When I Said I’d Die For You (I Didn’t Mean You Could Kill Me) – Cody Peters Poem

When I Said I Would Die For You (I Didn’t Mean You Could Kill Me)
For My Squirrel (to her utter disgust)

The world leans on an empty chair
I look for her everywhere, in faces and pastimes
I settle for less and curse her for the sting
Pain now issues forth from the wound regret
I am only now, years apart, ready to write, to think these word of truth:
Her soul is my heart and I have been dead since our final embrace
These hands that wipe tears once held her every night
These tired eyes once filled with her radiant light and her effortless beauty
I feel disconnected from these senses, like an interloper or
Startled tourist of Bethlehem saying,
“Wow, that happened here?
But this looks like nothing but a barren desert…”

Command of folly has been my forte
remixing nothing and tinctures of anesthetic blockade
I never got back on my feet after I crushed her with my self-destructive shadow
He assumed a passenger and blinded me with comfort to earn my attention
Undivided after cutting loose the woman who owns my heart
Now I am ruled by this rusted regime
I am trying to move, not to love. To live, not to exalt
Now I endure when with her I would enjoy
Now I get by when with her I would conquer

A lesson didn’t surface, ‘spite the old pomes, adages, and sages
No greater good was to come from my imprudent adherence to the shadows
I crush myself to think I once considered her anything but my destiny
A day in that life would be heaven to me now
Knowing she would smile at the thought of us and be there when I slept
I go crazy in the aftermath, this also-ran slice of a life that looks stellar from the out
I smile in grotesque amusement at the lengths I’ve gone to push away her beautiful face
Her beautiful emergence in my life as the towers fell was as sure a thing as I could tell
I am soaked with this jealousy for myself because I had her and she loved me
She really did and now I am grown up to see that I was so ungrown back then
So childlike to think that it was my heart that was broken
I know better now that what was broken was not my heart, but my soul

She wants to keep away and now lives in another land
Ice fills my chest as I realize that I actually agree and understand
Stay away. I hurt you too many times.
Though I know I would move heaven to have her here on Earth
Though I know I would be a perfect lover, the knowing is the spire
The tack of evidence, my tries to fool reason are a long-winded waste
A time to kill and no one better than myself for my pain, so hard to explain
Will keep me bleeding until the rusted shadow takes me home.

But I would miss her in Heaven
I would miss her in Hell, asleep, in chains or a throne
I would miss this woman in paradise and my forever will always know
That all I do and Those I love are merely ghosts as the eyes of my passion
Are always scanning the skies for

She, Always With My Heart.
Only she can rid my life of this monster
but she has much better things to do…

Spectator and Specimen – New Poem by Cody Peters

Spectator and Specimen
By Cody Peters

Bright light where every blemish ever suffered shone like a dark
ray from a broken star in heaven paints the canvas of twilight in another lonely moment
I am alone in this and words to a wordsman are futile messengers and vessels
As a rendering of this everything I seek to leak an account
Pain is a way that direction is delivered and courses corrected
In the hands of some it is a weapon wielded for reasons a spectrum can tell.
It is the most vile of nasty life parts, but second to only one subpart of pain
the worst suffering in the world is pain, but worse than that
I suffering pain with no clear genesis and
without a name.

The world floats in venom behind an illusory pane of glass
when I stray into nights made for sleepers I am joined by little terror goblins
because my mother told me that she was going to do suicide tonight
this happens a lot since father tried to exit the world by refusing medical help
as he slept in pools of perspiration and lost his mental staminaut
His braing inevitably exploded and the told you so gambit meets the
how could you do this to me ruse while what a tragedy is somewhat obscured
by other faces like a train station in Venice always going somewhere but you know better.

There is no name for the terror that has evolved into nameless suffering
I have had doctors shed a tear at my virus of a story
the collective docket of answers asks me the same question and it is
How can you endure? How do you soldier on?
I always smile because I remember the answer as it is supposed to be
and what it really is
It is supposed to be because I believe in a better tomorrow and do my best
but it is really something more childish and silly
I think that I have a unique opportunity to study, from the inside, the life of a man
who has been stricken with so many ills of life that it has become a curiosity to see
exactly how this will turn out and so the true impetus for my apparent strength
is childish curiosity and awe
I am simply amazed at how terrible my life is turning out
and awestruck by the complete absence of any fortunate turns or luck
I have made so many downward turns that I am now heading upwards
I am punch drunk and thrilled
Both as spectator and specimen.

I should be there for them, I moved home to support family while we endured tragedy
My mom told me she is going to kill herself tonight.
I am the cause of her suffering and disarray. I sleep too much and break too easily.
When Dee Ann Rothman suspended me from law school for stealing a phone I didn’t steal
(and actually own said phone myself – it’s identical!)
I collapsed, breathless on the black portion of the parking lot.
When they called for a paramedic I waited for my chance then lept into my car
I had to escape Newark. But the trauma was unbeatable. I began to cry so hard my throat hurt.
I could make it through law school for almost a year when my father was in a coma
But this whimsical charge by Dee Ann Rothman would collapse my house of cards.
I was not able to grip this grenade lobbed by the circumstance.
I was committed to NY Pres.
I was a danger to myself.
I broke and this time is was serious.

One month has passed and today mom told me that
She has “no idea” why I couldn’t continue taking classes and just appeal my suspension.
She told me that she and dad were shocked and disturbed by what had happened
Oh, and she wants to kill herself.
I asked her what I could have done better. She doesn’t know I was passed out and the throat crying stuff.
She thought it a challenge and yelled at me that she didn’t know and why should she always
Have to deal with this. Why did I do this? They can’t believe it. How could this happen?
(read: you’re obviously not telling us something because this is impossible. You know how
you can get.)

Back to verse, and in time for a sweeping muse to collect me and drive
since narrative pales in comparison to fun, I will put away and then I
and pick up my darker skies ripped into a cascading sunrise although part of it left unannounced
and without sufficient plain-clothes security to beckon day 2 of this riddle chain of disappointment

I am the cause
I sleep too much
I smile too much
I leave cups in weird places
I ate too much bread
I didn’t eat enough dinner and don’t know how much this costs and by the way owe mom and dad
70 thousand dollars for raising me – oh little things like helping me pay for books, my car, and lending a hand with those pesky doctor bills that were another luxury my parents afforded me which of course should be paid back with a generous 0 percent interest despite the fact that said debt goes back to 1992 when I was 14 years old and starting to become a real financial burden but lucky for me there was a benevolent bank of mom and dad to loan me the money I needed for all the luxuries in life and that they had a wonderful records system which would keep track of every dollar borrowed secretly until an opportunity came along to collect the money which of course is rightfully that of the parents because I ASKED to be BORN and asked to have a cold and well, the world is tough so you better get used to it, you’ve been a burden ever since you were born and here’s the bill son, here’s what it cost to raise you, here’s what you owe us for feeding you and clothing you and all those thing SPOILED children get because when I was a kid I walked everywhere and worked since I was a fetus and no one ever gave me anything but grief and that’s the way the world is and you have to just get used to it but get used to it after you pay us back 70 thousand dollars for being your parents then you can consider yourself current on the 17 year line of credit we have opened for you because we are good parents. Pay up. The money is compensation for injuries suffered in your jaws-of-life car accident? So what, we want our cut.
So what, we want our cut.
So what, we want our cut.
So what, we want our cut
So what, we want our cut

My mom is downstairs complaining to my father about me
I am a burden. I am broken. I am a failure.
I am the specimen
and the spectator.

You just don’t get better seats to a tragedy than this.
Aren’t you curious about how this will turn out?
Here’s a hint:

Someone is going to die
Soon.

Impassioned Alone – New Poem By E. Cody Peters

Impassioned Alone

Anonymous crowds are my grayish world of lighthearted fear

In love with her, friends, elders, others groping to find some science in me

I am not sad when they turn away sick of trying to read a distorted language

That was given to my heavy mind with the power  of now to brag of deep in my low

And show the wow of my up.

I want a hand to touch my face and tell me they know

With that look in their eyes that confirms it is so

I am on night two of impossible sleep

And I know I am broken, ill-suited, and weak

A beauty climbs the wind of descent to warn me of the harsh duty of man

Who was given a little God in his hand

No other piece lies waiting on Earth to be filled by my riddle

It will remain unsolved and unnoticed

Until the next cursed warrior with loneliness disease

Walks among the faces of people who are

Too far away to

Ever take into heart

With this banquet of insight

That wouldn’t be much of a prize

Even if I did everything right.

I Accidentally Wrote This for You, Elizabeth Wurtzel – Poem by Cody Peters

I Accidentally Wrote This for You, Elizabeth Wurtzel

 by Cody Peters

Let me tell you about right now.

 

I am probably going to die, as my blood is full of Ritalin, Vicodin, Testosterone

Should I do a beer? If you say “yes” then that means you want me to die!

People should think a little bit about certain things.

The way I see it right now, they feel when should think

and think when they should feel.

 

Right now is a 2:34 AM nightmare and sleep is not even close to maybe

So the iron horse has tempted death the day after Michael Jackson died.

I can’t be without drugs and the shift from the real.

They can’t be with me without drugs and the shift from the real,

I am a monster and I have so much pain.

I just couldn’t think of trying to conquer any more.

Am I wrong to realize when I am beaten?

I am so sick, the heart in my chest is no longer my own.

Why it keeps beating is a God secret I hope he never learns.

Or payback will be a baddie.  God is a little flighty, but stern.

 

Right now I am afraid to sleep.  I fear the loneliness of the pillow.

This life has been so to burn the life away.  My dreams are dead and I am alive.

My heroes had it the other way around.  I am an extraordinary spirit in a mundane life.

Stuck without the will to weather any pain.  So no suicide!

My mind is not going to stop.  I am not in control.

I only know how to dodge, not endure (any more)

I am so battered from my life that the sadness is too overwhelming.

I wish I fell in love.  I did, but each time it was ripped as a piece of my heart.

Perhaps it tempered it so it can endure my need for anything to shift my real.

I know I will not heal.  I love and believe, but I just got a bad hand.

I play this game with the best cards in my hand that do not connect to make me a winner.

I look great losing though, I am Elizabeth Wurtzel without the Ivy.

I am Layne Staley without the magic.

I am Michael Jackson when it comes to being slain by the world you wish would love you.

Mostly, after reading all of the books on Amazon about drug addiction and depression

I realized that no one really understands me.  Awwww.  These days, nobody cares.

I wait for an email, a call, a visit, a drug, a change in my brain that will stop the heavy

That keeps me driven to escape so far and endanger my self.

 

For all who don’t have their own times, you have it all wrong.

Drugs don’t make a junkhead high, they are like this:

Our Elite Race of stoners, junkies, and freaks live in a constant rainstorm

We look at the boring normal people and see that they all have umbrellas

We were never given one, so we are getting cold, shivering, and soaked.

Drugs are our umbrella.  So we can be more like you.

Sure it’s like the five-dollar one you buy on the street, but most of the rain is blocked.

That is, until the umbrella starts to fade like Cinderella.

Then the cold comes again and we get sick.

We go seeking another umbrella, ironically for our own health.

Then this hunt consumes.  We are a closed cycle of umbrella patrons.

Well, since umbrellas equal drugs in this ditty, we are the famed “drug-seekers”

It’s really just a rain thing, don’t sweat it.

But I can suffer deep pain from somewhere. A broken life perhaps?

Or I can finally give up at 30 and try to avoid the hurt.

 

Right now I’m coated in chemicals and in love with the idea of dating Elizabeth Wurtzel

She would love me.  She’ll never see me because of her status.  Bad for us.

We would take it by the core and she’d foil my baddies so we could start better trouble.

Elizabeth, you were me and I will be you.  If this is true then I would call a big fan like me

Don’t you want to at least write to me and tell me some good books to read?

Or NYC hangouts?  Share stories of your societe, miss cocktail party.

I’ll give you back some years and you boost me a few.  We’re of a mind that is mystery.

I am amazed by my stanza to EW.  I’ll send her this.  If she doesn’t respond

Then I know she’s not nearly like me at all. 

Aren’t you at least curious?

 

Right now I am looking for what I need.

I always do and am fooled or am lost.

How low do you go before impact?

I must be so damn close

Here comes a crash.

 

Do you think it will hurt? 

Slipping into eternity with a Ritalin pupil dilated so

I don’t miss a thing.

Laugh Nocturne – Poem by Cody Peters

Laugh Nocturne

by Cody Peters

No they did what maybe meant the losing of a time well spent

in joining hands in love with me

regret and pain and agony

I’m sorry please shackle and whip

the gun I’ve holstered on my hip

You took me and I loved your skin case

Your soul, face, and you eviscerated

It’s okay because I know it’s meant to be this way.

Ok is far.  For you the norm.

I was too young to be left lone in the dark and endless rotting storm.

I know not romance, but rovenge

Happiness will always end.

I kill each day trying to survive

I only want another life

Welcome to the power of demise.

Now a brief one

Slow poison no one is the victim yet

as of now we deserve what we get

to be so easily amused is a laugh nocturne

if only I could sleep to dream

or sleep to dedicate myself to forever

in observance of living in my eyes, the scape

there are two choices left for the monster

love case I was given in this peripheral process of feeling

to kill, to thrill I understand no more

could it be I’m getting better or purposefully stuck in this whole

be my hind is where days seemed to die with my hope for

a true chance at what they say I lack in scary words of me (I write)

But now listen to the crash, I will never remember

It is always ringing in my ears.  My fears aligned

Smashed to death in auto.  I lived to bridge darkness

I live to show pictures from the chasm

I don’t hate you because you can’t know what it’s like

It’s a pearl, a stubborn clam, and I am inside

Your force of entry trips the switch

and the lovers die with it

I know well the ease and I hope my cards (pomes)

continue to deliver a sight not saw

But if I may ask today

I query this and go away

Why does a man who soaks words with meaning

earn the title dark and sad and morose?

This is the death that tunes us all

I was given to see.  So

Please, for the sake of my happy girls

Don’t ever dark poet

try to call me.


Daddy, Please Get Better

Daddy, Please Get Better

for my father Glenn.  may God be patient in reuniting with his earthly angels.

 

Daddy, please get better

Only I can be sick.  I’m the one that’s supposed to fall

I am bedridden on school days with questionable infirmity

You are my hero and heroes don’t fall

I followed your size 10 ½ footprints

All the way to adulthood because I love to stay just behind you

As you worked each day harder and with more strength

Than any other man alive

That is why you are my hero and why I implore

Daddy, please get better

Now that you fell down

How can I make myself walk

Any more?

 

I slept not tonight as I lay so far away.

I would do anything at all to take your illness from you

And throw it on my back with this gruesome load

I’ve come to bear.

I would suffer a million times to have you back at home

Picking up the pieces after another financial mess I’ve made

Or sleeping soundly by the television you love so much

In the backyard grilling burgers for our humble cookouts

Then taking your kayak to the lake with Mom.

I am always proud to see you play

Basketball games each sunny day

Now the team is crying foul, the great inspirer needs a time out

But please make your rest short and come back soon

Daddy, please get better

Before your magic guitars

Fall out of tune.

 

You may not remember, but I’ll never forget

What you said to me if I fell down while at play

“Boo Boos hurt for a while

then they go away.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Chelle – Lyrics By nakedEric

My Chelle (cOkeBoOgErs)

Open up to the feel of my hand on the back of your arm
Finger in a place I can’t ever find when the bones bury me

No more sin if it feels like rain
I won’t live life and be in pain

Remember the passing moments, as they aren’t even there
Your beauty is the reason I can’t help but stare
When you go away I love the day
You come back to my arms and ask me if you can stay

No more sin, it makes no sense
I never asked to be like this
No more sin if it feels this good
You are my angel I guess we should

Roll these wicked bones of white
In a casket made for us tonight
My lips are numb and I search for your face
This Jersey town such a barren place

Now you’re gone to meet your self
I sit and high with no one else
Will tempt me ever be a drink I pair
With a sharp pang of you’re not even halfway there
There.

With a heart of blaque I swim in you
It’s a love you never knew.
White and high these evil eyes
Take animals to tame them from the
Cages of a heart I used to keep away from everyone else

You got me. I sit alone.
You’re always right, ‘cuz I’m always stoned.

Love me. I want only to be your happy key to the golden gable.
Choose me as your human
Make me a man in your embrace
Make me cry and feel ashamed
Make me be unable to not sing your name
I am broken and buried in a six-foot whole

I’ll be here until you come home on Wednesday to
Pick me up into your arms.
Lonely without your accidental divinity.

Our Safe, Smoky Womb – Poem by nakedEric

Our Safe, Smoky Womb

by  nakedEric

 

I can make this wiggle with precision

Your eyes grip the round corner where he inserts a cable

Tethered neatly I stand before everyone

Ready to disturb silence with my behavior that echoes

As per electric despondency

Like the pied with his pipe, like the bible with his priest.

 

Guitar one opens fire on two beats

I feel ready to come in four

A chord to light the tickle in their ear

And a solo to impair their blink, a sheer need to watch the dedos

Tickle tightly wound steel; you feel a moist wah, then follow me

Back into the melody I wrote in an alley

Trying to kill myself with instruments

I borrowed from the doctor’s lyrics to a nameless pharmacy

Scrawled on blue paper, the rhythm section calls it

Our own form of blues.  We are legally stoned

On soma for an age that’s spilled our safety

To make room for more money in the outfit of a system

The best part of delusion is our illusion of choice

But as I center my self on the stage I can see longing eyes

Asking for an escape.  Our quiet connection is the noise I create

And the moist sand of my voice

Making us all children again burying daddy at the beach.

Nobody can come close to robbing us of this purity

For now we are an elite race of our own

Our flaws are like badges sewn to flesh coloring the night

With my brethren of strangers gathered to hear me

Touch their feelings, some sans passage to the surface

A note bent from an A# penetrates with my staccato

And breathes deep as I inhale your soul for a moment.

 

The dry evening pours from the sky and I am looking at my audience

They are so much more than can be corralled in cubicles

I want my new friends to be happy and hear me telling them

I understand without words, only music, like entertainment

But completely different.  Here we are without a net, we are stalking the

Midnight secret; together we learn more about this sacred ride

A dive into a moment for the sake of the experience itself

Not contingent on consequence or married to guilt.

I sing strongly, proudly as my intro melts away

This venue holds the key to my release only when I lock myself inside.

Now the audience sings along.  They know my song and

I welcome the warm chorus

They say he is the man who knows me more,

They say his music touches my soul

And speaks lullabies so it can rest one time

Before the bitter paralyzes it again

Today is Sunday. A holy day for all who know

That sometimes it is that which you can never touch at all

Which moves you more than substance, trite words in an office

Or a love letter from the girl who’s planning to leave you if you don’t marry

It ends with I love you, but means I own you and you say I love you

And mean I love you.

These unspoken truths are outside in the dark,

Checked like baggage at the door

I grin at nothing but anticipation of the lead I am about to trigger

The audience respectfully silent as I hit notes that are boulders

Forming a bridge to these fans of mine that will be

Always carried in their hearts

And they feel it.  They came here for this

They came here to share in a bath with strangers

Who are never at liberty to say

What they feel most passionately in their hearts

Because our world wasn’t built that way.

 

But for one sacred hour on this Sunday in New Jersey

I deliver secrets from the chasm, the chaos

To a room full of strangers dotted with friends

Who help explain why I do this every night.

I make this wiggle, these steel strings wound taut over wood

So that I can lead in the exodus of these regular people from their lives

And without violence they kill themselves, are reborn into innocence

A raw child in a womb, this smoky saloon

Is our holy temple of freedom where we worship each other

And, for an hour or so, are delivered into bliss

By the tones I allow to touch strangers who love me like a friend

A friend I need.  My bliss is found as they disarm themselves

Of the warfare they use to survive their lives and loves

My goal is to set them free

And every night I play them these songs

I am not the rejected lover or the sensitive fool

I am the lone soldier rock star

Who somehow is cool…

 

Rotten Mind – Pome by nakedEric

Rotten Mind

 

A mind like this is soil beneath our feet

Ready to grow whatever you bury within its soft belly

Not a pleasure to be missed I make it mine

That girl in the mirror is turning her back on me

That girl in the mirror was the love of my life

I switch tenses to engage my will in a game

That pain-raining woman IS

The love of my life left without me, my jeans she washed for me

A guitar I still play when I write songs about how I miss

 

The played out fetch of a mind is what I see today

Unraveling a mass of cords that equal thoughts collide

And when I enhance this scene with a pill

No one ever will know how it makes me still

The death of the hell that lives in my mind

And the master of the complaint is that it is not directed

It is a tangled mass of nothing and there is no reason

So suffering is selfish when reasons abound in this tickled world

I, nothing, no reason, no tragic muse

Just a rotten mind with a penchant for disaster

 

Take me here you want me to go

Believe me when I die in your home

Trust the wind that never lies

Still I am with tired eyes, thirsty

I need help and the world hurts me until I cry

The death of this is a weak escape

I engage this rotten mind every single time

And today I met her

Today I met a girl and fell in love

She looked not in a mirror, but right at me

She looked at me like a little god

Somehow this was sublime

Somehow I rot and still feel fine

Love, my enemy has come to save the day

I will write again when she (surely will)

Turns the other way

Someday.

How I Learned To Live – A Poem By Eric

How I Learned To Live

Down, even though my arms rise slowly above my soggy head
Gravity displays itself. Sweet music played in notes until too late, unaware
Despair is peaceful dealing with pressures triggered by the heart
Those who love can feel this way
Only those who can love can feel this pain
As if three hundred years were not enough, the rolling of us counts on stories
Written in the shore. Too much water and they’re washed away
Afraid to make a stand
The past is cast for angels here so we can understand
Pressing through the surface, I was bathed in familiar pain, in water
The sun had just begun to shave light clippings from the day
Now adrift, the silence complimented the fear
Of the deepest, darkest, place I knew
Would it be like the bottom here?

In childish tones I thought of you. Your face and how it should look today.
I’m sure you’re off winning like you do. Your casual demand for life
You drink it at every well.
So many are your soul’s delights. You shared me with them for a while.
I love you so very much for that. I want to kiss you on the face.
I want to look into your eyes.
Again I begin this list of things I want to do before I die.

The skeptics argue about life after death when it’s so plain for us to see
When you pass, you are a memory, your life a picture for all to see
Well-lived it can be magic
Bravely conquered it can be fantastic
Long after the pangs of grief file away into their proper holes
The golden life is elevated into the sky like a bird
And you glimpse it with different eyes.
This is the afterlife about which we grumble and debate.
I like it because it’s one you earn.
Give all you can in life and you’ll be given posterity in return
Be gentle, kind, and giving while you’re here among the living.
These powerful gestures hold us up while we’re here
Then when we’re gone romantic eyes look back at these kind pieces of your soul
These are what they remember. That is, if you care to practice life this way.
No mire from the liars will make to this tome, but suffice to say, if you live with greed
Greed leaves you to die but all alone

I know that time always attacked me like a pack of wolves
Each hungry, biting, chewing me bit by bit, until I had no more flesh to give
And strange as it seems, when the world pushed me down to drown
It’s when I truly learned to live.