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"In the City of Angels I walked through the valley of my shadow days, filled with fallen hearts and souls that shattered on impact. I look into the eyes of my generation and see the genocide of compassion. They are still looking for redemption out of these ambiguous times- using lust, money, alcohol, and drugs to reach it. In every person is good & evil, there lies our salvation. Find the beauty in the darkness."
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Capulet (Rough Draft)
Oh happy dagger
pierce my vein
grant me solaceÂ
from this pain.Â
For I'd ratherÂ
be in the delirium
of your arms
as Death's embrace
than live-
or rather not liveÂ
with the ring
being torn from my finger.Â
The nightingale
sings the songÂ
of our loss
so let thisÂ
drug take me awayÂ
from every dayÂ
I must hear it sing.
Because a rose,Â
a rose is nothingÂ
without it's sun
that has already setÂ
into the eternal west.Â
So let me tooÂ
set my compass to the westÂ
and travel towards it with hasteÂ
and let our hearts sin again.Â
You're gravity holding me to the ground-
I wanted to fly so far away
& I needed the atmosphere to burn
so I wouldn't have to breathe.
Acceptance was key and you brought it to me,
allowed me to love myself
and move to the sounds I hear in my dreams.
Untitled
The street lampÂ
castÂ
gold flecks ontoÂ
the wind-shield.
Just focus on
the gold flecks,Â
Focus.
Excerpt from "Beyond the Fringe: Follow the Yellow Brick Road"
Dazed and Confused 2005-2009
High school was the time Patrick and I started to wander away from each other. I guess he needed to find a new home since getting older made it harder to tune out the frustration of the arguing. His platinum blonde locks turned to gold and grew longer each year we passed through the grey-specked tile floor and bulletin boards strategically filled with homecoming pictures that gleamed a façade of happiness. Looking back now his insecurities (of eating disorders, getting stoned, and insomnia) became the ones I’d molt into years after he shed them. I don’t remember how old Patrick was when I noticed the cracks in his foundation but eventually it sent me into a tornado of doubt and panic.Â
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Poem 3
Hans Yergeau (December 21, 1951- August 18, 2012)
 Upon cutting open
the box my eyes are
captivated by the
bone shell fragments
in grey sand
settled along
the River Acheron.
The plastic bag,
sealed with
twist-tie is the
only farewell. Â
Carcinoma’s
by product waits
to be poured over
the Appalachians.
I never knew
his face. I know
what his ashes look like.Â
Poem 8
 The Giant Eyeball
 Detached from its moon pull,
Earth washes up on shore.
The midnight blue orb of oceans
is nestled in a crib of fog.
After a millennia of rolling
through trenches of sand,
blue sky somehow
remains intact after tearing
from the atmosphere’s body.
Melted down into a silver skin
mirroring the Milky Way
are the buildings that made the planet great.
It looks so big in the cupping hands
but it is really small compared
to the life it once contained.
stephejo answered your question: Considering watching Hemlock Grove. Anyone...
It is a bit off the wall but something about makes me keep watching. Plus they have awesome music.
mhm i'll give it a try :) thanks
