When I’m older, I’ll make the rules.
This is a quote of fools.
As children we think adulthood,
Will actually being something good.

What we don’t know,
Is that things don’t go,
The way that we plan,
When working for the man.

Do you really make the rules?
Or does your job work like schools?
Show up at this time,
Do your work and you’ll be just fine.

You don’t make the rules,
You follow them.

I’m laying on the floor,
Three feet from my bed.
Wondering if there was more,
That could have been said.

I think I’ll sleep here tonight.
I’ll grab that bottle, it warms to the bone.
If I had said sorry, then I might,
Not be sleeping alone.

The ground is cold,
Her words were ice.
My feelings were once more untold.
So I take a sip of the cinnamon spice.

And drift slowly into sleep.

The train’s whistle screeched,
As it came into the station.
It was time to say goodbye.
Time to end youth’s vacation.

Johnny was heading to Nashville,
To fulfill his mother’s dream.
He only had two things,
A guitar, and one suitcase, crocodile green.

Both were gifts from his grandpa.
Johnny knew that old guitar
And that ratty green suitcase,
Would someday take him far.

He said goodbye to mama.
And looked down at his ticket.
Birmingham to Nashville.
He felt odd, just a bit.

Johnny didn’t really want to go.
His mother was living through him.
He was raised vicariously.
This faded dream of fame, was not for him.

He wanted simplicity.
He wanted the daring life of nine to five.
He wanted two boys and one girl.
He wanted only one car to drive.

But parents push their lost dreams
Onto their children.
Much like those before them,
The grand parent’s generation.

That guitar had made this trip twice before.
The suitcase had been stowed on this very train.
Both came back harmed.
Bruised by the harsh life of failed fame, and lonely pain.

Johnny sat in his seat.
Knowing, that when he had kids,
He would raise them differently.
He was wrong.

Fastened from a broken home,
He thinks he has nowhere to run to.
Like a puppet in a show,
He is only there to entertain.

Entertainment.
If that’s what you call it.
Around here, the only entertainment
Is solidarity containment.

Left alone to his thoughts,
He has but two options.
He can pull that smooth trigger,
Or take another sharp swigger.

Perhaps he’ll hunt in the morning.
He doesn’t know what for.
Maybe for a moose.
Maybe for a noose.

He sleeps in instead.
Too hungover to put any pressure on his head,
He walks into the kitchen,
And smells something to feel again.

It’s the smell of his coffee.
He grabs a cup.
He takes a sip of that bitter revival.
And tries another day, at this survival.

What is irrational fear?
Is it the fear a child feels?
Or the fear of an adult,
who doesn’t know what news is real?

In a society of false advertisement,
the ones who lie pull ahead.
While those who seek truth,
move forward, afraid to tread.

Riots destroy society.
Murders break families.
Wall Street gets rich.
Politicians pass helpless policies.

Meanwhile-

A pastor calls for peace.
A black panther organizes youth centers.
A coffee shop donates profits.
A 70 year old man mentors.

Don’t tell me this society is evil.
Society isn’t evil, it elects evil.

As if afraid.
The snow drifts without a sound.
Soon to kiss the warm autumn ground.

I too am afraid.
For I know I cannot beat the concrete.
I too will melt from memory, and face defeat.

My mind is in the mountains.
My mind memorizes paths in my dreams.
These dreams for now my mind’s contents,
Soon to be released.

For now they are only dreams.
Eventually they will become reality.
One day I’ll stand in the streams.
Colorado is calling.

I yearn to answer.
I yearn to be there.

Billy went to the saloon
To drown his shame away.
He knew the law would be there soon,
But it didn’t matter anyway.

Suddenly the door folded in.
Gin stood there, about 6’4″.
He gave Billy a half grin,
“Bartender, give Billy one more.”

Billy wished he could say no,
But he knew his mind was weak.
He shot it down fast, then tried to go.
Gin said, “We need to speak.”

Billy knew why Gin was there.
Billy had killed his brother.
He knew he could run nowhere,
He flipped a table and dove for cover.

Gin pulled his steel, and cocked the lever.
Pointed at the table Billy was behind.
The gun suddenly felt heavy in his hands of leather.
For as big as Gin was, he was too kind.

“Billy, come out from behind there.”
Billy peaked from over the side.
He knew in this moment he should care.
But he also knew, Gin would die.

He came out real fast,
Pulled his gun,
Gave it one blast,
And then it was done.

Gin was no more.
His body fell to the floor
The sheriff came in, knocking down the door.