If I wrote something for you
would it make you feel?
If I read it to you, would I seem more real
to you?
Where am I as you stand there?
I don’t speak.
I float in the air, wrapped in a sheet.
Don’t act like it’s so weird.
You love this kind of mystique.
Where you read a line and go
“What does he truly mean?
Does he love me as pure or am I so much unclean?”

If I sang acoustic, would you lose it?
If I broke your lower barrior, would you approve it?
Of course, only if you were to choose it.
Through rose colored glasses, this room is ruse-lit.
I want my blue frames back
so the sky stays the color I love.
Some like shades to darken
Cause they want life in black.
I want shades, so what I see is clear;
the vision, sharpened.

No matter where I end up,
know that I will always be here;
untouchable in that way.
So if today is the last day
you ever get the privilage to see me,
know that I’m sticking around,
to the point where you can’t stand it,
you want to be me
so much.
But like I stated prior,
I’m something you just can’t touch.
Slated for greatness, these words were put in the fates
before birth occured.
Artist to arrested;
walk that wire.
Don’t just test it.
Before the step and balance,
light it on fire.

No matter the content
some see poetry as glorified malice.
Black and blue bloody gore and expressions of suicide in mind.
Rhyme as crime.
Alliteration as assasination.
A syllable as a subliminal intent for ill will.
If so, meter and flow are criminal to invent
and able to kill.
Those who think that,
are a little off kilter and need to eat a pill.
Spilt ink on the shelter of rhythm?
Can you say “Helter Skelter.”
Just kiddin’.

(Hey that rhymes! I didn’t even try.)
Who in the hell would kill themselves?
Way to go out with honor.
If you’re looking for attention from it,
know that to the outside, it’s just repeatition,
because it makes you no different;
cause you kids have a whole group broodin’.
It’s something you all think of doing; teens and tweens,
guys, girls, and in between.
Thats just horror-bull.
Go out in a blaze of glory before you go,
or at least blaze up and get horny.
Before you pass, blow it in her eye or up ass.
Thats a bit better then going from your confined car’s gas,
or from razor’s that slashed.
That stuff doesn’t make you kids stick out for help.
You get lost in the shuffle, sadly.
A true hell raiser sticks around.
So if you wanna get bloody, c’mon get happy.
You’ll get hurt naturally if you behave badly.
I wish I was as ignorant and dumb as you,
to think death is the way.
No matter how hopeless, I tried.
But if I thought suicide, you would’ve cried, six years ago today.
So, go out and turn that frown upside down.
Get help to sort it out to
find that real smile,
cause there isnt a damn thing resolved by denile.
For real.

Imagery is on parade.
Wondering why so many hearts are determined to live concaved.
But I won’t name names….
I’m just here to play with words.
But I never play with people
sharp as swords.
They might cut themselves
with their own words.
End up gushing and wide open for freaks to stare.
If they fought for the rap more then the rock, is that so bad?
Why do I care?
Because, you can say suck my cock more often? That’s obsurd.
But if that’s what they wanted to convey, then purists be damned,
because it’s more then okay and I’ll die in the name of every word!
“Suck my cock…”

I always go and save those that are down.
But I’m no super hero.
No fallen angel.
I try not to be a stranger.
I’m just tryna be nobody
just tryna be somebody.
Where am I as you stand there?
Your boy’s a bad bad man.
But I’m careful with you,
so there’s no need to fear,
as long as I’m next to you,
and you stand there;
not for me, or, in the end, even you,
but more for
all that’s right in the world.

Been through that ringer
and after all that,
We have to bring credibility to this
“represent” crap.
Word is life.
Who knows if I would spend a life with you?

Your boy’s a bad bad man.
But throughout it, I stay true.
More for all that’s right in the world.
Less for you.
What the hell do you fight for? Know now.
Cause I’ve been slurring up spit,
draining ink,
stroking keys…
Ever stop and think,
that this is for what’s right to
Next round, use your energy on a little integrity,

Mike O’Toole