When night falls, good men fall with it.

With the Lord’s angels by their side, they sleep.

Full of hope, full of life.

But with that same nightfall,

Some men go to war forsaken by God.

And tonight I, the poet,

I ride with those men into battle.

“Good” men, but worse, darkened souls.

And what’s a man but his soul?

The enemy? Well, every “good” man’s enemy

Is his soul, his very own soul.

And the strategy? Every man for himself.

Tonight I ride nightfall with nothing.

A thick darkness swallows my already dark soul.

But I see him, clad in exquisite cotton

Like the “good” in which he rests at sunrise.

The “good” man everyone sees.

But men don’t see souls. Men don’t see truth.

So today I march against nightfall

Armed with nothing but hope

And the man I want to be can only surface

If I win this war against night itself.


I need a place to burry my dirt

But would you stay if maybe,

If maybe I buried it within your heart?

I’m the kind of man that keeps falling

Collecting scars invisible to the eye.

Yet my heart’s still longing and calling.

I’ve done things in the absence of light

Created permanent silhouettes in my soul

So would you stay if my star wasn’t as bright?

Would you stay if I told you my darkest nights?


Smell of fuel

I love old cars

the smell of raw fuel

when you finally hit the gas.

I love the long silent walks

down the far country side

where natures aura blossoms.

And I love the sun

a dying light at dusk

the hope of a new day at dawn.

But you know what I really love the most?

the sensation of touch

a different kind of connection

one from another dimension

my kind of love; All or Nothing.

each and everything or nothing at all.

vulnerable and needy

so needy it becomes a curse

one whose price it hurts to pay

but in the end

I really, really love old cars

that smell of raw fuel

when you finally step on the gas.


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