Tell me what you’re feeling cause my heart just started healing and I’ve poured my very soul into the words on this page

I need to understand you because I don’t want to go through all the things that locked my heart into a cold, dark cage

I’ve tried so many times and I have witnessed all love’s crimes and I don’t want to start the war my shattered heart might wage

The only thing I ask is to make honesty our task to get past each other’s pasts and make it into old age

Please tell me what you’re thinking I can’t let our love start sinking just pull back all of the curtains see, this world is our stage

Love & Loss

Unforgiving, relentless, cruel

More sour than lemon or lime

Yielded by Life, this emotionless tool

Deals pain that’s inevitable: Time

No matter the love or the laughter it sees

It strikes without warning or sign

Its flame turns to smolder the most peaceful of trees

All beginnings, it ends by design

Why, all too often, is it the trivial, mundane

That seems to be our sole focus and care?

It takes moments like these, meant for family; not pain

The harshest reminder – her cold, empty chair

How fickle it is that this Life seems to be

Just a path we all struggle to cross

It’s proven by Time, regardless how desperate the plea

That if you ever know Love…you’ll know Loss

Keep the Prayers

Keep the prayers, I request, to your own faithful self. They’re distant to me, meant for somebody else. I was close to your God, admittedly you see, until he ripped me apart; abandoning me. I’m told “There’s always a reason”. Yeah, well I disagree. No purpose is found in response to my plea. His “love” ripped the life from my family tree and left nothing but branches, bare as can be. Yet I’m expected to thank Him for who he DID leave? The knuckles and thorns that cause nothing but grief? I’m asked to embrace this great Sculptor and Thief, who steals life from creation yet demands its belief? How twisted the logic of Religion must be to pass judgments on those who don’t blindly believe; we who dare question the infallibility of He who locks his own house and gives evil the key, corrupting his own tenants that in one breath could be free, if only the Lord would allow their release?

I don’t care what your pages, prayers, or priests tell you. There is no realm in which the amount of unwarranted death, suffering, and destruction this world is subjected to can be justified. No false eternity, no empty promises, and no alleged punishment of those who oppress, rape, or murder will ever merit the evil allowed in this world. These are nothing more than lies to masquerade the suffering as something worth tolerating. A pathetic grasp for meaning in a meaningless reality.


Listen, I don’t want to offend, just please comprehend that the time that we spend in devotion and admiration of who we thought was our friend is now something that, sadly, I can no longer commend. The magnitude of my mind’s malcontent effects pain impossible to mend, as I see nothing but an empty dead end for which I can no longer expend what little strength I have left to fight or contend. It’s like He created hope just to strip it away, to apprehend our only tool to desperately suspend the realization that for every start, there’s an end; that the shadows and darkness will always descend; demonically disregarding the tales we believe and the life we pretend.

I’m conflicted, consumed and confused by this sense of abandonment I’ve no choice but to feel, ashamed I took the bait; deceived by a false rod and reel. I can no longer find cause to embrace, heed or kneel to He who ignored every cry and appeal, my pathetic attempts to take her pain and conceal all the heartache she suffered and the hurt that he’d deal. And yet, through it all, she still prayed that she’d heal, to one day finally break that constricting tight seal, in hope that the answers she sought would at long last be revealed.

There are no words in existence which can adequately describe the degree of sadness, emptiness, hopelessness and hatred that such hindsight instills.

Once more, I ask that you respectfully forgive what many would label as harsh conjecture. This is not the shallow recant of some closed-off, short-sighted miscreant. These pages contain the unabridged passion which defines me; nothing more.

So I ask that you forgive, as every night I can’t help but relive that month which felt more like a year, when I sat plagued by inexplicable fear that her death was so close; unavoidably near. How vivid is that memory, hauntingly clear; the image of she who I held so close and so dear, lying in tubes on that bed as the shell of the person who used to appear; now drifting away with no life to cohere. And as I sat next to her writing through every cry, sob and tear, I tried my absolute damnedest to be strong, persevere, begging God that He’d save her so for once in her life she could taste happiness; cheer.

I watched the tube being pulled from her. That final, feeble lifeline pathetically attempting to breathe life into her poor lungs. I collapsed, terrified, against the wall. Defeated, completely helpless and puddled in tears as I witnessed her unconscious body desperately gasp for the oxygen that her fragile body’s grip could no longer grasp. It was, without the remotest doubt, the worst sensation I have ever experienced, and one which I would not wish on even the worst transgressors of humanity. Feelings such as those felt that moment would not exist in a world claimed to have been created out of love. This is the harsh, unarguably candid truth.

Regarding my opinions and views of God, I ask not that you agree. I have no request, nor desire, for sadness or sympathy. I merely wish that my words and contempt fall on minds that are free; free of the judgement which has for so long met my plea as I fail to articulate that which I now so passionately see.

For thirty years I have bowed, as my whole life I would vow, yet I stand here no longer acting holier than thou. I can simply not continue to allow my unjust allegiance, as every drop of sweat from my brow is shed for He who destroys, whom I tonight disavow. It’s not born of vanity, and not that I’m proud. I’ve just at last cleared the malicious dark cloud that’s wrapped my plagued mind in the blackest of shrouds. Despite His cold embrace, I’m finally free; and the death of my mother is the answer, to how.

Please, keep the prayers. I just…don’t need them now.

Written in Ink

Sometimes I sit at work, man, and think I’m feeling homesick

I love my job, I mean that, but sometimes I watch the handle tick

Feelin bottled by the time clock, I’m hustlin’ like a lunatic

Get the pen and pad please, these words are comin’ way too quick


Ripping thoughts out of my brain, this pain I need a sedative

My mind is Einstein’s in-law yeah, my theories they’re all relative

Put feelings on the page, writing free cause I don’t sell I give

People ask me why, well, that’s just me it’s how I live


This is my zone you’re treading in

Feel it, my adrenaline

My stories, some are elegant

But rhymes are so more relevant


Live by day the way she taught, acting like a gentleman

Then at night the lights come off, a total different specimen

Penning poison, teeth sink in, bite down let the venom in

Catching up with future me, yeah I get to peddling


Let these winds of change blow in, put these dying embers out

What’s comin ain’t been seen before, this culture needs a turnabout

Thirty years I plan ahead, I’ve seen the future, sent a scout

He came back and he said to me, you need to do this or I’m out


He told me things in his report

You won’t believe, I’ll keep it short

But there’s some shit we need to thwart

To build something we all support


I get back to the place I am, my hands they’re movin’ furious

Yeah that’s right I strategize, I’m never feelin’ curious

I bet they wish they had me then, back in Mount Vesuvius

I’m always playing moves ahead, I don’t fuck with the dubious


Sure today I’ll play the game, smile say its nice to meet

Tip my cap and shake your hand, pretend and make my intro, greet

But know my only one concern, the only thing I ever think

Is doing what I plan to do, no going back, I write in ink

Angels & Demons

Everywhere I go I always have to make a choice

Right or left, up or down, good or bad, I hear a voice

Its hard to navigate through all the thoughts and all the faded noise

I try to make the right decisions, try to live right and rejoice


But you know the devils always there, on the other shoulder, man

Ripping through my mind and thoughts, doing everything he can

To drag me through the darkness and the fire to undo my plan

Sends his demons every night, attending my attention span


If you wanna know me here’s some lines to show you who I am

Take these words and mix them up, make a complex anagram

That’s a start, the foundation to this jaded diagram

But in the end, the life I want, the life I chase is of the lamb


Maybe that don’t make sense to the ones that say that they’ve met me

You know what that’s okay, that’s just fine, it don’t even matter, see

Everything I do, I do with passion and intensity

They don’t understand the things I think, I think they misinterpret me


So here I am, on this road, it splits and makes me choose a door

I look into the rearview mirror at the path I’ve laid before

Recall the promise that I made, the promise as I cried and swore

I see the angels congregate, guiding me into this war


Everything that lies ahead, its all a house of cards and men

Everything could tumble down, die in fire, ember, then

We’d look up and ask what to do, what does God want for our sin?

This is what we all shall know, are you an angel, or demon?


So many people ask me, why do you write?

Why do you do this? Why do you type?

Well, my good friends, I shall tell you all

I hope these words will echo, throughout his’trys hall

In life there are choices, there are roads that get split

Decisions that are forced, and fates that are writ

Purpose can allude us, more often than not

Yet once in awhile, life’s grand point is got

Back our steps go, the strides that are took

The biggest of pictures, at life we shall look

Writing’s mere method; a tool, nothing more

An outlet to open what was once a closed door

For each of us feels, and each of us thinks

We wiggle and wrestle, we iron the kinks

We want to know what, we want to know why

We want to know life will go on once we die

To answer, my friend, just why do I write?

It gives me a purpose and meaning at night

I know that my poems, my words, will live on

And that maybe you will know me; long after I’m gone