The hike

My my
What a pretty sky
You will never cry
When I die

Your Pain

Meaningless.

Stats

12 months. 10 women. No friends.
One bird that got away,
One that is dead inside,
...but a bank account that whispers awake.
12 more I might count with you
As some men are born to live
and so others are to sigh.

Epitaph Mine

There goes a nice man. The hooker thought he had a heart of gold. 

Songs of experience: Paying my due

I picked up a book today and am reminded of how stupid I have let myself go. All for what? One ideal, one regret, and a few impotent thrusts at the windmill?...or is that a little too much? 

Hop Nosh

I am a bloody mess...
Meandering about with deadshot eyes,
Begging for just another drink.
Only to see these angels fry! as
They rise and, O God! cry.

You Fool!

Wish you were here...