This Common Era

Oh, Brave New World 
…and all of us forced to inhabit it 
We were cursed at birth, 
Still we’re trying to make the best of it 
How this land has grown
it’s vines hovering past the heavens 
Yet they’ve branched far beyond us now 
To be raised merely as peasants
I’ve been beaten, I’ve been scared 
I’ve done everything but cared
Ruthless, but at least self aware 
That our futures aren’t ones to be spared
Yes, this is the common era 
These are the times that we’ve changed 
We’ll always be watched but expect to be self-taught
By the traitors who love us in feign 
We hail from the fathers of confusion,
The mothers of love and cocaine 
who sit now in their institutions 
Satisfied with days all the same 
We know of your good intentions,
pleased with the money you waste
Spent to pay off the reflection
Of how we follow all your broken ways 
But it’s different now, so modern 
Rusting even before we age 
Better off as lambs, in slaughter
To be packaged and then thrown away
Yes, ring the bells for the common era! 
We were bound to end up this way
Pretending to get by ‘til the evenings high 
Just like you were, back in the day
Now we’re off to end up in your shoes 
Letting our dreams vanish for jobs 
Which you’ll get now if you’re pampered and approved 
So be enslaved or stay being lost 

Only Mimes Yell

Touching ground, 
Approaching hell
Mind full of lust and a soul to sell
Linger on,
Can’t be wrong 
Seeking a savior in your palms 
Til you look down
on the naked ground
Minding the loud bastard clouds 
Who can believe
An entity unseen,
When speaking to the blind?
In a world of the deaf 
The saints waste their breathes 
Claiming those mimes can yell 
So let them drown, 
With the waves as they announce 
That only they can be heard in shells 

From a Distance (as always)

Look at yourself in the mirror. Look at that head. That freakish, abnormally sized bust that struggles to sit restlessly on your shoulders as you constantly face downward. If there’s any advantage to that thing you try to tame is that it holds an endless mosaic of thoughts that let you ponder and help you reason in times of awkward peril. 
Now look at her. From a distance (as always) as you restrain the temptation to call her name, she may cower.
Your eyes wander constantly towards her vicinity, like an invisible ray of magnetic lust fucking you towards her. The perverted bastard you’ve been since the Bush years you can't cease the temptation to admire the beauty she truly is.
You're beautiful.
But she wants to be beaten.
Father never taught you how to beat a woman, so you let the rays die away in the halls, jolting to gaze elsewhere when strangers catch on.
This is the extent of your fantasy. Some think it's funny because they notice only eyes as huge as yours can be  others list you in the daily lunch grime of children to stay away from. What difference does that make anyway, you’re used to this. Not to mention you claim on countless occasions that you could care less and nihilism is your middle name (with other rationales) of bullshit intended to keep them further away.
We all know they’re idiots, but must you really mention every fucking moment of the day?
Now you spend all this time thinking how to brew conversation, exchanging smiles and possibly even numbers...anything to promise the pursuit of intimacy.
This is what you want. Her.
You desire her in the ways she romances herself for they balance how you restrict yours. Why do you remain silent and sedated? She’s been passing through the halls, making nice glances so now you get that feeling you try so hard to resist
(that feeling that you might just want to embrace. But you well know where this feeling gets you, fuckboy.
It gets you out of your house but away from your friends and into the world of devotion that makes you a diluted zombie living off the faith for his woman. It won’t at first come across like this after the exchange of laughs, familiar names and places, and inner thoughts; then a measly kiss or two will seal your heart and spawn some sort of connection. If she accepts the trial of staying with you and not going down the usual assembly line of hookups until pregnancy, you’re convinced this was meant to be.

You’ll remain on your knees while other men stampede behind your back and win her with their quicker wits as she assures you’re her only one. The decay of other men’s breath and the stench of their putrid fucking seed won’t be visible by the time she locks her lips on yours the morning after. The evening before you were wondering where she is and what she’s doing, always secure with that welcoming kiss that yes, she really is yours. Hard to believe you could have a girl this beautiful, ain’t it?
After all, you are the soul-sucking downer who drives everyone to hell with his constant bitching of the youth today and how it’s not the same as it used to be and how we’re all getting stupider and stupider…
But somehow she can look past it all. What could it be that draws her in? Maybe you really are different, maybe you really have grown into a handsome young man, and maybe the world you threaten to leave in a shelved thought once a week isn’t that bad after all; maybe even as beautiful as her.

But that’s when she tells you that there really was nothing; we are simply young and stupid. There are good amounts of folk who can (and will) do better jobs at loving than your awkward façade you consider passion. She’s been kissing you with the aftertaste of others (many others) and even some you’ve exchanged smiles, glances, and even friendships with. Trying to remain cool and collective, you won’t show a single emotion. Because doesn’t that mean they’ve won? You really are letting the pressure of bullshit teen life get under your poorly maintained skin.
Meanwhile, the demons you try so hard not to let overtake return with the realization that you couldn’t even make a girl feel loved in your prime. What good are you, anyway?

Her life will go on and she’ll love and scar many more, most probably of higher statures then yours and they’ll never know of the legacy and romance you thought you could hold. You’re just another face to her now the same way she is to you, and no one wants to say a single fucking thing. And if you even dare gaze at her again in the hall, she’ll look down before you’re in sight. That’s the way things work here.
And the noon bell rings.

Now cry, you little bitch. Cry like you did when you were sent away by one woman who should’ve been there for you (which you fucked up yourself as usual) when no one else was.
You know who I’m talking about, don’t even…
But you will. You’ll always trace your little inferior struggles with adolescence on the woman who brought you here. Eventually, she’ll grow tired of having you stay in that piss-smelling basement of a home and throw you out where you belong.
The time’s coming up, boy, time to be a man. So don’t let this potential sweet gal become your lady and fuck everything up while you’re still picking up the pieces.

Of course, you’re still staring at her. From a distance, as always for no idea of chemistry could come to mind on how to relate and ease her in. Do you really think she’d want you anyway? After all you’ve done in and around the school to people she probably doesn’t even know but definitely will once the herd catches on that you and her are talking. The most pleasant thing both of you can do for each other is smile, and hope to remain strangers with invulnerable young hearts. 

See Penny Lane

See Penny Lane

She smells like butane

Once a girl of charm,

She slipped into the drain

That washed her of all dignity

Everyone’s pregnant

And they don’t regret it

Swallow their pride ,

To a womb of affinity

Fools surround

In armies of clowns

We’re coming for you

They’re on the morning news

Ocean stained panties piled in the sand,

I leave my woes behind

There’s no place for me to lend a hand

As Medusa grows hungry inside

Markets burning,

Blood thirsty and yearning

To find innocent blood

The icemen, they come

Fertile to feed

If your heart’s on your sleeve

Nowhere to run

Unless you’ve flown past the sun

Work for the weary

And she’ll embrace so dearily

But you must bathe in mud,

Before you bud

Semen stained Goddess on the western front,

Where have you been all my life?

Her arms wrap tight around my waist so blunt

We’re gonna take the world tonight

Prologue from 'FOOL I WAS'

Everything changes but the road. The road and the path it promises. A path that stretches onward north and south and never guarantees an end. Whatever vessel you tread down the journey on matters little to nothing, for even the blisters that scar the vagabond’s lonesome feet will heal.
While he continues to wander without judgment in hopes of discovery, shelter, and enlightenment; his feet will eventually blister again. He will greet new scars along the journey and no matter how gruesome, diseased, vengeful, and painful these scars may be; he can never cease the journey. He also can never look back, the world before him is void. The sun’s rays will bring a harsh presence to his back, and he cannot complain no matter how dark he will become.
Eventually the scars will grow to be infected and too severe for time to heal, and he will die a long anticipated death. Only to blister in the sun his will shunned. Posthumously, his skin will peel and his bones will crumble until they vanish and repay the air he once selfishly indulged.

Rhythms of the Universe

In a moment, my love, I’ll burst

Scatter me amongst this wretched Earth

Or if I’m buried, sing the dirge

With the rhythms of the universe

I’ll play to all without any pay

I’ll sing til my voice rusts and fades

I’ll walk through the night and sleep at day

Without a place for my body to lay

The blaze has left my tired eyes

The one you said gazed into your mind

It burnt out at the sheer surprise

Of your absence in the dead sunrise

You say you love us all

 but you can’t touch me

That face is a doll

Still it can’t deceive

That whimsy fool, whose face is me

But don’t you worry, I know where to retreat

The cost is only one simple, bold release

Into the bleak, fabled sanctuary

Taxicab Man

Taxicab man, tell us where we’re going

           The seats are breathing and skies towing

        Away the clouds to reveal the stars

Exposing my pupils, the size of mars

              Looking away in the comfort of shade

          Each passerby catches those eyes

And I watch their evils trail slowly behind

         They exit in forms of waves

        Sticking from their backs as thoughts rave

About the end of days

 Soon to come, and o what fun!

So thought this foolish vertebrate

   The spine of time

  Only breaks when the sunshine

       Emits a rapture of rays

Into the streets I heard the sounds of the weak

  Booming in the open as I struggled each step

I glanced behind, then lost my mind

  For all masks of flesh had now shed

Those guised, pale faces

 Lifted my skull from containment

I thanked them as I flew towards the sky

   But as I reached the moon

       The trip suddenly bloomed

            And I questioned it without a “Why?”

Flattered by the Stars

Here I lay down by the sea

Up above I appear to be

flattered by those stars

To gaze and glisten is to touch

For love can be a poor man’s crutch

If he’s flattered by the stars

Her warm bliss meets mine

We bide our time

Clenched together, 

As she makes them ours

Pointing to reflect,

Too many to inspect

I trust that my mind is now free

A blaze in the sky,

Cool water in her eyes

Exuberance refuses defeat

Naked old clouds,

Cross the bridge down

Lovers abide,

A vengeful tide

But night shows face,

She leaves me in grace

Not for long, but for today

Memories now keen,

The patterns show clean

Signaling better days

Selfish Sun

I remember when the planets were young

Parading ‘round a selfish sun

Who cried as we cooked below

We watched it for awhile, hoping he’d explode

But still we rob his rays

As he graces us with each passing day

I’ll thank him when he fades

When will he seclude?

Something tells me it’s soon

Is it the look on your face?

Or those clouds shedding us their gloom

Muffling the cries from his path

Longing to cease his exuberant blast

Yet their presence shifts by days

Now we can see the that yellow haze

These millions years a mere phase

For we stand in the White Dwarf’s way

He’ll age and grow humble

As cities freeze, then crumble

For his cries are now mumbles

Shining now ever so subtle

Hey Mister (God, you feel like my sister)

Impulse did well for that dream

  last night

    on the screen

       that put my nipples

             on display as we teased in mere foreplay

               One day she’ll scream:

WHORE.

Is a word to suppress in the

           Uneasy conquest to leave  
                 a mission and mind undressed
                     tensed in sweat,

                          (hey I did my best)

                             Still feeling a bit

                                   SORE.

         In the hallways

                   She’ll rise

                     In her teenage grime                                            And, (to my surprise)
                   Awake to haunt me in prime

FOR,

                                     

Those noises awoke
        two nosy folks, who were  
            up to no good in the other room
                     but her façade played it off

                      So she won’t get caught
                              in the truth as he shouts

                             WHORE.  

I wish my mind had a safe word.

For each time I thought myself up a stew

I could make it stop

With that magic word

And start over, blinking back into the world

Without the twitching I’m used to

Yes, safe.

Or maybe just

On the outskirts of a worried mind.