Looking to Failure

stock-photo-sisyphus-metaphor-man-rolling-huge-concrete-ball-up-hill-sisyphean-work-task-248863174

Don’t live life looking for the path of least resistance. Don’t avoid challenges because if you do, you’ll never have any idea where your potential lies and if you can’t understand your potential, then you’ll never meet it.

It’s important to ask yourself: What have you failed at today? The real root of growth; the struggle.

Ticonderoga

3262

Engraved

On a Ticonderoga

I reached to the back of my skull

And found the same number engraved

In me

Serendipitous utensils

I know how silly

Love can be

But why not believe,

Yellow slender;

Soul mate.

We are writing utensils

Intertwined

Flowing

Like letting go of a manuscript

In a windstorm

But you hurt me so.

Do I use you?

Or do they use me?

Were you here?

Is your motives for nothing,

But profit?

Is your heart not in it,

The way it once was?

It will feel like years

Until I see you again

But I’ve never loved

Like I love the pen

And once the door closes

I’ll curse your name

Wish the lips never parted

Slithering tongue

The picking of

flesh from bone,

My vulture

My muse

Moving me to new grounds

Starboard Apocalypse

stock-photo-shipwreck-or-wrecked-boat-on-beach-274972586

I’m just doing what I can

To survive

To post pone the end

Immoral, bitter, dirty

Pull out your dictionary of insults

The price to keep this ship from sinking

I get so sick of patching

Splintered wood,

Leaking cracks

If screaming out to the

Pale men on shore

And getting no response.

I’d give anything to dock,

But grabbing the nose of my dingy

And pushing it away

I sail in search

Of a new shore.

A place I can rest, escape

the pangs of reality.

Stagnation in the center of the sea.

Writing to Routine

stock-photo-top-view-thirties-retro-writers-desk-with-typewriter-367449401.jpg

Making plans

Manipulating phrases

Chiseling poetry:

Fallen, forgotten, worlds

Nostalgia, fear

Connection, obsession.

7 worded nights

Fighting after they’ve taken

Your will to live

Fighting with nothing left to lose

Fighting with fingers

Mashed into

A potato fist

Clashing batons

Whipping, slashing rounds

And I’ll stand in the middle of

The battleground

With little, but

Crippled fists

From bashing faces

Into misconceptions

Of “art”

Only the greats would envy

If they could only see

If the product

Wasn’t so impermanent

As a newly born author

Picking up his first pen

In the street

Outside his first

Wholesale purchase

Of cheap liquor.

 

Finding Blood in the Wreckage

stock-photo-omg-frustrated-man-sitting-desperate-over-paper-work-at-desk-negative-emotion-facial-expression-389041174.jpg

 He is a creation of mine

A figurative shit

I forced onto the page

Blowing a gasket

How much pleasure does it take

Before it isn’t about love anymore?

How man slits before the wrists

Are no longer clenching an escape rout?

There is a green fog

Fallen through the tree canopies

Into the indignant

Hazed mind

I want the music

Mindset, words

That makes stone walls crack

That makes men feel.

Where to Find Relief.

stock-photo-authentic-scrambled-reception-on-a-tv-screen-758556.jpg

That life

In all its tediousness

All its suffering

With a  white washed brain

And a luxurious

Lobotomy

(Day time television)

It will all end

The thread will split

The engine will run out of gas

In the center of oncoming traffic

I grab the wheel, brace myself

For another reality

At the center

Transcending in blue light

The acceptance of love

Impermanence

I am not bitter