The city, skyscrapers beautiful…

I love them most on the days I love myself.

And when I say I hate this city I realize;

I really hate myself!

But I’m just human – and God-damned humanity!

Im struggling just to … Be happy

I’m constantly fighting …. Insanity

I love this city cause it’s only ever

Truly relfected me… like a mirror;

And I’m just a minon of impulse!

A worm that squirms with each pulse;

If I’m not squirming on a hook;

I must be….


little bit;

left for the seagulls.


Nothing Personal

Welcome to my little escape,

My little paper mache world,

Welcome to my room, welcome to my room;

The walls are thin…

Intruding eyes and ears and noses,

Please pick apart my vulnerability

And sell it to the highest bidder.

Only God and those onlooking, those invading,

Know what I said, know what I said

And for that… Could be dead,

Maybe I’m dead, Im already dead,

Why else would I sell rotten fruit?

Its all just cluttting my head,

Here take it! Youre obviously not well fed,

You lack the facts and are full of shit!

Go on and smear my mask with shit!

After all…youre the fool who bought it…

You can try to pawn it off on others but they will quickly realize

It does not fit! It does not fit! You simple minded twit,

Judging me as I try to make the best of my final exit,

Over analying the worst bits of me, like an animal forced into a cage,

Put on exibit, onlookers watching me eat where I shit!

Please invade my personal space and since nothings personal

You can kindly fuck off! You can all fuck off!

Welcome to my escape,

My little paper mache world,

Welcome to my room, welcome to my room…

Please invade my personal space,

And its nothing personal,


You can all burn in hell…

The Struggle

And I must be blind…

And I must be stupid…

I’m a dreamer, lost in the magic of this nightmare.

I struggle in vain, always complain life’s not fair.

Getting high just to get by….

getting high just to feel alive.


And I know it’s all one big lie

Sooo… I’ll live and not die.


You may see me stumble and fall,

then wonder why, and if me you know,

then you know, no matter how rough the road

I’m always going to try,

It’s honestly not in me to just give up and die.


and I must be blind…

and I must be stupid…

I’ll take the best of the worst

I’ll play this part, devils advocate unrehearsed

I’ll live this nightmare until I’ve banished my curse…


and I know not everybody sees it,

sometimes I don’t want to believe it,

You, as much as I might deceive,

I live for a deeper purpose, born of destiny.


So if you see me walking down this road,

lingering by,

maybe we can  struggle together,

instead of getting high.






Soul unseen, spirit unknown,

blown in by the wind,

down the North Saskatchewan,

welcome to Edmonton,

It’s been one long dark season,

people living and dying with no reason.


Why is this the way it is?

Will I ever know happiness?

Will this be the way it ends?

Needle in my arm, no real love,

no real friends…


Oh God… Can I be reborn again?

Oh God… Can I be reborn again?

Oh God… Can I be reborn again?


Please tell me this is not the way it ends.

lift my heavy cloak, take away my burden,

Show me beauty as well as peace; the garden of Eden!

Give me courage and strength to slay my demons!


Show me a life full of meaning.and reason….

Wash me in the rains of a brand new season….


Humble Mumblings

And if even “The Greats” were just mere regular,

idiosyncratic – day to day observers of society;

Loud muses that mused nonsense – out of boredom,

stress relief, simple idiotic entertainment –

What of me then? My so called art – ponderings

of a directionless point becoming less with each …

*Sigh* … It’s insane enough I talk out loud to myself,

God help me when I actually take time to write down

the humble mumblings of my inner muse.

I’m easily amused, taking advantage of space and time,

making rhymes – poetry is as poetry does, line for line.

Poetry is like life – random and chaotic,

occasionally coming together beautifully in wondrous ways.

Poetry is life.

The best lines obtained through years of disillusionment and pain.

The never ending struggle to fight; Finnish the race!

The journey, discovery and utilization of what it  means to not just live – but to actually feel connected to your being;

That is living.

… That is poetry…