Phife

If Only I Knew If only I knew, I mean really knew, What his fate truly was. Then maybe I-- I could have done something, Other than doing nothing at all. If I could have known That his dad hit him, And hurt him in ways heretofore unknown; Then I could have stopped it, Put and end to his pain, And wrought justice where it was needed most. But I didn't know-- And, frankly, I didn't try that hard, Because darkness is obvious; I'm not that dumb! And last thing I heard, He was lying alone And horizontal in a cold, cold bed. If only I knew, Then maybe I could have saved him... Or at least said one last good-bye.

Oh Sleep, Come to me quickly. Quit teasing me Mercilessly. Come like the wind. Where from? Who cares? Just come! Sleep, damn you! Where the hell are you! What did I do to you? To make you hate me so. Look Sleep, I know you see The bags under my eyes. See how I long for you? Please Sleep, Just give me a quickie. A simple four hours Will do me fine. Don't leave now. I thought we had a deal? I guess I guessed wrong; Poor me. Stupid Sleep! Won't come, so I'll write, Because that I can do Anytime…

Is enough ever really enough? Or am I myself hell bent     on running everything into the ground? No matter if bad or good,     everything is vulnerable. If I somehow could, would I stop this or not? I will never relent,     continuing to poke, prod, and pound. I wish it would end, it should,     but I don't seem in any way capable. Why do I do this; why don't I learn? There's nothing in it for me,     it's painful every single time. But back to the horse I go,     up for another long ride. Lord, make it so I cease this nonsense… I honestly want to be happy,     new heights of bliss to climb. But ending this is a tale

Floating down; Ever so softly, Ever so lightly, Nearly haphazardly. Swinging around; Back and forth— By a tender draft, As it pushed and pulled. Twirling about; The breeze gusts, And rather lazily The feather spins. Traveling far; Seemingly distant From where It was headed at first. Landing near; "X" marks the spot, Where visions are dreamed And fulfilled. Bogging down; Wetted by too much gunk, No chance of flying Once more. Resting there; On the hot cement Of a summer day, Dampness dissipating away. Rising up; With another whim Of Mother Wind, Off to sojourn again. Floating down…

Upon that day came a fierce gale  That toppled from their lofty perches Our ever-so precious but fragile sails. Against our vessel the waves came,  Relentlessly rocking us to and fro, Convincing me this was no game. Not having traveled far at all,  We could still see our island, Portside; visible but growing small. "What can we do?" one shouted.  "Set out the anchor!" roared the captain, Hoping to keep up from being routed. So that's what we tried to do, well most;  Because some attended to the sails, And others lowered the anchor from its post And as the large iron began its descent,  The one with clout spoke up once m

Tired. Tired. So Tired. Eyes Hurting. Bags Developing. So Tired. Tired. Tired. Can't Sleep. Think Too Much. Miss Out On Fun Stuff. Can't Sleep. Tired. Tired. Insomnia. When Will It End. Meds Don't Work For Me. Insomnia. Tired. Tired. All Of It. Want It To End. Not My Life, But Strife. All Of It. Tired. Tired.

How quickly I falter at the first sign of affection. I'm starved for love. Sitting with him, a touch from him, a smile from him, a nod from him, and I'm no longer hungry. Reality is obsolete. Every detail matters when you're looking for a reason.