Maker (day 1365)

I don’t want to hold hands with fate anymore,
I don’t want to believe there’s a right way,
Or that I have a significant impact on worth,
On death, or the elusive act thereof.

With whom shall I grow old with,
If I am not planning it out?
With what shall I enjoy, if gamblers
Keep convincing me I’m right.

Share my soul with wounded hearts!
Hardly healthy and needing.
Share my aches amongst the rocks!
Already scalded sourly
For I am no man fit for redemption,
I am no guest at the gates of fate
And I have brought no gifts for my maker.

Dirty Secret (day 632)

For a while there I was thinking of quitting you
My dirty secret
My dungeon of love
Your united sound log
Your division of hope
I pushed you forth without ever knowing
Then you tossed away the breaking point
And spat it all across the roxy red chairs
Peanuts and gamblers
Standing around
Betting on sure things laid out to waste
Frothing animals with strapping young lads Riding their backs
Challenging each poser who attempts to stretch into the lead
Corners and white rails with grass always green
And a little buggy trailer that spins once around
Chasing some distant smell out in the grains
Smell that fooled no one that came out of the benches
Punching through lost bottles and dribbles of spit
Discarded score cards with random numbers
Little numbers, faint numbers, broken numbers, black numbers
Doors swing wildly here without much aim
Ghosts come and go, lost without a name
And in all the hallways one can hear the distant thunder
Of heels pounding against the ground