knock on wood,

For when he says walk,

I cheerily ask,

For guidance to his flock.

I’d be better off,

As a one-man show,

But in each situation,

Inside my skull,

My conscience hears two little voices,

That just won’t dull.

What the fuck?

Is there a way,

To shut them up?

They’ve been keeping everyone company,

Since the Dawn Of Time,

Shouldn’t they have expired by now?

I’d think they should be,

Way past their prime.

I picture the one having horns,

Bearing a black pitchfork,

The other wearing a white robe,

With twinkling stars,

Hanging from delicate earlobes.

They represent the two main things,

That drive this world,

Wicked and righteous,

And as thoughts of both,

Course through all our minds,

It would seem we are all one part sinister,

And another part divine.

Does either one,

Ever win?

Can one being be,

One hundred percent,

Just goodness or sin?

I’d say no one is perfect,

We’re really each a mix,

Of halos and that creepy,

Six-six-six.