Category Archives: Rhymes


These hands
have held her
screams and moans
and wrapped
around her shiver.
My eyes have seen
and lips have kissed
and all have
made us quiver.
It’s not too often
that we drink so much
and speak of
the things we see,
or start the ball
the way we did that night
when those of us
came to be.


Spaces cover
like awful things
that have yet to show their worth.
They magnify
the right to speak
and the choices that give birth.

I can see this clear
through angry years
that have been spread so very thin,
that everyone dances
and everyone cusses
and no one knows where to begin.

It’s a slip when you hit
that very last step
and can no longer hold your breath.
That timid mind
that’s away from time
that arrives for the final test.

Opening its views
to a room of strangers
who have sharp and watchful eyes.
Those who want
us all to be honest
and to help us realize.

That there is something there
once comforts gone
and we’re left with who we are.
It’s that lonely bit
that loves new things,
but rarely goes too far.

A difference

We’re looking for
those people to prevail
who wont leave things like bruises,
cause when things spin,
they then start to fall
and will always be what loses.

I hear secrets in whispers
when there’s too many there
and that feeling begins to hover.
It’s a feeling that screams
where only dogs can hear
as our eyes are already covered.

These are constant moments
that will never end
once the start has then been crossed.
Those subtle times
we don’t see coming,
left outside to the frost.

It’s like we haven’t what we need,
or the tools to make things work.
We’re still missing those things
that have come to pass
and at night have begun to lurk.

These walls,
they muffle screams and guilt
until nothing can be heard.
They look so strong
beneath all their features,
but are all just that absurd.

I can see people walking
until they stop for something
and sometime leave a mark,
on things like walls
where the simple bricks
are all better off in the dark.

This is a constant world
where all we have
is by our own volition.
Our solutions and provisions
are all in a race
to outlast our opinions.

And when we bless our friends
they give us knowledge
through their own points of view,
things like those
we’ve yet to learn
and the things we’ve yet to do.

Experiences that force a change
into the lives
of those who live,
cause the last thing left
in everyone’s pockets
are the gifts they’ve yet to give.

So we loosen our grips
on what we’ve saved for last
and increase our tired wrinkles,
like some older note
that’s been squeezed too tight
and left faded, torn and crinkled.

It’s life that’s leading
through our hopeless days
and endless repetitions.
The jobs we work
and the skills we seek
and our endless obligations.

I just float to an end
where the floors stay still
and we all show favoritism.
It’s habit forming
where I cant stop smoking
and lean towards nihilism.

I keep wanting to swear
with specific words
that will make them feel confined,
cause all I’ve done
through all these days
was simply do my time.
I’m now split
into so many thoughts
where it’s the words that are courageous.
Those things we know
that need to be said,
but out-loud just seem outrageous.

To the girl upstairs

You have such a pretty voice
and it eases the thoughts that flow.
It soars off lips too soft to touch
and we all just watch you glow.

It leaves us somewhere
in the realm of want
where we’re trying to be ourselves.
It’s something that hints
and crazes minds
where we can only hope to delve.

This is me that’s standing
in the way of light
that’s making it hard to see.
That I am a person
who feels in reaction
of the way you look at me.

Your eyes, they stick
and reach right in
as I wonder what you think.
I wonder things
among many things
as my heart begins to sink.

But you seem a girl
who sees right through
when us men just act like boys,
but there are secrets to
the girls like you
and the things that you enjoy.

I keep thinking of
your favorite things
and how I haven’t got a clue.
I wonder what you do alone
when there’s no one there but you.

Do you draw little things
or read and write
and then keep them to yourself?
Do you hide yourself
in elaborate thoughts
that get left then on a shelf?

But I think you deal
with a constant balance
between an endless gift and curse.
That gift of beauty to everyone’s eyes
has us all now acting worse.

It holds us where
the nice ones freeze
and the bad drip confidence
and it leaves you broken
from human nature
that divides you from the rest.

These distractions

She talks about things
that have never even happened
and I know how it makes me feel,
like when what’s broken
brakes again
and there’s nothing left to steal.

Like the endless days
we’ve come to fear
when we’re left with what we’ve got.
It’s what carries over
into brighter days
once the fights already been fought.

It’s just the way
we fake our smiles
and laugh like things were real.
We hold things close
among closer things
that all seem so surreal.

But we’re gone right now
into vagueness and doubt
where our thoughts have overlapped.
It’s like a voice that’s screamed
into the open air
from a face that’s just been slapped.

Altered truth

I want a healthy view of life,
one that speaks to who I am.
That person who still falls asleep
when it’s just because I can.

There are important things
that imply their status
and they flow on absent minds.
They leave remarks
about the shame of pain
and advice for how to bind.
Bind their hands
like they did to mine
on that crazy older night.
Those burning things
that kept my dreams
in the final realm of fright.

But there are ways to know
before such actions
so we can watch what happens then,
watch for what
they fear we’ll see
and the ways that they offend.

Because I know they’ll run
their lonely mouths tired
with the evil things they say.
Their better versions
of our true stories
being all they can relay.

They’ll switch things over
from pasted words
that were broken from the beginning.
They picked them up
from what was thrown away
cause they can only think of winning.

I find I hate myself
when I hear their words
and I know that the truths left out.
I become someone
that hears, but drifts
through an endless maze of doubt.

So what should we believe
when the voices come
and begin to sound the same?
Those sharper ones
who speak with strength,
like it were all some stupid game.

having and sharing

So much of what appears
has been something made by hand,
like words written to shift a gear
to relieve what had once been banned.

It’s our fists that reach the ceiling
while our feet stomp out the floor.
That beating heart
of a forgotten feeling
like it were something we all sent for.

Now it seems to me
that its all too clear
and it’s hanging by a strand,
hanging there like a final fear
that shakes us
where we stand.

It’s “a” world
that has us kneeling,
one of many at the door,
only promising us that healing
after asking for so much more.

Because things like talk
can go both ways
and reputations can be smeared.
Being locked in a daze
like some broken maze
that invites the things we fear.

I find we’re doing things in spite
when the changes
are close at hand.
Those things in life
we want to fight
that’ve gotten out of hand.

It’s why we come
to these places at night
where our lives can be revealed.
We take each other beyond our sight
where our hopes can’t be concealed.

Because its in our nature
to share ourselves
and bring others through these thoughts.
And we need to forget
what often sells
so we can drop
the things we’ve bought.

We’re here to save the strangers,
those we walk past and ignore.
The ones who fear
and have no idea
that they’re standing on a dance floor.