The Lack of Faith

Another demonstration of excellence,

This time…without my eyes I see,

Evidence of God in woman,

Her nobility shown on skin.

I am hung by my nerves as she stings the endings,

Beaconing me nigh inside the realm of her energy,

She grasps my soul,

To remind me I am scorned,.

Salvation by infatuation with the happiness I know she can offer,


To which I’ve a many year lacked,

Playing the game of love,

Strumming the harp of discord,

What is given to me,

What is given to us,

I cannot deny,

The aggression of beauty,

Present and blinding,

This time….without my eyes,

I see,

With the pain that I possess,

His presence.

I will petrify at her feet to wonder what would become of me while small inside her arms,

Free and unstressed,

Undone and undone,

To which do I pursue,

An eternal question.


Too much…,
Too many seconds focusing on why I cannot be defined,
Inexplicable and mine.

So I’ll exist without proper description inside people’s perimeters,
Without hope of them ever knowing me,
Laws inside expectations, inside perceptions, inside assumptions, apart from truth.


  • WRITTEN IN MAY 2015 


A still ocean, no longer rumbles against the earth,
A dead sun, no longer provides us gravity,
A deceased moon, no longer gives us light,
Spoiled oxygen, no longer gives us life.

I pull the waves inward with logical embrace,
I spit gas into fiery pits and nickel with intelligence,
I comfort the darkness with unwieldy compassion,
I exhale life into her broken lungs to be,
By only what we can see, tragedy.

Myself will not be given away,
I can, will, can take her astray,
The darkened days, of gloomy grays,
I will remain us.

Perfection, mythical,
Her placement be not,
Realistic it is before me,
Always it is without me,
Direction be driven, unforced,
Deeply chiseled into her heart of gold,
Guidance toward me, be her own,
Idle hands of me, the predictor,
No more than prophetic suggestions,
Fall from a pure heaven into the grips of rugged skin,
About the body of beauty,
Be sentineled by my competent eyes,
Abolish lust, for else exists beyond its promises,
Intimacy to be molded by my idle hands,
Passive advances break notice,
Sip disgust from the tongue of your current chaos,
Hand me your heart, on a plate,
I will protect you.


The quality of noise we give our ears,
Be represented in our actions,
Mannerisms that physically project our hearings,
So that those hefty words,
Those huge tones,
Those jumbo notes,
Are no longer trapped within the confines of our crowded skulls,
Thoroughly observe them…
Escape into our realities compelling us to mimic the nature of those tunes.

We have choice to not believe,
Proclaim the possession of our actions remains an ideal of biblical sense,
Naive to the fact that the control began at the start of the song,
We choose to partake, in spades, in music that clings strings to our psyche,
Beyond that…our emotion follows.

Another Step

I view all my actions as steps,

Steps toward something,

Something somewhere,

Not always known,

But ahead.

I have a tendency to watch where my feet go,

Shambling over dead thoughts,

And stumbling over bleak instances of the past,

But I never fall,

It never hurts,

For long, well…it never lasts.

Every act,

Every notion,

Every response,

Every movement,

Is fixed facing forward,

Stuck in the gist of things,

I can’t turn back.

The challenge comes from the past’s embrace,

It comes from the emotion that is latched around my neck,

I have blotchy bruises caused from the strength of my resistance; sore muscles,

I pray to God at night that my neck doesn’t break,

I find my hands gripped around the nape,

It’s not that from these latches that I cannot escape,

But the power that I need to exert in order for them to break,

Not to mind…that I also have shackles around my ankles that stop me from dancing for joy,

It has dumbed down to this awkward hop in wake of achievement,

But celebration nonetheless.

Some would say I’m fighting myself,

Simply because I won’t turn around,

And face what I direct my steps against,

A yank from the chain of my demons I could dispel,

But I cannot bring myself to please them with usual hell,

I must walk, fight,

Remain the living contradiction to this blight,

Against all…another step.


Face of God

Inconstancy chipping at my perfect portrait of the face of God,
A menacing mixture of acted love and emoted hate,
Darkness befalling the silver lights,
Taking the rivers joyous into ocean’s lakes,
Now night,
I cannot see my God.

Meanings dilute by wicked waters casting validity into murky bayous,
I watch them eaten by snipes from heretical tongues,
Sharp comments from dumb,
The dammed, the none,
The ones which wane with contact by the sun,
The one’s that run,
I cannot see my God.

I cannot see my God beyond the cloud of humid arrogance,
Dragging the stench amongst the nature,
Loose and freely polluting water vapors,
Inhale and beget…
The will to forget,
That we have not the power, nor passion,
To whip good from Earth,
Over shuddered screams,
The mother speaks softly in the trees,
Jogging what memory left,
That no form of inhumane theft can snatch away the light,
While in night,
While in bayous,
While in scorn,
There are us who strive adorn,
The ugly blackness of what man has left,
I see my God,
In actions,
In inaction,
In space,
In peace,
In hate,
I hear her in leaves,
Over lakes,
And in fate,
Ol’ mother Earth.


I do what’s right in a time that’s wrong,
When society still has it’s keen stupidity to contradict progress,
I do what’s right in a time that’s wrong,
Being beat by bitchy tones,
From modern day witches that live off from getting fucked in the ass and staying stoned,
The millennial liberal stabbing at the success that tradition’s shown,
I do what the odds do not condone,
Without the  evidence that my ego’s overgrown,
I fight the furry “free” beast and 1st world crone,
Effects and causes cause me to affect the causes of said effects,
Putting my hand in the cesspool of over sexual activity and mental defects,
I stand against whatever common wit doesn’t protect,
And goodness doesn’t reflect,
…but I’m not perfect…,
Just awake, and unscathed by the presence of opinion,
I do what’s right in a time that’s wrong,
I guess that’s why I’m alone.


The  quality of noise we give our ears,
Demonstrative in our actions,
Thriving in our perceptions,
Driving us to justify our sickly reflections.

Copious screams of sexuality feed the virgin ears,
Unearthing adolescents from innocence,
Breeding temptations at least-
To be tied around their skinny necks,
Dragging them along the sinful grounds of sexual curiosity with wicked ropes,
Which intend to corrupt and desensitize sex into merely a joke-
To be had,
Just like the young girls that flaunt in short skirts,
At this point the notion hurts.

Garret separates himself from reality,
Plugs his ears,
Puts on The Weeknd and turns it up,
Crowing about how many bitches he fucked,
Garret head bops and mind sucks it up,
The one wailing temptation about a girl class, Garret can’t seem to shut it up,
Next day in class, he reaches in front of desk and grabs her ass,
Koda swirls around punches him in the face, glasses break, eye stabbed with glass,
Teacher sends for the medics,
Garret explains to Dad,
Conniptions of a young lad,
Actions of a young adult,
Now Garret is charged with one account of sexual assault.


I am fearful again,
The blaring music has stopped,
Giving attention to my screaming thoughts,
What if?,
One night comes,
In bleak disarray,
Sitting up in bed.
In pitch black shade,
I cannot take,
It no longer,
I embrace my hate,
I slake my hunger,
I take to town,
To homes yonder,
Irate, unbound.
Morals and mind asunder,
I kill the house,
I stab the tongue,
I teach the mouth,
I hide the young,
She screams and shouts,
Pant, shakes, dry gums,
She is ripe with doubt,
Forehead in contact with cold gun,
She knows what’s about –
To happen before sun.

Exactly what I said.

I am free,
I am fearful again,
What if…?

Now Numb

First, think –
Of what transpires with the severance-
Of the thin strings that hold together realism-
In your mind.

Secondly, imagine,
What chaos would slam heavy on your chest when you are forced to remove the comfort of rationalization,
The ever-justifying house will concave at its base,
Throwing thoughts askew.

Lastly, emote,
Feel the gravity of problematic decision,
Ripen with feelings of disappointment and allow the discomfort,
Stare toward your walls, understand young girl that you are trapped-
With a man on your mind, until the last of your life,
Until what you know of time dusts with your wrinkled skin and as you stare your new husband in his pouting eyes,
Get close, pull him in, and scream in his ear “I am alone!!!”,
He will not know the reason because he is there,
And you do not speak of your problems until they become behemoths gnashing at your fragile sanity,
Fuck his understanding, you do not even understand yourself,
A wicked old shrew unhappy of her mistakes-
Doing whatever it takes,
To regain that part of herself running in the opposite direction,
Now, how does it feel?