Good guys do bad things,

or wrong things,

and bad guys,

sometimes,

do good things.

The measure of a man

is not the sum of his actions,

but it’s all we’ve got.

Time pours like hot water

Down a cold tar-shingled roof –

It leaves memories and takes life –

Until it finds a way into your house.

It floods you and slowly rots you,

Never ending its relentless, patient cause until,

Well,

You know.

I sit here caressed in my boredom and soft ideas

Waiting for a lover to hold me or a hard problem,

But nothing comes.

I slap at the ghosts and kick at the demons

But they don’t sleep and I sometimes do –

More often these dogged days –

And now my eyes are wretched and sordid from being alert and helpless.

The cure screams at me

And I laugh in its face like I’m the bully.

All three of us know how this ends,

So it let’s me be arrogant and composed,

As it watches the cracks forming and the sleep come for me.

Time passes to come by and say hello, to torment me, and finally to kill me.