2/24/09 - Lonesome Hobo's Poetry

From the stolen diary of a Lonesome Hobo lying in Washington Square Park

I am a Lonesome Hobo who threw away his wealth
I squandered love on someone else, forgot about myself

I am the tightrope walker, just before he falls
I looked for my love in the crowd and noticed she was gone

I clothe myself in garbage, material and fake
The tattered shreds reflect my heart, scared in disarray

I cast you in my movie, you said you loved the script
You changed the lines without me knowing, boy do I feel jipped

Today I shoot the camera, I hide behind the lens
I wish that could do or say that which would make amends

Meet me in the park sometime, beneath our fav'rite tree
The place you swore undying love and gave your heart to me

I would sing you a folk song, about life that never ends
But I'd rather share my heart with you, than remain as simply friends.

I'm told I must stop rhyming, that my lines are played and cheap
The most beautiful, profundities, in my mind I'll keep

2/23/09 - Lonesome Hobo's Loneliness

From the stolen diary of a Lonesome Hobo laying in Washington Square Park

Is there anything worse than feeling completely alone?
Solitude has it's benefits, but loneliness is different.
Loneliness is like a slow moving, painful cancer.
I feel the pain tapping the love from my heart, sucking the goodness out of my body.
What do you do to stop it?
How do you bring yourself to go on when everything you do reminds you that life never used to be this painful?
I don't want to deal with the pain. I've been dealing with pain my whole life and I don't need anymore.
I can't sleep.
I can't eat.
I can't feel the way a functioning human being feels.
I'm putting off death as long as I can. When I can't deal with it anymore, then I'll let death take me. As long as I'm around, that's proof that I can take the hurt of desertion, right?
The sleep of the sinful is no rest at all.
I'm being punished for sins no one knows but me.
What was once bright and beautiful, has grown gray and ugly; the sun, the clouds, the sky, the people with whom I walk.
The day holds no providence for me anymore. I'll just sit here and grind my teeth while God plans my next misfortune.
I wonder what my next unfortunate event shall be... I've had enough of them.

I could list them, but my hand is getting tired and my pen is running out of ink.

The rats will keep me warm tonight.