Dwelling on the past
You could have never known
You could have never seen this coming
Over-preparing for the future
I’ve never seen you prepare that much for anything
Over-thinking in a knife fight
is like running in a forest while it’s raining
Memorable,
but not what you wanted to happen next
In the midst of a tragedy,
in a second of memory,
I saw what hurt you most
Now I see
it was an inner conflict
and not a character flaw
But not everyone has an open mind
to see inside these things
In a moment of recollection,
a speck of time worth waiting for
I had your number dialed on the phone,
all I had to do was call
Now I see
it was an inner conflict
and not a character flaw
I’m sorry that it took so long
Waking up for one
Do people leave the house anymore?
Responding to your distress call,
I’m sorry that it took so long
Waking up for one
Do people talk to each other anymore?
A memory of pure ecstasy
A speck of time worth waiting for
I lost my mind
somewhere
between the seconds ticking
God left
and the devil punched in
Stray winds
dark and long
blew coldly on my paper sails
as
things I thought I knew
sank away
down into lightless fathoms
And when
in answer to my begging letters
a bashful dawn bled in
I made her promises
that somewhere
deep within
I knew
I’d only go and break
You say you've seen it all
but your not even close.
There's always more
twists and turns, ironic endings
to the comedy and horror show-
Given time, life will stomp the mind
you've only seen a vignette of its grit and grind
Fortunes can change slow and steady like the tide
or quickly spread like a wind heckled fire.
Life is a knife fight with an invisible foe
you'd be foolish to stand in one place
and go toe to toe.
The key is to be humble as a weed, lay low
in the champagne glass and bouquet of victory,
be hard as a diamond when in the talon of grief
keep the mind humming from glade to glade
because crazy will try to keep stride with life's pace.
It's become fashionable to un-label things
be beige about everyone and everything
beige is a politically safe mirage of tranquility
because beige goes along with anything
be gender neutral or face a horde of fire balls
ignore when your ballerina is in a knife fight
with a studded biker over a piss splashed stall
label me whatever but I like my salt and pepper labeled
I'm a lion and not into crapping next to a lamb or sable
I like my zebra zigzagging across the purple plains in a cyclone
I have nothing against beige but beige can never be a rainbow
Sleep is the sand
that slips through my fingers
My hands
the only way i can hold on
Dust blown in the wind
The glitter and twinkle
Im falling and drifting
In and out of my head
Crack open the window
And let the sweat dry
Her scent keeps me up
The only sense i have laying heavy
I am always loneliest right before dawn
Id rather have a knife fight
Than have my lover lured away
At least then someone else
Can feel me
No fantasy can distract me
And the drugs dont last long enough
You're a victim of the system
Lost inside the hivemind
You're taught to breed before 17
You're forced to be another torch that burns down my walls
You must learn all the trends, otherwise you're retarded
Victim of the system
I don't blame you, I was once in your place,
wires in my brain,
singing the same lyrics as everyone else,
Stuck in the same spotlight for years,
A brain injected with anxiety
Victim of the system
Why do you create chaos,
when peace is so close,
why do you bring guns to the knife fight,
The goverment encourages hospitality,
but uses war was a resolve tatic.
Victim of the system
If I told you, "you're not a rebel, you follow their every command." you would scream the truth out and whisper the lie in,
The pain that you cause is clouded by murky waters,
You have no voice,
except to laugh when others struggle to break free.
Victim of the system
The sky, the water, a mix
of battleship gray and gunmetal
and dreary
sandblasting wind biting
away the tears
and eventide reflections on life's direction
diluted by a passing squall
of not much intensity, not as
a relationship requiring the focus
of a knife fight,
in a phone booth.
Thoughts slowing to a relative crawl,
the seventeen miles-per-hour I'm taught
focuses the narrative of elsewhere
in the eye inside my eye,
there's more vista
and less twist of road
as I am extra,
as language is to prayer.
Self Acceptance
by
jude Kyrie
After you left me
I know it was my fault
the drinking the depression
sure it was me.
It's always me.
I stopped seeing the therapist.
she was right
I was the cause of my downfall.
I needed to man up and change.
But I don't want to change.
My brain and my heart
have been in a knife fight
all my life.
I like my flaws
Perfect things are boring.
So what
if this means I am broken
and less lovable.
I don't care.
I like my flawed poems
better than her therapy.
They don't care
how flawed and broken I am
and they never ever judge me.
watching the US & its NATO buddies
beat the middle east senseless
until it get its way,
is like watching kids show up on the playground
with semi-automatics,
when the few that they are gonna fight
have a couple of switchblades
between them.
It never stops raining. With daggers sewn through her heart she cries. Filled with
confusion she cries. "No one can help me until I can help myself. And I can't help
myself." Frozen throughout, exposing broken skin. One week, one more week. She can't take
anymore burning in her mind. "Why can't I sever your head, why can't I sever your memory?"
The image burned through her eyes has made it on to the mirror. Broken glass reflecting on
the shards of the past. Force fed memories walking on tacks, please pull the knife fight
out of my back and I'll pull the knife out of yours. "You can't stop the rain", she says.
"You can't stop the rain"