Sex With Myself, What Else?

i woke up this morning and masturbated, the drowsiness faded and i contemplated how depressed i can get.  another second and, the clarity will end. so,  i wonder what you'd have to say for me, if you didn't leave, believe you would have developed a bad taste for me, where's the disguise i misplaced you in, can i find it again?  all the sprawling minutes you hinted we might be finished, a discussion we never had to hold, i'd been told put my hands up and fold when love gets cold.  it was hot as hell on my end, but it wasn't much to depend in, or run with - not exactly sunkissed when you're a void, and it's hard to capture, but after the rapture you spilled over within me, i thought i had a god given right to never let you go, every wishing well, my change fell, hoping you'll return cause wishes come true, for a few - it's an impossibility but i'm not annoyed.  i'm just so numb i couldn't feel that the fire was set from the minute we met, lit like a candle, i never imagined the trance you fashioned canning me along with your love and together we took a vacation from life, we called it great love placement, after taking up the sexcapades, engineering sweeter dates, sure you moved on, and i've been doing fine, so whats really all the harm?  my friends get sick when i say your name, to them it's a game, what i felt ain't real just grapevine crap they couldnt care less about, ha they're buried in clout and what they think they want, but once you've found it and been around it, you yearn for nothing else, except escapes and trust and shit you make up to yourself you care about to flee the fight you knows gonna knock you out. but i'm already on the ground face up, everyone looking to trade up, i make mistakes but not that one, stay humble and free, how about next time stay with me.

i'm going back to sleep. peace.

The Sting

it's all my fault, all your flaws, i knew
and i bring out the worst in everyone i know
- i'm to blame, and for all that i crave
and how i explain my faulted ways
and why i expect the forsaken
to keep what i've thrown away
i watch the smoke float from my cigarette
a streaming gray string, and the sting
it reminds me of the time passing
and how if bloods so thick
it evaporates rather quick
like how the smoke is hardly there
it dissipates into thin air
resentment runs wild over the shouting
my temperament leaves for no allowing
all the pain stays, takes up residence
i don't give in and it's a life's sentence
you're not a treat yourself
we could all use a little help
give in for just a minute
see that you aren't finished
there's more to fix and add and make and mesh
we will work 'til death

Put Your Brain In The Blender & Press Puree

when you're busy questioning anything, remember that's life
try and love it out with the strife, and here's a heads up
maybe you should question why it is you're even loved
and what it is you're made of
instead of why everything's distasteful
fuck regrets and just be patient
life's a game of waiting, i'm on a time out
a most impressive hiatus
if u wanna join me, first off, provide proof you're not faking
i need instant gratification, put the ID away - i'm talking about that sensation
i get when folks are on the real shit like me, smoke trees, be free, dirty knees
and a diseased sense of moral codes we shop around then sell
to the highest bidder, perfectly fitting, take advantage of the shit of the litter
and i'm just feeling bigger! pushing closer to where i ought to be
talking to a broader audience, pick up the phone and rage to me
631-487-9081, i promise i'll listen until you're finished
cause it's NOT all the same to me

Imposters Roam, Keep Them From Knowing

now that it's over can i say we fucked?
or you still wanna call that making love?

and i'm pretty sensitive but even i knew better,
however, if i knew you'd leave i would have never gave what i did
gone so far, i'm just a lame kid, waiting on big changes
i'm scared shit of making, and that i'll probably end up wasting
but if i had a hand to hold walking along the frigid streets
i wouldn't creep along so slow, so i need to get started
keep myself away from all the martyrs
-pretty much you, and uh
so much for showing love, made up, face down
i paid you in sex, drugs, cash, and compliments
so what more could you have wanted?
and baby i don't make mistakes, so what they say can't be true
and you were what i was waiting on, the miracle
it was short lived, that god-given libido as a wandering sensation
that we were always busy making, and now as it lays wasted
can't believe you folded, but i can because before you did you told me
i guess it really is the same old, sad, boring story, love lost, no recovery
a relapse and an unfortunate function of my mind that comes with
it leaves me far behind the present, unaware of the next
and recovery is way more indulgent than just a 12 step

The Stuff Of The Utmost Importance

i swear i feel you watching me at work, i might be a bit disturbed.  but listen, i don't mind, i feel those eyes, eying me down.  watching me from afar, the horror of my sadness apparent with my head down staring at the brick wall - wishing i hit it after a free fall.  and i bet you see it, and it hits me. this never happened.  because if it had i wouldn't be writing this now, i'd have passed away, i mean i'm so choked up i'm barely breathing, and as this lifetime of mine unfolds, i consider all the times i've sold out.  wonder can i fall in love again? yet again, a hundredth time, for old times sake, i wish we could recreate the high school business we got down to in my back seat, my back killed me the day after, but there's nothing to regret in laughter.  and when i catch myself feeling sorry for the tear that you parted i recreate the happy days when our delicate love was caught up in the sands of time and the mammoth gaping hole you left that has brought me close to death wasn't here, but now i have that experience of the dire, i'm dying to require a stay of days for me to say whether or not i'll be able to keep stable during the before and after of a relationship bound disaster.  it's just taking us for a spin.

there's people who just lost stuff of the utmost importance to them
and they can't move, so what's our excuse?

It's Always At Home

i wish i could be one of those people who get even and not angry, but i'm the type of person who stops believing when things get rocky.  i wish i could stop it, but i'm just not, i'm weak.  it's feasible that after i've seasoned the loss i can pass it off as not much more than small sadness that lingered because i was already broke so i was bound to break.  and you were just a single straw, a light portion of whats come before, stuff that was scarier and worse, probably why i sold my soul when you happened upon my famished aching self.  i was poorly searching for a savior, a coach - what you did is cursed.  i lived in the moment, then died in the dream.  and they were all just scenes that you orchestrated to save you from the reality of your situation.  so much faking. and lies to yourself that put you through hell, those around you as well.  scapegoats you buy and then sell.  i hope you dwell over all that you dispel, so it's never really passed up, it's always at home.