Youth's Manic Chic

To see you age, through smiles of stainless steel,
To see your salted skin begin to pale.
and the glint in your eyes become vulnerable tears...
I couldn't bear it.

So i look through a tint.
At everything as if,
everyone were there for solitary immortal moments.
captured in continuous plastic photographs,
Where no blood seeps through potential cracks.

They say these are the good days, the ones they talk about which fade.
Where music blasts through are ears so loud, the echoes of silence sit in the background like reapers and wait.
Like how our day of death hides behind a certain meander of fate.
not known until the step has been taken,
A footstep before your final feat.
When your invincible until your the day your not,
And death is only for a moment, and then the moments gone.

So you turn up the music inside your head,
of romanticized life, and feigned surprises.
And everything dead is something to be forgotten.
and all the gaps you jump over, that you never look below,
are inconveniences never to wonder about, never to ponder.
and you never think on it, the gaps you'll eventually collapse beneath,
The ones that lie below youths manic chic.

Cowardice

With no reason other than cowardice,
will I hide away from grape-vines,
and minds of those I care to understand.
I will hide from the transience of the fast slipping sand.

No perpetual wisdom will lead me to reclusion,
No Tibetan ritual of self-actualization.

With no other reason than fear,
will I hide away from crossroads.
And all those winding paths that lead to high roads and low roads,
I'll hide where no roads can lead to.
Under a cover of blissful ignorance.
Of beautiful insignificance and lack of experience.
Under a veil of twinkling stars,
The only thing left to fear being fear itself.

A song

I walked inside and I saw you, With all your budget beers,
And my face must have blended in with all your troubled tears.
And I can't forgive you, just because you apologized,
and your face crumpled up so much i couldn't recognize,
That face that sought and meant to hate,
That sealed my fate so readily
and destroyed these dreams so terribly,
And you sit there and stare at walls,
And time melts slowly by,
Oh I couldn't feel any worse, no I couldnt feel any worse,
And Time melts slowly by
Oh I'm sorry, so sorry, I couldn't find the words
And I'm sorry, the common blood couldn't wash away this hurt.
And your time melts slowly by.

Water

level up, breathe past the surface,
stick your chin up and rise above it.
Let the water rise so close,
So you can open your mouth wide enough to taste it,
and the water rings through your ears,
emitting the echoes of your hollow heartbeat.

Sink into a watery realm,
where finger tips lengthen and skin softens.
Where hair fans out like flames in a breeze.
Where breath takes a time out and the mind winds down.
And everything slows down and is taken at ease.

A Poem By Charles Bukowski

So You Want To Be A Writer

if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don't do it.
if you're doing it for money or
fame,
don't do it.
if you're doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don't do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don't do it.
if it's hard work just thinking about doing it,
don't do it.
if you're trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you're not ready.

don't be like so many writers,
don't be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don't be dull and boring and
pretentious, don't be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don't add to that.
don't do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don't do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

blah

In my favorite dress of skin and cloth, I'll go out from warmth to wind.
I'll walk down the road to meet your eyes, on a dark, candle lit street.
I'll leave the air between our breath, to see what you can dish.
What movement and words the wind can bring,
and the effect, like a blow of fire and lead.

I'll unfurl myself outwards, to soak in the words.
let the pain seep into my every pore.
Breathe it in as if pain were part of the heavy air,
Breathe it in like my greatest friend.
I've kept you at bay for far too long,
I'll open my arms to you, my crouching tiger.
The only one always there when everyone else has left.

following my head

A heart lies here in a darkened room,
clenching and letting go.
Like a fist in the night with a lot on it's mind,
It can't seem to just be still.
And a body encases the anger inside,
to feel it's every cry.
And I, the soul who holds it close,
will keep it company every night.
And I'll lie awake hearing its plea for me,
to just let go of sadness.
And it pleas please get up and follow me
and I'll bring you away from madness.
But then my mind reminds me that my heart is blind,
And would lead me through the thick and thin.
And even then I'll never catch up,
with the call that has my heart clenching.