Who are you

Who are you,
When your last bottle is emptied
When your last fan goes home
When the stage lights dim
And no one calls the phone

Why do you,
When the rain won't fall
When you've got no hope
When your dreams are exposed
as hollow jokes

Where are you
When its the same old gutter
And the same old shame
And the same old hustlers
calling your name

I hope at last you're on empty
And I hope at last you're broke
I hope at last you're out of gas
And you know your drugs won't work

It's only at the bottom
You can really see where you are
That's why there's a floor on the world
to catch you when you fall

It's not about climbing back up
and showing the world your scars
You gotta start filling with a better gas
if you don't wanna be back in twelve hours

You've been running on fumes
about Your Hopes and Demands like a will
Stop trying to barter your precious life
and enjoy it as the gift it is still

You don't have to prove that you're Good
You're not, and you're precious to me
I've got no list for the cheap and the gold
You're all the same quality

Quit medicating your pain
with a thousand snake oil lies
Just give it to me and see where you are
when I lift the fog from your eyes

I know you're in a dry and weary place
no matter how you dress it up
This desert was always here
and I can tell you it stretches as far as you fear
but through me you'll find the way out.

So trust me if you dare
and believe against your eyes
You'll see who you are and where
When you give to me your why

Some jumbled prose

While I was cleaning up an apartment that I (incorrectly) believed I had been invited to tidy, I came across some roughly folded papers that had formed a sort of sedimentary layer at the bottom of a bag. After I managed to excavate the area and unfold the badly damaged bits of papers (mostly receipts, bills, and warning letters from an institution) I discovered that somebody had written bits of poems on them in a fading blue ink. Unfortunately, the owners of the apartment returned before I could properly transcribe them, and I was evicted - in all fairness quite politely- from the premises.


I was young and foolish when the road first called to me
I thought if I ran fast enough I could glimpse eternity,
just beyond the horizon as far as the eye can see
The setting sun and the rising road beckoned dreamily.

The wind has wandered far tonight,
and it must rest 'neath twinkling stars

the wind is weary, worn and spent
and settles sweet its beating heart.

The moon is old and wise and wary
of the vows it hears youths swear
for Love is ancient, strong and doughty,
and cannot be summoned by empty air.

The wind breathes hard as it runs its race:
a sprint above the world around
but keeps up straight its determined face
towards the end - if it can be found.

I am young and foolish still and the road still calls to me
though where I go I do not know for it bends most dreadfully
My favorite tales are grim to read where the end is hard to see
I only hope this winding road will one day set me free.