My Intentions Were Good, But My Aim Was Better

This was a song (term used loosely) I wrote in ninth grade for a final project. Derrick and I played it in front of the class and it was pretty epic I think. The topic involved the media's views on violence, such a perfect topic for a rebellious young man like myself (ahem) to write about.

So I'm sitting on the couch
Newspapers spread out
Pictures were like everywhere
Blood, insecure

No bother to cover the peace
Now report on the stains
Empty skulls scattered

Purification, Holy Water
Violence holding up the stilts

Now, "the same people who
invented tragedy knew
that even with sacred circles
war never intrudes
We need to see a fight!" (Marche 38).

Vanishing point of fists and femurs
Broken skies and sky lines
The world a crumpled piece of paper
Silence on the left, War on the Right
Close in and drift tight
Own perspective

Similar Complaints

Shut the hell up old man
You don't know what the hell you're talking about
No matter your wish, this is not your world
It's now another generation's turn

Your peers had their chance
Now they've left the world in the hands
of forgotten votes and drunken leaders
The naive bottom boredom breathers

So here we are, offering another point
Nothing different than the goals of yours
The bandanna-colored wave of violence will settle when we're dead
Thank you God of Misery for your company

Save some for the fishes
Though it seems that it's just wishes
At least Florida will cooler underwater
Though conservatives will not bother

Signs of the end is near
Supported by the shaggy beard
of the forgotten man's endeavor
Unfortunate prescribed weather

So feel the pain
No different than
The problems and solutions
with excess ammunition

It's all the same

PSSA Free Time

To guard all those
Like we do our fantasies
To scour our hearts
like we do to our dreams
One step is our back flip
Too far gone is the friendship
To pay for love is a disgrace
Many cannot afford in the first place
As the lights reflect
and kinship reject
it seems we're alone
once again, without home
without soul

--

I feel her staring at me
Are her eyes capable of witnessing
such a sad dumb sight
with one thing left on his mind?
Can his hair hide every blank detail?
The features of a stone-blooded boy
Who might as well be deaf and blind
He won't listen to even himself
The destruction is countless
His mom wants him out less
She's sitting across the way
Still laughing and looking without a care
I can still feel her eyes as she
Still walks on by,
Her dress a victim to the wind.
Oh what will he say to me?
I meant nothing by his baby.
And then I'm not sure if
she meant anything to me.

--

The things I do after I finish the math portion :P

Carpe Diem

All signs point to yes, but he begs to differ
"They're the next senior class" but I don't listen.
He jogs, he shakes
Smooth in his quakes

He's the oldest young man that I've ever seen
The first one to make them mad in inspiration
He checks, directs
Looks back, corrects

He's worse than gasoline as he burns the satin crawled walls
Destroying the shell that everyone says this place caused
You can't fight power with cowards
So push out your chest and be louder

They can't hear you in the back.
It doesn't matter if the light's focused on you or not as long as you care.

Imperfect

I thought it was sort of cute,
the way you chased me all over the playground
How you pushed me on and off the swing
and jumped me in the baseball field

How for Halloween you dressed up
as a bride, veil and all
I dressed up as a superhero
ran away, cape and all

You were a damsel in distress
when you kept tripping on your dress

You kept trying to buying my attention
with ice cream cones and toy transportation

---

So there she was, telling me everything I never knew I wanted to hear. Those words and actions I'd kill for now (though killing should only drive it away). At first I drove her away, feeling I wasn't ready (story of my life). She kissed me on the cheek, and I didn't realize the meaning. What did I care? First grade was a time for learning how to tell the difference between capital letters and their small counterparts. It was a time for negative numbers, not negative issues. Eventually I unconsciously gave in, I think. It was attention and I wanted it. I pursued for the sake of pursuing, even pulling out jokes about her dressing up for a wedding at Halloween. I said, "Batman doesn't need a wife!". I think she grew tired. I tried kissing her at reading time, but to no avail. Maybe it was for the best. I would have been branded as something I didn't want to be. Maybe I'm thinking too hard about it. I do that about everything. (I say 'maybe' a lot, maybe). So as the years went by, I moved on and forgot about it most of the time. Occasionally, I would see her chasing this kid named Eric or him chasing her and would think to myself, there she goes again. Why isn't that me? Because I didn't want myself to be? Most likely. Though, to be honest, I didn't have such deep thoughts when I was 8. It was more like "There she goes. Hey the swing is open". I could deal with that. Now, I don't know what to think.

Keeping Track

Put to shame
Hide my face
From everyone but myself

My promises to you are worth more
than the ones I make to myself
The ones I break everyday
The smooth killer of insanity

I'm an organism
with a hole for a mouth
I can't control whatever's coming out

Reduced to the washed up cartons
I spilled on the way to the floor
Swelling prevents me from succeeding
With any plan I might have today

Concentration is a parasite
I can't afford to have
when the light refuses to
stop casting shadows of you

He called my bluff
on the king of my hopes
I never went all-in
I'm still broke

I'm still broken

Wind me up, turn me the right way
Wrong, you left for something
I couldn't grasp in my guts
Where it felt numb,
Thank you lidocaine.

Lytic Cycle

He's a simple little boy with a harsh complexion
He thinks that he's haunted with some condition
Something about not being able to touch your daughter
And feeling her through man-made appendages

See, the thing that hurts him most
Is not being able to get close
to the girl he wants to call his own
He just wants to go home

She's just another girl that there's no chance of
Learning about her feral incandescent love
Killing himself to use up everything she has
The symbiote he wishes to become

The room is sterile, is it too unbearable
to watch him throw a fit?
For soon he'll be engaged for permission
Performing super soul total fission

Breathing on the windows wasting his time.