Some how, some day; I hope to find the light … some day I just may?

Something in a dark and in a wretched kind of way; well it jumped up and bit me from behind, just today.

Unreasonable Demons, they lurk in my veins.

I can not control what I can not contain.

Shrieks and screams; race through my brain.

Loud and wicked; they cause excruciating pain.

My eyes close tight; I’m left sound and slain.

My vision regains.

I’m face down on the ground, surrounded by dirt and shame.

I couldn’t possibly explain.

Nothing is real and no one is to blame.

It’s all processed and imported bullshit anyway.

All of my life is in a hand basket. I couldn’t even imagine grabbing the handle and asking what had happened.

It’s a spastic kind of snapping. I have no clue what’s real.

I’m a sandwich short of plastic wrapping and a glass of milk, short of a full meal.

You can’t take me seriously and yes at times, it is hard for me to deal with me.

I am an absolute contradiction.

A human, puzzle of fiction and I believe a piece is missing.

I live some kind of lie.

I won’t lie, I have never gotten high.

What do you really think? I married Lucy in the Sky.

In a perfect situation, I mostly likely should have died.

Sometimes I think about crazy shit. Sometimes I let it pass by.

Sometimes I watch the stars.

I might be off a bit.

The stars just seem a little too far.

The seasons change, but life remains the same.

I argue with autumn; I can’t predict the rain.

The leaves turned red and forced in the grass.

I was never one to ask. Just get up and do.

Moving fast, I conquer all I can see.

I want the ocean; I want to feel its breeze.

 I need to float forever. I’ll sail these Seven Sea’s.

My treasures’ out there and it’s for me to be seized.

If you haven’t figured it out yet, I need consistent progression, please.

Life is full of meaningless jerk offs, that turn into obsession.

The American Dream; I have my very own perception.

If the doors were to open, would you immediately second guess them.

Or would you walk right through. That’s nothing more than a simple question.

Far too much to imagine; there’s far too much pain I have to release.

Who the fuck would have thought, I’d turn out to bewhat I am today?

Actually, it’s no surprise. I have always avoided what was real. My whole life I have worked at this.

I conceived my own wisdom; inevitably cooking my own last meal.

I’m to drunk to be writing my thoughts to this paper; but I’m too stoned to steal another’s appeal.

It’s my quiet life, which will only grow more real.

-Myles Hoehn