What are you hiding from
In the grand pictures you paint

Surely you must know by now
That stories are only stories
Never mind the gold coating your fingertips
And dripping sweetly from your lips

Did you really think you could forget
In the shadows of this ink
That this is all you have

i wish to be a writer
i truly do
but as money is the end to all means
and art is absent in the minds of men
i shall succumb to the streets of washington
a slave to the dutiful dreams of others
no longer embraced by the wonder of my own words

The poet, decadent
I and he and it
In old shivers and inebriation
We take virtue and fold it
Into ink-beguiled truths
Formless vocation, rough vernacular
Soft from jagged distance
Come closer, now insincere
Hard and ragged, vile fingers
They hold not beauty
But seething desire
Uncouth ambition
Trained to sour excellence
Impeccable sin of tainted life
Bless the fiends
Build them a nest in hell
Allow them to earn this prize
A prize of ailing drink
Drowned in saccharine agony
Are their unnamed tongues
Speaking new extremities
On a road too severe
May they write their own coffins
In the image of a mirror

Pen-named or inked-- 
her wrist swivels. 
She's had many names, this author. 

even through so many lives
still learning how to be unafraid. 

Her wrist swivels. The page turns. 

And the blank pages terrorize
like a cliff.

and she, on the edge, 
does not know how to jump--
does not know if she should.

I need to write
I need to write
Im caged, I'm fragile
Im drowning in fright

Awaken my body
Please my mind
His timing is perfect
So, whens the right time?

I cant hear myself breath
I dont notice myself think
The pen is on the paper
But I'm the missing link

God, why cant i move forward?
What is the purpose in the struggle?
It is harder than imagined
To pop my comfort bubble

How great it feels to conform
Shackled, restrained by norm
Because dragons won't win
Against the fighter planes
And hellfire missiles
Are better than dragonfire
The magical place of peace    
Never touched by pollution
Away from industrial reality
Bullets will take away the light
Strongmen will put out embers
But the war cry of secret rebellion
Will summon the forbidden being
That will once again shine in gray clouds
And the being shall smote the heretic
As the legendary sword of freedom
Will make itself known to the risky
Adventures ragged but shining
Wide thinkers and everdrowsy dreamers
Descendants of crazies and misunderstoods
They hold the magic that allows them
To choose whatever path the story goes
Like the chaotic place called "poem"
Imaginary beasts and sceneries
Not bound by boundaries of these mortals
You hold the magic that will allow you
To choose whatever path the story goes
Like this chaotic place called "poem"