June 25, 2019: Work again

Fallen hard on reality’s door, sapped of his energy.

On the floor with hollow eyes, seeks new scenery.

All springs branches befell to fall, gathered here on reality’s door.

Hope for tomorrow yet you dealt in spades, hard to swallow, as a loved life fades.


Jester laughs in a top hat, trading barbs with the Cheshire cat,

they stop to laugh with tilted grins, at the man who fails again

These painted shadows like to ruminate, dance around, illuminate,

Color me a depressive hue, for dejected loss is a joker’s gain


Like parched tongue caws, when it tries to whistle, but lips they pause

No raven black, or dusted robe, a reaper’s scythe or midnight row,

Worn reflective in a shattered mirror, a free ride in a rusted tow


I shake the rug on reality’s door, free the ash that now lines the floor,

out sprawled still lay that man, who holds fresh air of a new sought plan

with hollow eyes that pierce through, a keyhole shows scenery new.


January 17, 2018: Heavy

Wide burdens call all shoulders to bear,

this world so heavy

The clout of fame that daggers dare,

dig in so steady

Choose to run and hide from fear,

feeling freedoms so heady


Welcome home to the Bedlam,

disorder brings truth

Sinking deeper in desert sand

wasting my youth

Head above water,  body ashore

remains to sleuth


Ear gives way to infinite chatter

Hyena howls outbursts of laughter

Ostracized from those who day seek

Shadow fools the blinded meek

Unbounded thoughts that chose to unwind

Carry clocks showing no time


All weight bears down on you,

this world so heavy

To fully engulf yourself,

this heavy world

Always complaining,

world’s heavy




July 7, 2016: Skull Lamp

There’s a skull trapped in a glass lamp,
Yet no one hears its cry

Its orbital features no eyes,
Yet sockets are alive
Animated and fearful in fright

Motoring teeth vibrate the glass
Integrity won’t last

Pounding skull leaves a crack
One final attack

Free-fall, skull’s contact with floor
A downpour of glass, chatters en masse

A gasp, the skull sigh relief
In leaving nadir
His crystalline Bastille

There’s a skull surrounded by glass
In a powdered glass moat

Cannot move, but an inch just to breathe
Animate, from his eye sockets glee
Skull’s never been so free

May 30, 2016: Pressure and Time

I found a crumb on the ground the other day, and pressed it against my finger and thumb, vanishing into smaller crumbs.

Pressure is all it takes, to shatter a man in smaller bits, pressure and time. Diamonds are created from the same philosophy, but as with man, shatter easily under pressure.

This pressure to succeed engulfs my watering eyes, tired and scared, they water from lack of sleep and lack of strength. I found out that my hard work had succeeded in giving me a 4.0 for the semester, at the cost of a blistering heat blasting shards of diamond to exfoliate parts of my being. A physical weathering that peels back my very soul and exposes a weakness I cannot overcome.

And though I stand with a vessel of which can quench my parched tongue, I lack the strength of will to pick it up and drink. I sink into myself, though a rope is there for grasping, I gasp for air as my visage crumbles.

What is success if a man stays defeated, to know that he won, yet alone stands to praise.

A parcel from death, RSVP a meeting. Even with pressure and time you are never too small to greet him. His scythe sharp enough to make Uncle Buck blush, in fact I see circumcised gnats rolling in pain beside me.

Death with a heavy step, crunches the floor beneath his foot, and passes me by, for his scythe does not reflect a face for which to slice.

I hound with a heavy prowl, the place which my body fell. It is not too bad of shape for all that has happened, shattered, but not broken. Worn out, but not without etchings.

Pressure to breathe, with time keeps me breathing.


May 23, 2016: Relevant

I feel a yearning to stay relevant
My head in a fish bowl, world distorting
Shout into wind hoping wishes grant
A man’s pride that has been found wanting

A poor excuse with bridges burned
And now no fire to melt the ice
Fidgeting hands with no pages to turn
I shout at the wind, and pay the toll bearers price

Relevant, nay, only wanting to be
A poor man’s disease, coughing endlessly
My knees so brittle, they crack like arthritic bone
A horizon to travel, will I make it alone

My leg is asleep, itching to run
I plant the heel but the nerve is numb
Fever to dream of a dancing morrow
Yet confide in myself a tingling sorrow

I feel a yearning, but no makers born
I shall try again when the sun is warm

May 18, 2016: Who Is There?

There is a pounding at the door inside my head, But I’m too shy to answer. It pulsates like the bass at a metal concert, interrupting my thought patterns and engaging the muscles at the back of my ears like a dog when it hears the word “walk”. For whom is there? This place is smaller now than it was before, I haven’t much to give, I haven’t much room to receive, and yet they are so damn persistent. “Thump! Thump! Thump!” heavy intervals spaced by escalating anticipation, rhythm to match my heartbeat. I ponder approaching closer yet quickly turn away again.

Outside myself I ponder nothing, as I sit bare, flipping through pages of Bing image searches that excite me. A pounding in my head for the moment drowned out by the pounding of my dick, for a while like a metronome, you can set your watch to this. Yet as one task winds down, the other continues, this time without pause (if only we all were so lucky). This pounding at the door is now shaking my head, like a bite into a fudge pop my head is rattling. I go to the bathroom to wash my face in warm water, and my eyes look in the mirror and in through the pupil. He is peering through the upper window on the door, I catch his stare, and close my lashes to act as blinds

the mirror is too dangerous.

Now there is a ringing in my head, this time like after a metal concert, it won’t stop. I drum my fingers on the back of my head covering my ears to stop the ringing, but this bell is in a perpetual  sonorous. I’m sure he is still peering through the window, with his foot pushing in the bell, as it begins to sputter while he loses position, but I am too shy to greet him.

And as I sit growing out of shape, dick wrapped in tissue paper, I know it true why the man knocks persistent, and it is not just shy me who will ditch him. All parts of me knows why I shut him out, I am content now to live in doubt.

Doubt for things I thought I knew

Doubt for habits I thought I grew

Persistent knocking of man so proud

incessant ringing of bells so loud


I shut the door and the man keeps knocking

All parts of me too shy to open

I’ll count the days my head stays pounding

And close my lashes as body locks in




May 3, 2016: Where Art Thou Motivation?

Lack of will, where I stand with no time to kill, can I find the motivation?

Ease not even into the solemn practice of masturbation, I stop mid pump and contemplate the reasons why. For the better part of this year I have been asking myself why, or why not to the great effect of me wanting to do something, yet lacking motivation to try. So as I sit here with my ass muscles still pulsating from myself nearing climax only to stop out of boredom, or ejection of care to even pleasure myself, I have to wonder, why.

This year has not been kind, a blur of clock and day, calendar numbers are just as erasable as my dreams, I don’t know what they are when I wake up, and I forget to try and remember them when I sleep. However it is not for lack of trying, it is lack of motivation to do, that is, to execute a planed schedule and stick to it.

I always struggle with maintaining schedule, I get lazy, and compounded with stress, depression and lack of care, my schedules tend to lose their adhesive. A powder keg of forced sadness, delusional psychosis, I tread the very still waters that have been knee deep since I was born, I only pretend the waves are crashing overhead. This particular blemish of mind has lasted far too long in my opinion. I have not talked about it and for the first time in a while I felt motivated to write, so I will lay it down as best I can.

I failed my math course last semester after working over 100 hours over the semester on this class, only the fail the final exam, thus failing the class. This messed up my plans to go to a university in the fall semester and I became depressed.

This depression followed another hard time in my life where we had to move out of our house of five years, and live in a RV in the backyard of a friend for a month and a half until we found a new place. During this time in that RV I was not willing to do much of anything, upset and angry at my failure, I became unable to fixate on a schedule that was to the betterment of myself. I stopped exercising and relied on a diet of cookies and Frasier with the occasional break to whip my dick out and try not to spurt cum on the floor of the RV. This whole time was long enough to make me forgo all my learned scheduling the past year and a half I worked hard on sticking to. I did not exercise and became lethargic, even though I walked my dog twice a day, this schedule of hers unfortunately was not for my benefit. All this time in that RV erased my behavior faster than an etch-a-sketch found in the garage during a move with the attempted dick still drawn on it.

When we finally moved into this house, all the depression and anger were suppose to fade, I was going to go back to the gym, exercise in the morning, cut out all the sugar from my diet, but I have not… and it has been three months almost. Abandoning my schedule meant that my school schedule was fucked as well, I have no schedule and now finally at the tail end of this semester, I’m trying to follow one. This again compounded my stress to maximum levels. I started to just give up, keeping myself focused on class has altered my motivation to do anything else.

This stress I think is the spark that ignited my lack of care to better myself, this melting motivation has wasted away my potential. I am left but a seed in roaring wind, carrying me to a patch of soil that will not help me grow.

Can I find motivation in this place I’ve filled with shadow? It will take something in me to push my feet out that door just once, just to breathe a sigh, it is always hard to move into that initial footstep, but if cannot find the motivation to take it, I won’t last much longer here today. This will to be exceeds my need to finish a good rub out in the late hours of night, I need this more than anything.

I want to be motivated again, I want to know I making myself better, and above all else, I want to know that when I start pounding my dick to milf porn, I have the motivation to climax.