Panic Attacks

I need a vacation away from myself
An express paid trip to someone else’s conscious
There I can sit and experience this
The ordinary thoughts of an ordinary man
Give it an hour and then I’ll realize
These thoughts aren’t all that much different

But I live in a cage and those that do not
Make me feel worthless, make me feel small
I know this oppression is a self-realized thought
But how do you beat it when it’s still there
At every corner you turn
When it’s the thread in the fiber
The makings of who you are

When the solitude subsides to seclusion
Depression and god knows what else
I’ll ask for everything but what I need or want
Because that would just be too easy

And I'll die before I ever give you
the satisfaction of witnessing my panic attacks

Hungry

Spiritual
Emotional maybe
I never thought it could get this
Literal
My stomach like the camel’s hump
Filled with fat
Eating itself

My friend told me
A terrible joke
The kind he’s good at
The kind I like
“If you look at the world
Through the eye of a camera,
You can’t help but get a bit negative.”

Good
Bad taste
What’s taste
When there’s no taste at all

This alley orphan
Devours the beans I toss out
All the while
Trying, forcing myself
To think for myself
Of myself
Not of how bad it is
But of how much worse it can get
And how it gets there
Every time
Slowly but surely
Is it unconscious
Is it conscious

I can see it
But I can’t take it
I don’t want to take it
Too afraid I’ll hurt it
Or it might hurt me
Who was it that
Morphed love into a
Burning stove

This emptiness
This void
This blackhole in my belly
There’s got to be something better than
Cheap thrills, sex, booze
Drugs, camera eye highs
But nothing’s as quick I find

After all
It’s just a life
And I’m just living it

Sylvia

a shattered splint
for a broken heart
and raiment tatters
spinning light fixtures
to dulled greys and browns
she wants to be wrong
she wants to be the crazy one
but what happens 
when jealousy 
and paranoia
is true? a man will be a 
man will be a man   will 
be a man       will be a

why
does great art
so often
lie in the palms of 
death
?

Conform or get out!
Conform or get out!
Conform or get out!
Conform or get out!

Out of what?
The human race?

Home

I realize too late
There’s nothing there
But now I want to
Put something there
So everyone that thinks
There’s something there
Won’t have to suffer
The fate I did

There’s no one answer
There’s no one belief
In trying to find something
To believe
Because I threw out everything
And now there’s nothing
But there will be
Whatever it takes this time
I will make a place to understand
Where all your dreams
I understand
Where all your fears
I understand
Where all your pains
I understand

It’s a big black world
But there’s safety here
Just don’t stay too long
The wildebeests grow fickle
And the grapes'll go sour