May history repeat itself?


Trains overhead, steam coming from sidewalk grates

Finger numbness is second to the frost on my lips,

once again I have to try to get fare home for two

damned if I have to tap dance in the subway for tips.

I didn’t even want to come here in the first place,

as usual, I was just doing a favor, helping out a friend

a duplicated story because I don’t know how to say no,

so it always plays out that I get screwed in the end.

I paid for the train in, with a promise of a ride home,

showed up to the studio loft to find I wasn’t invited in,

had to find something to do for an hour or three

so cold that an ice cube would feel warm on my skin.

Panhandled all night and caught the first train home

barely a word was spoken, though I don’t think he cared,

to save a friendship, I’ll be the one to not let history repeat

for next time I’ll be ready and a bit more prepared.



Posted by on March 24, 2018 in My day, poetry, Uncategorized, writing


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The Used Bookstore


So seductively, books piled up sky high to the ceiling,

it being the only cause for their ascending limitation.

Methodically placed and balanced just so each one acting,

as the cornerstone of its strikingly sturdy foundation.

The unmistakable specific smell of old paper and leather,

in a strange unpredictable way brings welling to my eyes,

flooding in had come the memories of being a volunteer

at my township local library, when I was a youth, arise.

Dreaming of then, a simpler time I reminisce and recall

spending my summer afternoons there with my cousin,

I am suddenly washed over with confusion, wondering

how can such an innocent time in life, now seems so sullen?

As the room gets colder it starts to appear much darker

the light that had sparkled in my mind begins to smolder,

the depths of my self-hating uninvited friend depression

interrupted by the used bookstore owners tap on my shoulder.



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Lost, and… found?


I always joke and say, you can’t lose what you never had,

so what if I needed cash, and sold my mind in a want-ad?

I felt it was like useless junk that I hoarded between my ears,

if I’m being honest, I don’t think I had used it in like 20 years.

Just made me do a bunch of nonsense that I never wanted to do,

Drinking, smoking, sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll, just to name a few.

Sure, it took me to great places, but it was always on My dime,

it also used me and abused me when I was young and in my prime.

If I think about it, I never had it, because I was never in control

however, control is just an illusion, so I had never made it my goal.

Nevertheless, I am a bit older now and would like to give it another try,

to the person who bought it, if you’re reading could you please press reply?

I’ll gladly pay what you paid, or if you want me to pay interest I shall,

I can make out a check, send cash, or credit or if it’s easier to use Paypal?




Posted by on March 23, 2018 in poetry, Uncategorized, writing


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What happened before 34?


The sound of neon lights

The smell of cheap whiskey

The cloud of cigarette smoke

The uneven floors so sticky.

This reflection of my life

That once bared all of the above

Was all that I had ever known

Naturally, I mistook it for love.

Sleeping on a concrete floor

Used my shirt as a pillow

The grit and grime was so thick

You’d have to scrub with a Brillo.

Paydays would come and go

The routine was always the same

Buying all the alcohol I could carry

Hallucinogenics were always fair game.

To get dreadfully wasted away

“Trying to forget who I was”

Such a crock-of-shit thing to say

I was only looking for the buzz.

When you’re twenty-one or twenty-seven

You can’t claim to know who you really are

Fact is, you’re just a sad confused little punk

Wasting away your youth, haggard in a bar.



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Hello. It’s you again.


Knock, knock! Well hello there, it’s just me again,

thought I’d stop by to see how you have been.

You didn’t think that I’d be gone forever now?

As if I could just wander off or vanish somehow?

So you withheld me from your Doctor, of mental health?

it doesn’t negate the fact that you talk to yourself.

So they don’t know that I exist at the worst of times?

When all sobriety did was suppress some of the signs.

But eventually, they’ll see us talking and ask what is wrong,

only so many times can we say that we’re mumbling a song.

We envy those who can depict what is real and what is made up,

always on the edge of our seat ready to apologize for a mix-up.

Was this all a dream? Or did that really happen?

A back and forth game of ping pong, I am constantly trapped in.

Is this all too much for you? Since you thought I was absent?

a lot like your heart, there is no possibility for our detachment.

You may think I was created from too much Lysergic acid diethylamide,

Truth being, I’ve always been here and will always be by your side…


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Digging in the wrong direction


I scratched and I clawed my way, several feet up

intuitive, survival instincts had quickly kicked in,

I punched my way through the tamped surface

a ghost of a chance, that I’d let the Devil win.

As I rose up to the surface en route towards the stars

I could feel the chill wind blow against my face,

I looked beside me as I detected a slim glimmer

a headstone reflecting the moonlight in my space.

My name delicately written in a standard Celtic font

my birthdate and yesterdays are joined by a dash,

every sense leaves me in the pulse of my heartbeat

as it feels that my presence turned to dust in a flash.

Too late for regrets, and denial is too long overdue

to die with great dignity and respect I cannot save,

I just have to lie with the realization that I,

have wasted my entire existence digging my grave.


Posted by on March 21, 2018 in poetry, Uncategorized, writing


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You can’t keep it down


You cannot just hurl your problems down river,

not like someone else will take claim to them.

You cannot just lock the vexation away in immure,

it’s just not viable to have, your shame condemned.

They will softly flow downstream nearing a waterfall,

it’ll seem like this verse has reached its denouement,

it’ll be free for a moments time before it crashes below

until its tumbled and pummeled in sadistic enslavement.

Even after all the torture, it has submissively endured,

the inevitable motion makes the effort seem worthless,

as there is no use in fighting the mighty force of buoyancy,

behind the cowardice, you can’t hide, as it comes to the surface.


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