Balance (oh the crap you write while you are drunk)

Don't tell me what is lost on me
I know yet i stand at this precipice
Untied and deeply divided
It's a forgone conclusion
The ability to speak yet hear
Is an unforseen illusion

so stop
defining what you are not
or telling me there is nothing
but forgones and bygones and whatnot

It burns
It hurst so bad sometimes
But it's the only part of me that still yearns
Judge lest ye be judged and all that bullshit
I'll stand to the measure.

Unproven
Unquestioned
Yet I know
If truth be a scale
I'd balance that ledger.

 No nothings but nonsense aside,
There is something
A common denominator
Try hard to fight
To kick scream bite
And deny
There is a rythm

but i got it
It poisons my soul
leaves me deeply divided.

Simply words that fit together (older)

I remember you
I remember the first time I saw you
You wouldn't and that's understandable, and ok by me.
Jean skirt
Black hair
Heart skpped a beat.
You wouldn't remember me, I was far away
and that's ok.
At this point, I'm not too concerned.
Merely thankful that I remember you.
A fool's errand is in pursuing
that which seems altogether too true to believe
Yet still, I can't help but remember you
And oddly am simply amused that you now know my name.

Grace

In hindsight I honestly really and truly could have never told you,
What exactly is grace
Never seen it like this
Probably rarely exists.

There is a physical form of perfection
A way of carrying yourself or moving
That is graceful.
But I`m almost certain now graceful and grace
represent entirely different states.

Not graceful
But grace
True grace of character
Nonphysicallly related
Referred to as graceful

A ballarina is graceful
A swan is graceful
Some overly practiced physical action
Is graceful
But grace

Unpracticed
Entirely emotional grace
Unimagineable, unthought of
Til it stairs you straight in the face
Time and time again grace
Appologizing that it can`t give more kind of grace...

Never seen it before.
Hope if ever presented with a similar scenario,
It is in me to give.
For I hope I could be half as graceful

Vincent

If it demanded an ear
To whisper the name
I'd cut it off

If it took a finger
To point where to find
I'd cut it off

If a thumb was required
To be noticed  in a meaningful way
I'd cut it off

If the price was a tongue
To spend a little time laughing and talking
I'd cut it out

If a leg was the sacrifice
To spend the perfect day walking around
I'd cut it off

If it requested a hand
To touch and to hold
I'd cut it off

If the cost was an eye
To wake up to that perfect smile
I'd cut it out

Enough pieces left that I could manage
Still with an ear to hear
Still with a hand to touch
Still with a leg to walk
Still with an eye to see
Still with a heart to swell in ecstasy
Still with nerves to crackle and spark in anticipation
Still with a cock for obvious reasons

As long as at the end,
I knew how and where to find it
As long as at the end
I knew it would be mine
For without this one thing
The whole oft feels pointless

11 years

I saw a picture of me
I had to laugh
23 years old
6 months of hard labour
another 6 months into wandering with my life on my back
Too funny

In my mind my self image hasn't change
In my mind, I've never been in great shape
But holy hell, I actually was.
And what a smile
Not just a grin
An actual smile

Got me to thinking really
I believe without a doubt
That you can be too smart for your own good
Smart enough that you very rarely have to give your best
To achieve what a lot of others would consider success
But you did it by taking the easy route

Hustling, bullshit
So fast on your feet that ideas you've never really given a second thought about
Come together out of thin air the instant you need them
In such a way that seems you are intensely thinking at all times
Thank god for that
But god damn it as well.

That picture says a lot
I am there
For real there
Ready to give my all to accomplish my dreams
A decade of half-assing later
He's still there, I just almost forgot him.

I wrote something back then
Ironically enough it's my poetic crutch of good intentions
"the road to misery and regret is letting your mind lead you too far from your heart"
I knew it then and I meant it
But holy fuck if without muttering it to myself
Did I ignore the hell out of it's true measure

It's funny too funny.  In a mocking sense sure
But also hilarious that I've outsmarted myself or outdumbed myself
One way or the other, not sure which would be correct.
I've never cared about money
Still don't really
But that's the only thing I can say I've become fairly successful with...

I'm not this dark
Not really
But it's only when I write that I allow myself to honestly speak
Overly magnify the dissatisfaction that whispers inside of me
That I ignore it and just let it out in gasps on paper
Is probably unhealthy and part of the problem.

Can I change?
Yes, the only thing stopping me is me.
Will I change?
Not likely, unless I'm willing to accept actual work.
For the first time in 11 years
Outside a few spurts

I don't really need to write these though
What I am, is no fault of anyones but my own
My mind is good at convincing me not to bother
Apathy is an easy pill to swallow
But the heart still yet beats and it's full of good ideas.
More importantly, I'm tired of writing bleak things on a wall to myself

Gin old man style

Large splashes of soda,
Pretend there is a something.
Smile as often as you can muster
Even if more often than not,
It's gin soaked. and fueled.

Deep down,
I really sort of hate it all.
Things don't shine.
Nothing illuminates,
It's just there.

Optimism can become almost an unwelcomed houseguest.
When day in and day out it's proven itself to come up short.
Why get off the coach?
Why bother?
Why give a shit about anything?
Pretty sure that's the pessimism talking, but god damn if it doesn't hold some sway.
Especially when it seems to also be substantially on the more valid end of the spectrum.


I hate that I hate.
I hate that I can't just grab a hold,
Rise up and prevail.
I used to burn so bright and nothing stood between me and anything but me.


Now, I just feel old.
Tired.
Thin in a figurative sense.
And I hate it.
I down these old man gins and pretend.
But I hate it.

To do so little with so much
Is a daily mockery
To the lottery that is life.
But goddammit it's hard to care.

Another gin
Another liqour fueled escape
Another 'easy' hangover
Another late night promise that next week is the week
All leads to the inevitable solemn end of night
Where I lie awake, quite certain
That nothing more than gin and insincerity awaits me in the week to come.

You never really left

Yes, I hear you
I get it you never left
I will admit I underestimated your tenacity
Foolishly ignored the obvious truth
That you were always whipping at my face
But further acknowledging your cat-calls
Will bring me no closer to peace.