Pissing Down A Rat Hole! Urchin Credo!

   I stand crooked pissing down the rat hole.  It's better than pissing into the wind, for all we are is urine spray in the breeze.  I find it hard not to leave my rat hole, to piss in a better place.  Sometimes all you knew is really more than you were.  Depressing and untrue, but sometimes all you have is half truth's and wishful, blissful, sawdust left from each character building block cut from a rather dismal lot of charred, sun bleached, and drifting wood.  Drift away..........A penny for your thoughts, A nickel for your dreams,  A dime for the time to try, to make a new way through the night and day.  A rat hole to piss down is not hard to find, sometimes it's the only trick I know. The credo for the urchin.......drift away....piss...off...believe....try again.... 

It's just that chicken with it's head cut off, running around chasing monkey's

  Strike while the iron is hot, in a crazy mixed bag of nuts kinda way.  It's totally correct to assume the worst of humanity.  Stricken ravaged, Broadway show collaboration, it all is without meaning.  I could talk about problems and solutions, but it really would be like a monkey pissing on the top ant of an anthill.  You get one, maybe two, twenty perhaps, but there are still a million more pouring out of urine, the city.
   I guess you can't forget your problems, but you try anyways. It's human nature to forget the good, the better, still yet the best.  We strive towards our destructive nature, forgetting the stop sign's even there. The wild ride, the careening, tilting, and whirling madness that is humanity. All bad no, but chicken running around with it's head cut off, yes, I think that's right. I must admit, I'm biased, and jaded, stricken with a pained heart. That is my humanity.  

Do Dreams Work In Hell, Or Am I Merely Drinking Too Much

  In terms of endearment the nickle falls between crumpled white bedsheets.  It matters where you're standing to really view how much a damaged distance or pressed closeness can do.  I'm finding the way to pick the garbage up in this graffiti filled walled alley.  In this fish-eye view existence, I think I possibly could have stumbled into someone really great.  I know that life is hard and even harder alone. But in the brown coffee shop gloom, you fill the room with happiness, that I love so much, cling too really.
   It's a strange world where a place in the heart is the place you wish to live in someone else. I'd die for the love given.  This is unhappy because I'm still learning about give and take. In rapid red flush of skin is all it takes.  I know that's not always the case, but "Ideally" is really just a children's playground.  It's fawned in blissful ignorance.  When everybody's knife is sharpened and behind those people's back do they come out to play.
   They are still dull to the flickering tongue speaking illnesses and spilling jaded poison into a new way to drop to the calico-covered stoned etched ground.  In which to crawl slowly,"gasping" back to your feet, knee to earth and blackened boot to dirt.  I find I only can find you to be the reason for my change. I'd be lost forever without you.  I'll find out how much love is given when memories of me seem more like bad dreams.  I dream only bad dreams when I dream, I wonder if I die when I dream, and Hell is my reality, my drink of a broken bottled beer.  I never really know how much glass is in my red lagered Beer.  I guess the only way, is to drink through your dreams.  So pitiful, I hope you see through the crap, and connect sincerely to another, to pick you up, as you do likewise.  Teamwork exists even in Hell, and Romance is just another mystery prize you have to buy tickets for.