Home

Home.

Down the road, across the universe,

my body goes, and I stay.

My heart aches to belong here.

It urges my lust for nostalgia.

But The nuance of this notion,

lacks the lustre it once had.

For me, all that glitters is gone.

The silver lining, has faded.

Why would I yearn for such an obvious detriment?

Why do I make my bed in a place I wish not to lay?

I always thought this was my home.

But I know that home isn’t here or there.

Home is where you make it.

It’s the place you became the person you were meant to be.

It’s not the echo against walls closing in on you.

It’s not the place where you bury yourself in a crowd of a thousand dirty faces.

This place, I’ve called home,

Only tightens my grip on the coat tails of the past.

It steps on the toes of my future.

It laughs in the face of hope.

That’s just it.

Home is not a place at all.

It’s a feeling.

Home is inside of us.

And I’ve always looked for it in the wrong places.

I’ve always Looked behind to find nothing but shadows of doubt.

It’s time I look ahead.

It’s time to find my place, my home.

I will find it,

And that’s where I’ll always be.

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…From Here On Out 

originally a poem I wrote and turned into a song.  I wrote it after seeing the news about the last Vegas shooting.

Everything’s eventual,

it’s really quite a shame,

that what happens now,

from here on out,

it’ll always be the same.

And everything’s perpetual,

a never ending game.

Well, you chew it up,

And you spit it out,

it’ll always be the same


Tell me why?

Tell me why,

all the up-swings went under.

Tell me when?

Tell me when-

we got stuck on for better-

or for worse,

or for worse.

Tell me, I can’t remember

all the lasts,

and the firsts,

tell me when we came up.


Cause it’s all down hill from here on out.

Cause it’s all down hill forever now.

Yes it’s all down hill ’till we come around.

Yes it’s all down hill from here.


Everything is gradual,

like time is oh so slow.

Just shut your eyes,

and hang around,

you’ll be gone before you know.

And everything’s irrational,

like never seen before.

But we’ll never know,

So we’ll cast a stone-

there will always be a war.


Tell me why?

Tell me why-

are the walls getting thinner?

Tell me when?

Tell me when-

the world burned to a cinder.

Tell me now?

Tell me how?

The fire still lingers-

Over me, over you

But it’s all we know.


Cause it’s all down hill from here on out.

Cause it’s all down hill forever now.

Yes it’s all down hill ’till we come around.

Yes it’s all down hill from here.


Ordinary Desires

She sat there,

Staring through the smoke of her cigarette.

And she thinks,

I loathe you.

I love you.

Don’t ever come back.

Please come home.

A painful soliloquy she recites.

An arduous cycle to fall into.

How cynical,

To want to be wanted this way.

To keep lighting a flame already smothered.

To breathe warm air onto cold,

hand-me-down embers.

How vain and trivial.

How unusual,

But pivotal.

She needs this.

This vicious cycle,

That solemn recital,

A dance she’s learned over and over.

But she struggles,

With this second hand choreography.

Dancing from do to don’t,

from praise to blame.

Second guessing a second guess.

one day she’ll figure it out.

She’ll figure out every step, turn, and pause.

In time, she will stop holding onto missteps she already took.

She’ll focus on the steps ahead.

At the next recital, she won’t dance between do and don’t-

Loathe or love, 

step or pause.

This was just practice. 

Turning Over 

I’ve always let the light chase me,

And I’ve always let darkness take me,

Hoping that the light will soon catch up,

that I’ll stop and it’ll pass right through me,

to lead me through the dark of night.

It’s been so long since the light graced this black and white congregation.

A long while since it kissed the faces I’ve buried here.

But here I am.

A bone yard, a cemetery,

a ghost town.

An empty person, full of old bones.

Old skeletons.

Lifelessness besieges me.

Life, beseeches me.

It urges me,

To transcend this phobia, the darkness.

And let life light me like it once did.

There is nothing to fear.

I can’t keep living like yesterday was my last,

I’ll live like today is.

So I’ll bury this face,

In the boneyard

One last time,

and I’ll choose to live-

to follow the light all the way back.

I’ll transform this ghost town into a triumphant city,

And I’ll only come back here to visit memories.

The boneyard, that is.

31, October

31,october.

A day to celebrate those who already wear masks.

Although these faces speak more to themselves today,

than the smiles they depict

every other.

Today, they wear their monsters and demons on the outside,

on their sleeves.

Not a person within a character,

But a character within a person.

And why they chose such attire?

A choice that came from within-

To give the world what it wants,

or a symbol of what they favour.

On this day, the 31st of October,

they don’t have to be but a demon 

behind a fraudulent face.

Today, they can let it all hang out,

give the world what they want

And just smile, within. 

In the Arms of Bliss 

It’s strange how we break down mountains from the bottom of a valley.

I guess you can say misery loves company.

I guess it feels good when landslides sink to our level.

Oh, how I’ve misjudged the tender feeling of ignorance.

How wonderful it feels to be in the arms of bliss.

We all do it.

We all hug it back.

We all let sweet nothings whisper in our ears.

Telling us to stand amongst the burning trees and set fires,

or to throw stones in glass houses and watch the walls shatter.

At the very least, redundant.

At most, repulsive-

to let silver tongues lick our necks, and whisper to us, like we never had a choice at all.

But we did.

We chose to dwell in valleys,

and to bring mountains down with us.

How I hate what we’ve become.

Partition 

Reality. That’s what  I can see.

And that’s all there is, here,

outside the lines of concrete, 

inside the partition.

The world turns so slowly 

when Clocks of sand don’t tick around me. 

This city of trees is crowded, 

but no one speaks.

Now, they will barely even breathe.

The autumn breeze kills, and caresses these brittle people.

Caring not, for minutes 

or the hands that carry them.

Time is already standing still.

Because Autumn is Summer’s punctuation. 

A period that separates life and death, hot and cold.

The last grain of sand before the hour glass turns

And when the snow falls, life will pause, like it too, needs to smell the roses.

A short while to reset the clock, and begin again.

One day soon, life will go on.

Red to Blue

You’re all I think about

I can be anywhere, at any time

And nothing will suffice

Something won’t even suffice anymore

And why do I still see you?

Though, I gaze upon your soul through stained glass eyes

I see all of your colours and cracks

Splattered on the wall as the light seeps through

Pain by pane, red to blue, the pieces tell more than a story

It’s An eloquent ode to a bigger picture

But I’ll never seep through

I’ll never see the other side

But it’s still worth looking