donate to ya boy

Saturday, January 31, 2015

still broken hearted

but what is an artist to do?

except sit around

write about how I want truth

whatever that is

like we're all some sort of magic

luminous being

removing the sting of being alive

seeing things objectivly

as opposed through our own eyes

I write,simply to love

if I wasnt doing this I'd be doing hard drugs

harder then the ones I'm on

in my head I write songs

on my arms I write sonnets

my heart is a feels muse less

bruises & cigarettes

another lonely doorstep I rest in

clueless...& yet I havent a doubt

I guess this is what following your heart is about

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Nodding off

Writing letters to God

Wondering if these facades

Are all I’ll ever see from mods

It’s like I’m back on the job

Meetings & moving work like shops

But I can’t afford to be off

Rolling Stones cover no moss

I report no losses

Capital gains

Capital cities where we toss about weight

But it’s always the same

Ain’t no love loss in the United States

Kill or be kill

That’s what I hear everyday

I can’t stay awake…

it’s like I have to dream to stay sane

Sunday, January 25, 2015

you loved me

when it was


to you.

I'am probably

still foolish

enough to

thank you.

Saturday, January 24, 2015

lil emo shawty on the creep

I like to picture us making out on your moms couch

you in your matching underwear with that cute little pout

about that paper for art history due in a few hours

the same day I fly out.

cold mornings,waking up alone in the Sheffield house

the only feeling really being doubt

if I ever truly want to go back to Denver again

I feel love like this is what life is about.

& I'm just doing what feels right

you feel like a best friend

but I sit her now

wondering why...or if I was ever anyone you truly cared about

if it was just rushed...I dont know why you felt you had to hide your doubt...

I miss you

but I dont think I can cry about it...

just write lines about it

find out if I'll ever be special to someone...if someone will be proud about it...its hard not to doubt this

but I said things to you I never counted on

now I just hope I can open up again

without the fear of being lead on

I just want to be happy...I've always been a simple man

yung derelict

electric blizzard

push the dope through these veins

another winter

more lines of cocaine

painting scriptures

pretty portraits of blame

layers of literature

cracks in this porcealin brain

I think I was a sculpture in a past life

destroyed by the rain

my lover is an ocean

she has no use for the trains

I ride them relentlessly

its the only place I can think

ecentric wizard

will I ever be the same?

I’ll see you in another


in a galaxy far far away

until then…Ill be in pain

Thursday, January 22, 2015

lord y2k swag

you cant live off sarcasam & puns alone

sometimes you have to drive pizza to peoples homes

spend your days in a perpetual haze

have relationships over the phone...even with your roomates

why not just walk home?

besides the fact that yew aint got one

just a bunch of people who love you

but never the less...they'll house welcome home.

conceptually of the dirt

out the mud

& always hurting

I guess thats why I was made to word 'em

drop LSD into my spine

let the DMT flow through my mind

I think I'll be fine

as long as these pills & liquor dont take my life

y2k bottom feeder blues

a moment of clarity

in the enduced coma

I call a muse.


lightning struck me

so I wear it

a whole maze of mistrust

& torture-

but I’ll bare it.

I look into the black sun & become R A R E R

holographic and esoteric

in all fairness

my baroness lounges across a terrace

blowing smoke rings over Paris…unadorned

I seem careless

really I’m careful

a whole chest of tools ready to borE

even these bruises speak to better times

but whats poetry without losing your


I sit upon this throne built of dope

I’am the electric wizard

I have lost everything

I cherish

march on atomic children

Sunday, January 18, 2015

you chose someone different

& still want to string me along

being true isn't the same

as narcissism,

my love.

Thursday, January 8, 2015



Ive been broken hearted before.

I think,you know,as long as I

realize whats in store

I wont get tourched

Im barely touched as it is

& I'am alright with that

it all leads back to a source

of course

maybe some of these ideals will change

force my hand & march the course

death wont kill me

I've already been there before.

whether the over doses or the funerals

im covered in tears like sores

misguided and out of sorts

I'am a fool...but I have learned
every night I die

every day I'm reborn

as long as I create

I'm restored

more and more

I feel the art of the world

the smiles & the similes

the love in these words.

these open arms are scars

as if I could care anymore

I'm filled with guilt

as if I could rebuild my course.

tell me I'm worth it

show me it.

share with me your parodies

I've always loved other humans.

humble nights in the industrial city

smog accents the memories

as if any of this meant anything to me

alone again in my intimacy

drugs acting as their own sorted ministry

the feelings of inadequacies

like this life was pagantry


another black sabbath & the last of the meed

simple composure is beside me

besides sin

my actions guide eyes bleed.

so this is valhalla?

it seems as if these dreams will get the best of me

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

death is the only consent

birth is the only constant

everything about this love is ominous

& rarely have I been concerned with profit.

these hands are monuments

more alive then in question

but if you cant digress

then how would you know progression?

all leaders have been followers

& I have wallowed in pain

plain views

& a simple plan to ponder

strange reminders

of a life less conjured

all the magic turns

in the soul of a wanderer

Sunday, January 4, 2015

when I was 17

I ate a lot of gold caps by myself

I laid around my parents parsonage

wondering why I hated myself.

I broke most of the things I didn't like

I cried

maybe for the first time in years

I just wept.

I looked around at all the things I'd collected

how nothing adequated to wealth

I asked questions outside of myself

but found no help

I left welts on my body

scars on my hands

I shattered glasses just to feel


this I figure

is what writing is for

exploring your


mirrors held up to our souls


so we can see again...

indicative of limitlessness


learning curve.

knocked right out of the park.

a fetish for words /

a soul full of art.

this city makes titans of men

young boys ready to knock heads

gratefully deadicated to remaining present

whether that of time,heart or relevance...I mean

the thing about being an asshole is...

I don't do things simply to become better

I'm LITERALLY trying to be the best that ever lived

but the arbitrary nature of that last sentence

gives a self observant look at to what IT is

& it is EGO...letting these reams flow

supercedeing my own hopes by never letting things go

& seeds not lost to the wind never grow...

so all these dreams would be pushed below.

"I know nothing"

one of those realizations you're on your own

"I'm alone"

you are the universe...never fear growth