Romance; Russian Roulette

She sat at the end of the bar
and flashed me that smile,
the one every man’s seen before.
Some lessons are better never learned
but I’m just not the type.
She was a fly,
caught in my web
…begging to be devoured.
Heartbroken, heartless
and just waiting to be fucked.
But don’t let them fool you,
they play prey,
‘till your caught at the business
end of their love…
Wishing it was a loaded gun.
Their love is a nuclear weapon.
A woman’s love will bring a nation to its knees.
Inspired Cortez to conquer,
so that he may be conquered.
The time has come,
and decisions must be made.
Conquer or be conquered?
But remember old boy,
romance is Russian roulette
and in the end there is no victor.

Esmeralda

She’d been running her whole life
guess eventually it was my turn
and she’d run from me.
No, but I never chased her.
I knew better.
She’d get lost in Spain, Rome…Greece.
She’d smile and sing,
and wear white dresses
living with Gypsies
or transient bohemians
modest and happy.
I pictured her smiling
drinking ouzo and wine well into the night.
Black skies and shimmering stars.
Candles and Christmas lights strewn about
a simple compound as they danced and sang.
A few brass players, a simple string,
her black hair and brown eyes;
glowing, shimmering, and mightier than the stars.
She was made free;
restless.
I received a few postcards but never thought twice.
It’d feel like I was caging the beauty in the world,
stealing the electricity that makes it special.
But as the sun sets behind the mountains,
and the music fades and the candles flicker,
as the ouzo starts to make her tingle and
the birds sing her to sleep,
she’ll think of me and smile.
A single tear, that never drops.
A life forgotten.
She’ll remember that nothing gold can stay,
and life, well life is for the living.
As for me,
I’ve got promises to keep
and miles to go before I sleep.

Last Call

We keep the truth from ourselves
because what we refuse to see
really isn’t there.
Well baby,
tonight,
last call will be your wake up call.
So buckle up cause
here comes the head on collision.
(So come on)
“Give it to me.
Make good on all those promises,
and just let me have it.
Go on and say it,
what are you afraid of?
(Cause we both know) You’re better off
without me.
So tonight I’ll be on my
best behavior and still bring out the worse in you.”
“Why can’t you just be happy?
Life isn’t always…
(life and death)
You’re just trying to keep yourself from yourself.
And I’ve had all I can take.
(So keep this up)
Keep it so
you can write about another heartbreak.
Another excuse to feed that ego.
Whatever lies you tell yourself
to keep from feeling fake.
(But just…)
Keep calling yourself out
and pulling your own card
cause it’s just a matter of time before someone calls your bluff.
(So go on)
Go on and spin this into some tragic love affair,
(Cause we both know…)
your dramatic and dependent.
So is that what you wanted to hear?
Stitch on your shadow and keep it close
cause the only person your hiding from is yourself.
So stay trapped in that bottle and tell yourself
you’re happy with those whores.
Cause this conversation is coming to a close.
So drive yourself home drunk like you always do,
and remember this conversation isn't warranted…
Cause I never said I loved you.”

Confessions of a Lier

Our lives are but a means to an end.
a chosen lifestyle
carved out of a forced existence.
We’ve become too self involved to change.
We pass the buck,
and we use people.
Afraid of love,
angry at the world,
and disappointed at the way our lives turned out.
We live a fictitious,
vicarious existence that we’ve created in our heads.
Cigarettes embezzled from James Dean.
Words lifted from Fante.
A lifestyle mirrored from Bukowski.
These are the confessions of a liar.
So forgive me father,
for I have sinned.
And the worse part is,
I enjoyed it.
When I told her I loved her,
I didn’t.
When I told her I’d die for her,
I wouldn’t.
When I told her I was her knight
in shining armor,
I really meant I was the Trojan horse
that would break her heart.
I stand before you purging these lies
and self denials.
A broken man,
damned by his own volition.
Deliver me my penance
and let it be known that I have sinned.
Let it be known that I am a sinner.
Let it be known that I am the scum of the earth.
I wear my brand;
this scarlet letter,
with pride.
May Peter show me the mercy
I have never shown.
And may we be delivered from evil,
Amen.

Untitled

When did the world become this difficult?

When did deciding which shoes you put on

this morning meant the difference between life and death?

Some people say it was when we were banished from Eden.

They say that was the first day we were really alone.

But I don’t think that’s it at all.

The second we become aware of ourselves,

is the day everything changes.

We could be five or fifty,

it doesn’t matter.

‘Cause life has a way of hitting the reset button

every so often.

Everything you’ve built comes crashing down

on you in one fell swoop.

Sodom and Gomorrah, Rome, your life.

So tonight when you lay awake in your bed

all tucked in, or when you catch your

reflection in a mirror,

you’ll think of all those irreversible decisions

you can never remake.

The son you could have had,

the woman you should have married,

and you’ll think of the smile you lost.

But this is who you’ve become,

for better or for worse.

So tonight while you lay face up remaking all your

irreversible decisions and imagining yourself

with your blushing bride

or at little league practice with the son

you could have had;

remember that it’s never too late.

So rise with the morning sun and know

it is better to have loved and lost then to have

to live alone.

Morning

The crisp clear morning

brought a new hope.

The ability to restart;

to forget.

The whisky burned

as it slid down my throat,

and the cold wind

kissed my cheek as it passed me.

A clear California morning,

with the stars in full bloom

and a screaming heart.

I sat on those steps

and counted the minutes to dawn.

Until the rest of the world

woke up to this new beginning,

this new day.

And for those few precious

minutes…

The world was mine,

the stars were mine,

she was mine,

life, was mine.

Blue Blood, Blue Heart, Blue Collar

Memories of beer and cigarettes,

cheap whisky and even cheaper rooms.

The memories make me long

but they also keep me content;

grounded to this savage place.

I wouldn’t call them the

hardest of times,

but rather they are the monotonous

trials of everyday life.

The symphonic, yet tragically

beautiful crescendo of

the working class.

A slow build to an exhausting

peek of mediocrity.

For every low there is a high,

for every smile there is a tear.

And if struggle is what defines us,

then we are modern warriors.

Blue collar gladiators.

So I raise my glass to all those

who finished last,

because life itself is enough to celebrate.