a man of fancy tastes,
relishing the sugary sweet
cream filled goodness
that comes with the territory
of being fancy.

when all of our guesses
have turned out wrong
and all of our efforts
have produced nothing
but dead ends
and dark alleys
where our fears surface
and try to consume us,
whole or in part;

it doesn’t matter
when both are the same
in the end.

for so long you overflowed
with hope for the future
and assurance that things
would only get better;

i thought your optimism was bad,
hating your assurance
that this was the bottom,
and pushing for you to realize
that the good days were gone;

but then i heard your despair
and realized that was worse,
seeing your will to fight
dry up in your loss of hope
as all the cares
and all the problems
descended upon your back,
blackening out your son
along with your hope,
leaving only the black hole
of despair.

it’s time to go
our seperate ways
and leave the room
that we have shared;
the dream was nice
and it was fun
to live together
as if we were one,
but the weekend’s gone
and we now see
that the time has come
for us to leave;
so pack the bags
and load the car
and whatever you do
don’t say a word,
but let us go
on our own ways
and let us pretend
that our lives are still one
although deep inside,
we know the truth,
just as we know the lies
that we tell ourselves.

watching my man talk,
i felt a sense of pride
not because i believed
but because i liked
the way he talked
(and perhaps the way he walked)
and how there was no fear
to be disagreed with
so long as the conversation
kept truckin on.

though unknowingly spaced out,
whilst driving unthinkingly
i somehow go straight

all else being equal
i’d prefer to die alone
without the hassle of knowing
without the hassle of being known
locked up in solitary simplicity
locked out of cooperative complicity
never having to say “hi my name is ____”
never having to shake a hand.

you make me shout
you make me scream
you make me want
to do horrible things
to shake you up
and make you see
how stupid and horrible
you are to me
and how you deserve
above all things
to be my first victim
of ripped out spleen
and next your heart
and then your brain
which i will leave lying
in the acid rain
as a way of improving
upon its current use.

though short lived
thou wert nice
and a brief glimpse
of the freedom
that couldest be,
glimpsed from afar
from my pseudo-job

soon the end will come
and then where will we be
when all of the boasting
and all of the toasting
has reached the end
forevernevermore
and never comes again
forevernevermore

what is real and what is right,
i wish you’d sleep with me tonight
and appease this passing fantasy,
from which reason and thought do flee.

i’ve never been one
who’s got to have it
now, Now, NOw, NOW,
but temptation is strong
and giving in is easy
and even sweet, bitter-sweet
(like good dark chocolate),
passing through me
like an aphrodesiac,
sweeping me away
in a whelming flow,
washing away my conscious,
along with the dust
of a fractured soul.

“this is not all we are”
the familiar refrain rings;
“beyond the pale a new life awaits”
holds out hope for the hopeless,
but i find it harder these days
to look past the mere matter
and see what lies beyond
with my vision obscured
by beer/wine/whisky
and my desire hijacked
by greed/lust/pleasure;

so the beyond disappears
in its very invisibility,
and the present intrudes
by its extreme tangibility,
filling my senses to the max,
demanding my attention.

In with the old
and out with the new
I’m looking forward to
trying something crude,
trying something old
that’s never been tried before;

perhaps for this year,
the thing to do
will be to resolve
to not do anything new,
to hold on to the things of yore
not caring if they are a bore.