I said
Can we bring some anger to the table?!
In the name of all things
brain dead and unstable!
So Ill scream as loud as Im able!
Isolated in a certain uncertain scene...
Now the only concern remains to cause you pain
until you bleed, envitably
take the suffering!
Yearn for mine (its optional)
but I can tell that youre, in fact, bluffing.
Cause the hurt wont leave you...
It spurts out,
bones poke thru
skin seethru.
Lookin cool too,
for you so surely deserved it, in sequence.
Yourself; shortsighted enough to not believe this.
(To you) the chances were only smaller than your penis
all you know how to beat!
Dont test this wit or body.
I get more ass than a toilet seat.
Intangible qualities; of those noone can rob me.
I remain an aggresive commodity.
Of the motivation? Well, what else can I say...
Idiots bother me.
Their playing mental fornication as a hobby
inside you
a violation to verbally seep into
the fuck (is the matter?)
(Why) so intent to invent penetration of defeated grey matter?
And for this... And for this you get the best of me coming out swingin
to shatter regret
and battle worlds of contempt
and my ego gets pet
(as) it gets your girl wet,
while you browse reaction.
Super size me up, as the enemey.
Better than you, so taste and see.
The velocity of this artistry pops off!
Artistry thats harder than youll ever be,
screaming inside of me.
You plead the insanity...
Take a swing to comprehend what cant be seen
by the obscene degree of blood youll bleed, internally!
By all means, please our eyes,
so pretty.
(It will) Take you an eternity to fail to kill the willfulness
of youths agility!
I guess selfinadequacies that you cant admit, break you.
Basically, youre a piece of shit,
so please our eyes enough to forsake you, please.
Mike OToole
Monday, December 19, 2005
Monday, November 28, 2005
"Stand, Still Style" - 11/27/05
Rep's regret, if last regret, remains still.
Weak-minded pop pills
strong-bodied kill
strong-minded maintain free will.
Me, Im at a stand still.
Style; generic
intentions; real.
Face reinvention
puts me in contention for grace
forces me at pace to steal forbidden fruit...
Get a taste!
Injection of a waste of ink.
Ejection in a haste of drink.
On the brink of immature breakthru.
Feelin' complete.
Afterall
what else could it make you?
Mike O'Toole
Weak-minded pop pills
strong-bodied kill
strong-minded maintain free will.
Me, Im at a stand still.
Style; generic
intentions; real.
Face reinvention
puts me in contention for grace
forces me at pace to steal forbidden fruit...
Get a taste!
Injection of a waste of ink.
Ejection in a haste of drink.
On the brink of immature breakthru.
Feelin' complete.
Afterall
what else could it make you?
Mike O'Toole
Sunday, November 20, 2005
"(Going) Down On" (draft) - 11/19/'05
Get by on their looks...
Wanna get outta town
jump around, not too lost in thought.
Gotta go arrest the poison yall ingest,
like a hot headed cop.
Not for nothing but to maintain function of brain
when yall cannot.
Still able to get play
and get em sayin yes to undress, and stay.
Now, there is nothing like our youth
dont mind a good time,
its the truth.
Sick from the smoke, linked in chain.
Cant breath till way past 3:00 A.M.
They failed that kinda test
Couldnt cram.
Having sexed up, clear brain is best.
There is some bad taste, but I feel better.
Take a look at fresh face up in the place.
A pretty pace
with rockets in pockets, blastin off.
Serving up extra pain, to state claim to my sane will.
X.T.C. were the slang initials and they already ate those pills.
Serving up a positve type of negative,
they glance in my direction
probably caught my reflection.
All so young
so of course they keep it explicit
in how its rated.
Its raining
the girls are peeling off,
naked in the parking lot.
Nancy tipped them off on how hot
it was thought to be.
One finally blurted what was so pretty to see...
Flattering, but just the same,
its all lost on me...
Wanted her out of body, on me.
Come to conclusion that intention endorses illusion,
as the hems come loose.
Decisions are bleached,
reaping concrete benefits from gems of
memorable shit!
Mmmmm...
Connected to sex and appeal,
casting off and hooked up to the poles reel.
Inuendo like theres no tomorrow.
Hardly a castoff, so commence blast off.
All is right while the world bleeds loss.
One hour with nine curves to rock!
Could make a rhyme too dirty here, so...
On second thought, its best I not.
Screams of values to shock.
A bunch of babies, and you
cant spell STUD without STD, so
check for rabies, appropriatly.
Got you to laugh as hard as you get off?
out of the mud?
Youre outta the gutter, because boys are
done with gettin loved like Big Brother (is watching you)
Our afternoon fiasco is plugged in and amped up.
Yeah, oversexualized, but(t)
if managed properly, can make you hot property.
Some kinda skank when tanked, awkwardly?
Something inked and masked in sunscreen, like
a physco ex or a former physco?
And what to do with the always problematic
prodigal son, Michael?
What do I have to say?
The benefit of goin down on friends?
Get outta town!
Walk another line to bend.
Get in the waiting line to find
my intangible qualities!
Broken verse, scratched back and forth
like a killswitch.
Curse for kicks, punches and verbal tricks
spit slick.
Its that ripped time of the month.
The rhyme flows like blood
cant...wont stop.
The end?
Are we nearing it?
Velocity of puncation.
Here is my period.
Mike OToole
Wanna get outta town
jump around, not too lost in thought.
Gotta go arrest the poison yall ingest,
like a hot headed cop.
Not for nothing but to maintain function of brain
when yall cannot.
Still able to get play
and get em sayin yes to undress, and stay.
Now, there is nothing like our youth
dont mind a good time,
its the truth.
Sick from the smoke, linked in chain.
Cant breath till way past 3:00 A.M.
They failed that kinda test
Couldnt cram.
Having sexed up, clear brain is best.
There is some bad taste, but I feel better.
Take a look at fresh face up in the place.
A pretty pace
with rockets in pockets, blastin off.
Serving up extra pain, to state claim to my sane will.
X.T.C. were the slang initials and they already ate those pills.
Serving up a positve type of negative,
they glance in my direction
probably caught my reflection.
All so young
so of course they keep it explicit
in how its rated.
Its raining
the girls are peeling off,
naked in the parking lot.
Nancy tipped them off on how hot
it was thought to be.
One finally blurted what was so pretty to see...
Flattering, but just the same,
its all lost on me...
Wanted her out of body, on me.
Come to conclusion that intention endorses illusion,
as the hems come loose.
Decisions are bleached,
reaping concrete benefits from gems of
memorable shit!
Mmmmm...
Connected to sex and appeal,
casting off and hooked up to the poles reel.
Inuendo like theres no tomorrow.
Hardly a castoff, so commence blast off.
All is right while the world bleeds loss.
One hour with nine curves to rock!
Could make a rhyme too dirty here, so...
On second thought, its best I not.
Screams of values to shock.
A bunch of babies, and you
cant spell STUD without STD, so
check for rabies, appropriatly.
Got you to laugh as hard as you get off?
out of the mud?
Youre outta the gutter, because boys are
done with gettin loved like Big Brother (is watching you)
Our afternoon fiasco is plugged in and amped up.
Yeah, oversexualized, but(t)
if managed properly, can make you hot property.
Some kinda skank when tanked, awkwardly?
Something inked and masked in sunscreen, like
a physco ex or a former physco?
And what to do with the always problematic
prodigal son, Michael?
What do I have to say?
The benefit of goin down on friends?
Get outta town!
Walk another line to bend.
Get in the waiting line to find
my intangible qualities!
Broken verse, scratched back and forth
like a killswitch.
Curse for kicks, punches and verbal tricks
spit slick.
Its that ripped time of the month.
The rhyme flows like blood
cant...wont stop.
The end?
Are we nearing it?
Velocity of puncation.
Here is my period.
Mike OToole
Saturday, October 29, 2005
RXxx (Expiration Date) - 10/ ? / '05
Frustration from ignorance
like a cancer,
aggresion spreads until I find an answer.
kids are dead in brains expression.
Fists full of force
nerves hurt
complications in verbal artillery
it only gets worse.
Like bullets loaded to disperse,
brain damage is intricate in process to reverse.
Such tremors trigger middle finger
to shock and resussitate you thru the ringer.
Electrocution to cease growth of desease.
Education did not work
so we flooded your generation
with FDA experimental medication.
Degradation impulses conciousness to embrace an ulser,
because I could not help her
she never found the shelter...
Her head melted.
My eyes exploded,
like a colt .45 loaded
Her grazed lips locked onto cock, so tight
her air passages got blocked,
body launched into epeleptic shock;
an experation date, coupled with dinner and a movie,
just to properly execute on final farewell.
These gloomy lunatics will shoot
for heaven or hell,
weither theyre going to fall, or if they drive to crawl,
back up to the top.
They reveal wrists to blade and chop off,
amidst this kiss...
My lip ring is caught in her tissue.
The piercing pain from inheriting another strangers issue
is nothing new.
Integrity inside of me grows true,
just as sure as, precut, your blood flows
a beatiful shade of blue.
While everyone else sticks around to get laid,
all the lifers long for is to help your satisfactory smile
find means for revival and reinvigoration.
For me, it hurts worse with abscence of reciprecation.
Having a sickness without a name,
sewing up stiches for ungreatful bitches with a quickness
is how I kick game.
(I am) Impulsively assisting until driven insane...
Nice when we first meet, but in middle stride I brave
for your deceit or propensity to leave
out crucial details, as you balance
accross the first and second rails.
(It is) difficult to maintain a neutral perspective,
as your free fall to that third rail appears elective...
And, hey, now youre electric! 30,000 volts coarse thru,
engraved within the restrictions of your own veins!
A ton of teens seem to lack a common sense of immortality.
Death means a reality?
Can you feel the pulse (of fatality)?
What happens when youre drunk, young and dumb?
Tenderly, I remain sober, a bit older, and strong.
Is ignorance raw bliss?
The answer is blurry compared to the magnanamous nature of our wish.
Nope...
Fuck a needle, heres a sword. Body pierce with THIS!
Mike O'Toole
like a cancer,
aggresion spreads until I find an answer.
kids are dead in brains expression.
Fists full of force
nerves hurt
complications in verbal artillery
it only gets worse.
Like bullets loaded to disperse,
brain damage is intricate in process to reverse.
Such tremors trigger middle finger
to shock and resussitate you thru the ringer.
Electrocution to cease growth of desease.
Education did not work
so we flooded your generation
with FDA experimental medication.
Degradation impulses conciousness to embrace an ulser,
because I could not help her
she never found the shelter...
Her head melted.
My eyes exploded,
like a colt .45 loaded
Her grazed lips locked onto cock, so tight
her air passages got blocked,
body launched into epeleptic shock;
an experation date, coupled with dinner and a movie,
just to properly execute on final farewell.
These gloomy lunatics will shoot
for heaven or hell,
weither theyre going to fall, or if they drive to crawl,
back up to the top.
They reveal wrists to blade and chop off,
amidst this kiss...
My lip ring is caught in her tissue.
The piercing pain from inheriting another strangers issue
is nothing new.
Integrity inside of me grows true,
just as sure as, precut, your blood flows
a beatiful shade of blue.
While everyone else sticks around to get laid,
all the lifers long for is to help your satisfactory smile
find means for revival and reinvigoration.
For me, it hurts worse with abscence of reciprecation.
Having a sickness without a name,
sewing up stiches for ungreatful bitches with a quickness
is how I kick game.
(I am) Impulsively assisting until driven insane...
Nice when we first meet, but in middle stride I brave
for your deceit or propensity to leave
out crucial details, as you balance
accross the first and second rails.
(It is) difficult to maintain a neutral perspective,
as your free fall to that third rail appears elective...
And, hey, now youre electric! 30,000 volts coarse thru,
engraved within the restrictions of your own veins!
A ton of teens seem to lack a common sense of immortality.
Death means a reality?
Can you feel the pulse (of fatality)?
What happens when youre drunk, young and dumb?
Tenderly, I remain sober, a bit older, and strong.
Is ignorance raw bliss?
The answer is blurry compared to the magnanamous nature of our wish.
Nope...
Fuck a needle, heres a sword. Body pierce with THIS!
Mike O'Toole
Sunday, October 02, 2005
"The Farewell Tour of The Century" - 10/1/'05
The signature rests on your lips;
a Fallen Angel and Reckless Youth.
Carry on against all that binds you.
They made it seem so hard all along.
The secret is out.
I found the combination.
Now break the lock and rush the gates.
Sugar, don't look back from the now.
Breaking from convention
no matter how wrong,
we've made the right sound.
Follow it
to keep pace with this song.
A varied tempo resounds!
Tell me, what's more to let go
than all that surrounds?
Etched in this skin;
the standard of punk purity and
straight edge sin.
You remain smart while insane...
Like me.
You're beautiful, yet drained...
Like me.
You see the means to end
but confidently neglect to start...
Like me.
With ink, I'll dissect your heart.
Another line to bend...
Sleeping in the car again.
Pain from the weight...
Burns as it rips.
Maimed over the taste of crimson lips.
Delivering a jawbreaker or two,
killing the motherfuckers in front of you...
Or whatever it takes
to
stop oxygen being traded in for the color blue
(on your face).
Done my homework this time
and finally cleaned the table.
But am I ready, willing, and stable?
Stuff his face with cake and beat him too?
I'll wait 'till he first can swallow it all
then chew on the reality of the phrase
"I'm better than you."
Afterall, they only condem me because
they don't know who I am.
And once they do know, all they seem to
learn about themselves is
"I'm fifteen and life's a scam."
And somehow, blood is romantic
when it flows like the Hover Dam?
Bring me back down from this
angst-ridden rant towards the angst-prone.
This is a war zone, but
just soft enough, you own no violent bone
in your body.
Lost in a tough exterior,
artisticlly-minded thought is sobering
again.
Scribbled words make sense
amounting to zero.
But deep down in there, they possese
the power of a superhero.
It's just a matter of time
before you begin to fear
your own doubt.
Ink in warm veins...
Lips locked...
I can't exist as a concept or ideal.
All I am is what's real.
And we may be selective in the method
we choose to deal with passion,
but if we can touch the stars
we too can feel the defining actions
that bring us to our knees with good reason,
and leave love in traction from
the past's fatal desease.
This version of unity is the remedy
to all our unmet needs.
Set it off and you only need believe
these words you read.
They're all I have.
Am I more than you bargained for yet?
Mike O'Toole
a Fallen Angel and Reckless Youth.
Carry on against all that binds you.
They made it seem so hard all along.
The secret is out.
I found the combination.
Now break the lock and rush the gates.
Sugar, don't look back from the now.
Breaking from convention
no matter how wrong,
we've made the right sound.
Follow it
to keep pace with this song.
A varied tempo resounds!
Tell me, what's more to let go
than all that surrounds?
Etched in this skin;
the standard of punk purity and
straight edge sin.
You remain smart while insane...
Like me.
You're beautiful, yet drained...
Like me.
You see the means to end
but confidently neglect to start...
Like me.
With ink, I'll dissect your heart.
Another line to bend...
Sleeping in the car again.
Pain from the weight...
Burns as it rips.
Maimed over the taste of crimson lips.
Delivering a jawbreaker or two,
killing the motherfuckers in front of you...
Or whatever it takes
to
stop oxygen being traded in for the color blue
(on your face).
Done my homework this time
and finally cleaned the table.
But am I ready, willing, and stable?
Stuff his face with cake and beat him too?
I'll wait 'till he first can swallow it all
then chew on the reality of the phrase
"I'm better than you."
Afterall, they only condem me because
they don't know who I am.
And once they do know, all they seem to
learn about themselves is
"I'm fifteen and life's a scam."
And somehow, blood is romantic
when it flows like the Hover Dam?
Bring me back down from this
angst-ridden rant towards the angst-prone.
This is a war zone, but
just soft enough, you own no violent bone
in your body.
Lost in a tough exterior,
artisticlly-minded thought is sobering
again.
Scribbled words make sense
amounting to zero.
But deep down in there, they possese
the power of a superhero.
It's just a matter of time
before you begin to fear
your own doubt.
Ink in warm veins...
Lips locked...
I can't exist as a concept or ideal.
All I am is what's real.
And we may be selective in the method
we choose to deal with passion,
but if we can touch the stars
we too can feel the defining actions
that bring us to our knees with good reason,
and leave love in traction from
the past's fatal desease.
This version of unity is the remedy
to all our unmet needs.
Set it off and you only need believe
these words you read.
They're all I have.
Am I more than you bargained for yet?
Mike O'Toole
Thursday, September 08, 2005
"Powdered" - 8/17/'04
Death against life
powdered with reactionary battles
of truth versus the dark.
Muggers strike
lone wolfs bite on second sight.
Can't leave it to chance.
If pounced on before, what is to say
it won't be the same, the second dance?
Battered in the play.
Too far to turn back
and not have cracked at least a jaw
or two.
Scratched, kicked, sawed, spared and stabbed
with automaton's claws to win this fight:
constantly squirming in the realm of a defensless child's
screaming
dead of night.
And I can't ink it straight when so wrapped up in draining jokes...
So give this one (poem away)
leave it to chance (as to what they'll say)...
Or choke (on your bacardi and coke).
Mike O'Toole
powdered with reactionary battles
of truth versus the dark.
Muggers strike
lone wolfs bite on second sight.
Can't leave it to chance.
If pounced on before, what is to say
it won't be the same, the second dance?
Battered in the play.
Too far to turn back
and not have cracked at least a jaw
or two.
Scratched, kicked, sawed, spared and stabbed
with automaton's claws to win this fight:
constantly squirming in the realm of a defensless child's
screaming
dead of night.
And I can't ink it straight when so wrapped up in draining jokes...
So give this one (poem away)
leave it to chance (as to what they'll say)...
Or choke (on your bacardi and coke).
Mike O'Toole
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
"Fabric Logic (New Age Infamy)" - 9/6/'05
Another level
of encompassed perfection.
Crafted by way of a witch
which molds second mentality.
A razor blade romance leading to fatalities
revealing fraility of youth's invincible destructivness.
Oversexualized kids spit about "fuck"
but what of the locking of heads between preparation
and opportunity called "luck?"
Material logic is structured stiff to the point of overexhaustion.
So many split ends break the kids, bathed in sick trends.
Wrestle and defend identity too authentic to deny.
Opposition? Stabbed in the eye.
Like a car crash,
there's too much adrenilene in flight to generate concious thought.
When you go for the drive,
don't look at it in the light of chore.
Enlightenment fuels the need.
Gibberish; extreme.
Up yours.
Tricked out until the curves bend;
Poetry
tweaked out of your mind.
Don't hurt yourself.
Ink is a poisen.
Use head when you go tattoo it inside foreskin.
It all blead from my own fingertips.
On a perceptionist tip,
I analyze it like dyfunctional family tiffs between relative cunts and dicks,
relevent to the words and add-libs that are heavy enough
to stick to her metaphoric ribs.
*Oragasmic laugh*
Exhale
pure oxygen, derailed from correct track.
Life is like a car crash.
Honestly, I'm carefully addicted to Jane and blended whiplash.
Checkout the fresh scar from the slash in this spinally tapped, muscle-bound, hussle stressed, undressed, crowned back.
Word is born and aborted just the same.
That said, make a point to give verse a name
before you curse out the rules of this tagged up, twisted game and...
Misled into fame or a new age infamy?
Go Expand and extend out and up to wholly grasp the intangibles.
Red alert:
Street poets painting it up with a broad brush,
You aint seen nothing yet...
The brainchild of bucking circumstance matching against my fuckin' firm stance:
Natural expansion (of imagination.)
Ripped by way of the weight of the world.
Mike O'Toole
of encompassed perfection.
Crafted by way of a witch
which molds second mentality.
A razor blade romance leading to fatalities
revealing fraility of youth's invincible destructivness.
Oversexualized kids spit about "fuck"
but what of the locking of heads between preparation
and opportunity called "luck?"
Material logic is structured stiff to the point of overexhaustion.
So many split ends break the kids, bathed in sick trends.
Wrestle and defend identity too authentic to deny.
Opposition? Stabbed in the eye.
Like a car crash,
there's too much adrenilene in flight to generate concious thought.
When you go for the drive,
don't look at it in the light of chore.
Enlightenment fuels the need.
Gibberish; extreme.
Up yours.
Tricked out until the curves bend;
Poetry
tweaked out of your mind.
Don't hurt yourself.
Ink is a poisen.
Use head when you go tattoo it inside foreskin.
It all blead from my own fingertips.
On a perceptionist tip,
I analyze it like dyfunctional family tiffs between relative cunts and dicks,
relevent to the words and add-libs that are heavy enough
to stick to her metaphoric ribs.
*Oragasmic laugh*
Exhale
pure oxygen, derailed from correct track.
Life is like a car crash.
Honestly, I'm carefully addicted to Jane and blended whiplash.
Checkout the fresh scar from the slash in this spinally tapped, muscle-bound, hussle stressed, undressed, crowned back.
Word is born and aborted just the same.
That said, make a point to give verse a name
before you curse out the rules of this tagged up, twisted game and...
Misled into fame or a new age infamy?
Go Expand and extend out and up to wholly grasp the intangibles.
Red alert:
Street poets painting it up with a broad brush,
You aint seen nothing yet...
The brainchild of bucking circumstance matching against my fuckin' firm stance:
Natural expansion (of imagination.)
Ripped by way of the weight of the world.
Mike O'Toole
Sunday, August 21, 2005
SxE MpO (Draft in progress) - 8/21/'05
Youthful ignorance is no excuse
for I'm better then to lie through that.
Fell into it as your hips were strapped against me.
And honestly, my life's pretending feel into it as tension
was set to leak
while pouring another drink.
We enjoyed it a little too much at the time
the time not being the right.
Brain teasing heart that night.
But you did call first in the morning,
saving me a little less self-scorn;
drunk and singing;
torn amidst sober decisions still stinging!
Cannot see thru her eyes,
for where she came from I'm blind to.
Jump to find the clue as to what it's about!
She wanted to makeout
so I gave you that-
but not all I could, without fail.
But I don't feel like going to jail,
so I left balls a little blue
for I knew better then to take advantage, weither sour or sober.
You liked it cause I was older. But I'm also honorable and true
so I didn't do all that you wanted me to.
"I'm drug free, alchohol free, and better then you."
for I'm better then to lie through that.
Fell into it as your hips were strapped against me.
And honestly, my life's pretending feel into it as tension
was set to leak
while pouring another drink.
We enjoyed it a little too much at the time
the time not being the right.
Brain teasing heart that night.
But you did call first in the morning,
saving me a little less self-scorn;
drunk and singing;
torn amidst sober decisions still stinging!
Cannot see thru her eyes,
for where she came from I'm blind to.
Jump to find the clue as to what it's about!
She wanted to makeout
so I gave you that-
but not all I could, without fail.
But I don't feel like going to jail,
so I left balls a little blue
for I knew better then to take advantage, weither sour or sober.
You liked it cause I was older. But I'm also honorable and true
so I didn't do all that you wanted me to.
"I'm drug free, alchohol free, and better then you."
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
"First And Last" - 5/2/'05
Hey, times change.
Bad days fold and unfold like the pages under the pen
that grazes against my skin.
Point your finger at the abstract thought...
Whichever one brings you to sing and makes my eyes burn so hot.
Testing the water in everything.
Oil mixed with contemplation.
You can't stop all this.
Thanks a lot.
Please
move forward in line.
I'm the riot.
This is a twisted kind of fun.
(Didn't we kill each other in an earlier round?)
Punched holes, inked in our souls,
and stinging chemicals
spiking and (en)lightening
the day.
Let me write it down and sing it this morning
save and share it for tonight,
cause there is only one kiss left
and it must be right.
Light my cigarette up.
Puff puff.
First and last etches in my mental
like "Forever."
Day and night
lace or leather?
Loose and yet so tight
in the motion of my lips.
Torn between how my muscles rip
and my awareness trips
against the wavelength given off in air.
Pure oxygen is in despair.
Thanks a lot
for throwing me off.
Enjoying normality with medication and
some water.
Why even bother?
I realize my blood is all I'll have.
Time and again, the good act too bad.
(Didn't we kill each other in an earlier round?)
And I'm always still here, unless I'm dead,
then I'm gone.
Stuck with myself,
so f*ck off anyone else
that forsakes what I am here!
Sober and gettin' (my) head clear(ly)
from cob webs.
I care (Not for hate)
and either way, this is never-resting.
So let me go let it go.
Mike O'Toole
Bad days fold and unfold like the pages under the pen
that grazes against my skin.
Point your finger at the abstract thought...
Whichever one brings you to sing and makes my eyes burn so hot.
Testing the water in everything.
Oil mixed with contemplation.
You can't stop all this.
Thanks a lot.
Please
move forward in line.
I'm the riot.
This is a twisted kind of fun.
(Didn't we kill each other in an earlier round?)
Punched holes, inked in our souls,
and stinging chemicals
spiking and (en)lightening
the day.
Let me write it down and sing it this morning
save and share it for tonight,
cause there is only one kiss left
and it must be right.
Light my cigarette up.
Puff puff.
First and last etches in my mental
like "Forever."
Day and night
lace or leather?
Loose and yet so tight
in the motion of my lips.
Torn between how my muscles rip
and my awareness trips
against the wavelength given off in air.
Pure oxygen is in despair.
Thanks a lot
for throwing me off.
Enjoying normality with medication and
some water.
Why even bother?
I realize my blood is all I'll have.
Time and again, the good act too bad.
(Didn't we kill each other in an earlier round?)
And I'm always still here, unless I'm dead,
then I'm gone.
Stuck with myself,
so f*ck off anyone else
that forsakes what I am here!
Sober and gettin' (my) head clear(ly)
from cob webs.
I care (Not for hate)
and either way, this is never-resting.
So let me go let it go.
Mike O'Toole
Sunday, July 24, 2005
"The Spirit of Honor and Real" - 7/24/05 (draft)
Unstoppable force revolting.
Ejection of the thorn injected relieves me.
Everything so perfectly tied together, I am exploding.
Wrestling as I make the drive to understand why
there is only passion left inside these eyes.
Never again compressing all that I am;
a punk non-aborted fetus that is gonna make good.
Why?
Cause I believe this!
Fighting starts and ends tonight.
The dead will die over and over again -
precisly why I will never make the effort to change enemies
into friends.
Iced cold eyes? Muscles and gel hair? Why dont I listen?
Because it is for the ignorant, that I don't care.
Bleeding in the dirt, noone ever puts a grasp on me.
And thus, interaction with stoned faces with closed minds hurts.
It's not the surface.
What curses me is your pure density and love for blashamy, never seeing what is deep.
Thus the story continues to move on through.
This time I'm going straight toward you, to save you further confusion of insubordinate youth.
This isn't angst. It's truth. The first truth that didnt come from you?
To that comes a laugh. God is the only one who knows the facts.
And in God, I trust. You're just a dumb ass, who will never fully grasp what it means to be
locked on fire and integrity in intensity and prophetic pursuit.
I will not allow you to open my mind and pollute.
If I wasnt raised right, it's an obstacle.
It gives me more heart, to know that my beginings were not wanted to start, by you.
I was gifted and good conviction is still the only thing uplifting.
If my mother failed, and I am a beast, watch me transform as I poetically release all the venom.
Watch me rise like yeast, take our names and bring heaven's credit to them.
We've all been through hell once and again.
Bur I don't qualify, cause I'm alive.
You're fuckin dead, with heart hollow and sore.
Don't let the flames of justice hit you on you're way out the door.
Your bullshit; I am now, for sure, worth more then to stand to endure it.
I'm gone now.
When I will emerge in prodigal style to burn hate and sing?
In my honor, and in your bitterness and spit, there will be no warning.
The Soul and The Enigma have now become one and found motivation to split.
if you have a problem with me.
For, blindness is not a part of what I was created to breath.
Choke on this shit.
Silence is a virtue and it is the moment to leave, when tradgety turns to irony,
and irony turns to humorous misfortune and anger.
I'm editing out that portion of my famly.
To forget a stranger, is executed more easily.
Myelf, ressurection and sure to be forever more and able to see
in the dark of famly-tied anarchy.
Mike O'Toole
Ejection of the thorn injected relieves me.
Everything so perfectly tied together, I am exploding.
Wrestling as I make the drive to understand why
there is only passion left inside these eyes.
Never again compressing all that I am;
a punk non-aborted fetus that is gonna make good.
Why?
Cause I believe this!
Fighting starts and ends tonight.
The dead will die over and over again -
precisly why I will never make the effort to change enemies
into friends.
Iced cold eyes? Muscles and gel hair? Why dont I listen?
Because it is for the ignorant, that I don't care.
Bleeding in the dirt, noone ever puts a grasp on me.
And thus, interaction with stoned faces with closed minds hurts.
It's not the surface.
What curses me is your pure density and love for blashamy, never seeing what is deep.
Thus the story continues to move on through.
This time I'm going straight toward you, to save you further confusion of insubordinate youth.
This isn't angst. It's truth. The first truth that didnt come from you?
To that comes a laugh. God is the only one who knows the facts.
And in God, I trust. You're just a dumb ass, who will never fully grasp what it means to be
locked on fire and integrity in intensity and prophetic pursuit.
I will not allow you to open my mind and pollute.
If I wasnt raised right, it's an obstacle.
It gives me more heart, to know that my beginings were not wanted to start, by you.
I was gifted and good conviction is still the only thing uplifting.
If my mother failed, and I am a beast, watch me transform as I poetically release all the venom.
Watch me rise like yeast, take our names and bring heaven's credit to them.
We've all been through hell once and again.
Bur I don't qualify, cause I'm alive.
You're fuckin dead, with heart hollow and sore.
Don't let the flames of justice hit you on you're way out the door.
Your bullshit; I am now, for sure, worth more then to stand to endure it.
I'm gone now.
When I will emerge in prodigal style to burn hate and sing?
In my honor, and in your bitterness and spit, there will be no warning.
The Soul and The Enigma have now become one and found motivation to split.
if you have a problem with me.
For, blindness is not a part of what I was created to breath.
Choke on this shit.
Silence is a virtue and it is the moment to leave, when tradgety turns to irony,
and irony turns to humorous misfortune and anger.
I'm editing out that portion of my famly.
To forget a stranger, is executed more easily.
Myelf, ressurection and sure to be forever more and able to see
in the dark of famly-tied anarchy.
Mike O'Toole
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
"Rebel Without A Watcher"
Life in complication
my step's fallen back
backstepping all the sorrow of this twisted metal
when all your friends are caught hanging in the cracks.
Chains broken from daily rust and routine testing of the links.
So much is there to bleed from the hemorage of an attempt to think.
Helpless with heavily ripped muscle, from all that has been torn apart.
Take the risks.
The reckoning of reckless behavior leaves youth stranded.
Though, looking at past days, the only thing I can safely advocate is reckless abandon.
Shoot this up into your veins: poetic energy that kills addiction to anything else.
I'd tell you it makes you feel alive, but the rush leaves no room to check for pulse.
Thorns, they stick in
pushes ice cold sin to boil over as punker screams out a way to sing.
No need to preach to me.
You are no prophet, but I forever appreciate what you have fought to teach,
and that, I bleed.
An educated artist is not a leach.
I pierced my tongue tonight...
Just to feel the sensation,
and out of curiousity of gazing at the pained physical alterations.
By MIKE PHELAN O'TOOLE
my step's fallen back
backstepping all the sorrow of this twisted metal
when all your friends are caught hanging in the cracks.
Chains broken from daily rust and routine testing of the links.
So much is there to bleed from the hemorage of an attempt to think.
Helpless with heavily ripped muscle, from all that has been torn apart.
Take the risks.
The reckoning of reckless behavior leaves youth stranded.
Though, looking at past days, the only thing I can safely advocate is reckless abandon.
Shoot this up into your veins: poetic energy that kills addiction to anything else.
I'd tell you it makes you feel alive, but the rush leaves no room to check for pulse.
Thorns, they stick in
pushes ice cold sin to boil over as punker screams out a way to sing.
No need to preach to me.
You are no prophet, but I forever appreciate what you have fought to teach,
and that, I bleed.
An educated artist is not a leach.
I pierced my tongue tonight...
Just to feel the sensation,
and out of curiousity of gazing at the pained physical alterations.
By MIKE PHELAN O'TOOLE
Friday, June 17, 2005
What's It For, You Ask? (draft) - 6/17/05
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
bleed?
Next round, use your energy on a little integrity,
please!
Mike O'Toole
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
bleed?
Next round, use your energy on a little integrity,
please!
Mike O'Toole
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Follow The Leader(draft)- 6/15/05
Nerves of steel.
But denile can't last forever.
Evolution is all too real.
And they're bending from the tension against them.
The fact is, when you try and be
a nice guy, everyone takes advantage of you.
Best friends have taken a knife to my back...
Cause I open up opportunity unknown,
they execute a sneak-attack and call it their own.
Because they never have the guts to stay fair and still tough,
and not turn cold in the midst of attemping to break the mold.
From little things that simply annoy,
to things that make me start faulering.
Next, they test it so much, it's life altering.
At this point, time to pop out the femor
the hip joint
pull out the screws and see if you're a screamer, to make a point.
Stab you with them.
Maybe I'm just too much of a dreamer to think hurting others
doesnt have to be a stress reliever...
But when blood brothers turn heel and screw you,
because they wanna be like you, it's enough
to peel off your cool.
So continue to rip off my words, style, relationships and passion.
And hopefully you'll understand why your head is getting bashed in,
that is, of course after they scrap off your brain, and put it back in!
Weather you wanna add this or that bitch to your list or not...
regardless, if you run a smear campaign on me cause you know she thinks I'm hot,
I will come back for you.
And it will either be to save you from the devil within, and extract mindful sin,
or to avenge injustice and break your hip.
Then you can be like me even more. I'll help you pick out some pins to go in.
And you don't need any anastsia, cause I don't feel that pain.
Just that hardcore.
Bite the bullet against the streams of blood and gore.
It's routine now. Just take a shot of gin and rum.
Try to keep screams down to a minimium.
Why the hell did you start all this?
What for?
You wanna mess up things for me some more?
It's been done.
People have tried.
I'm a survivor of a system that assumes that all you kids like suicide.
Never thought of it.
Never will.
I love life too much
to make Mike kill.
But that doesnt mean that Soul Enigma wouldn't do it, for right,
when I'm on my pill.
"Dealing with backstabbers
there was one thing I learned.
They're only powerful when you got your back turned."
Mike O'Toole
But denile can't last forever.
Evolution is all too real.
And they're bending from the tension against them.
The fact is, when you try and be
a nice guy, everyone takes advantage of you.
Best friends have taken a knife to my back...
Cause I open up opportunity unknown,
they execute a sneak-attack and call it their own.
Because they never have the guts to stay fair and still tough,
and not turn cold in the midst of attemping to break the mold.
From little things that simply annoy,
to things that make me start faulering.
Next, they test it so much, it's life altering.
At this point, time to pop out the femor
the hip joint
pull out the screws and see if you're a screamer, to make a point.
Stab you with them.
Maybe I'm just too much of a dreamer to think hurting others
doesnt have to be a stress reliever...
But when blood brothers turn heel and screw you,
because they wanna be like you, it's enough
to peel off your cool.
So continue to rip off my words, style, relationships and passion.
And hopefully you'll understand why your head is getting bashed in,
that is, of course after they scrap off your brain, and put it back in!
Weather you wanna add this or that bitch to your list or not...
regardless, if you run a smear campaign on me cause you know she thinks I'm hot,
I will come back for you.
And it will either be to save you from the devil within, and extract mindful sin,
or to avenge injustice and break your hip.
Then you can be like me even more. I'll help you pick out some pins to go in.
And you don't need any anastsia, cause I don't feel that pain.
Just that hardcore.
Bite the bullet against the streams of blood and gore.
It's routine now. Just take a shot of gin and rum.
Try to keep screams down to a minimium.
Why the hell did you start all this?
What for?
You wanna mess up things for me some more?
It's been done.
People have tried.
I'm a survivor of a system that assumes that all you kids like suicide.
Never thought of it.
Never will.
I love life too much
to make Mike kill.
But that doesnt mean that Soul Enigma wouldn't do it, for right,
when I'm on my pill.
"Dealing with backstabbers
there was one thing I learned.
They're only powerful when you got your back turned."
Mike O'Toole
Monday, June 13, 2005
How Much I Gave (All Along) - 6/13/05
I gave all of this
just like the people wished.
Anyone who wanted a kiss
locked lip for the best.
The high school stage
I just couldn't find my self
so you know I took a break.
It was all out of my way
so you could at least remember my name.
You already know I'd do the same.
Twisted games;
the people pay to play the wrong way.
I can't pass up this opportunity
of being all I was supposed to be all along.
Extreme and the like.
They label it rock and roll.
And as sure as I create,
I call it "Mike O'Toole."
It just might be preemptive rhyme scheme,
but I came up with that on the fly.
Afterall I am
crazy enough to come up
with "Pierced Eye."
I gave the vibe of all of you.
The high school stage has been taken down.
And they say shit is the new Boston sound?
I feel no lost desire.
Only a gained sense of what is anew fire.
Because when I show you my earned glory,
ONLY THEN do the people cease to call me a liar.
I see that it is that way.
And I feel fine, although I shouldn't, in the grand scheme.
But I am determined to take down nightmare and make sound dream.
I already knew all along that I was worth it all along.
Presentable awards, girls and press
seem impressed, finally.
And the people come and lobby for me,
when I've been here long before this.
Who today, stuck it thru when I was paying hella dues?!
Nobody's gonna stand in my way.
You can think that this is just a little game
or
shut up and bring you're "A"
to test who plays.
No matter how much love I give, I'm the one
who will always pay.
And I'm fine with that, although I shouldn't be, in the grand scheme.
I gave all of this to kill your nightmares and make it into dreams.
I've made it half-way
and already, I feel a wave of energy and strain.
I gave all of this.
I hope you find out how much I tried.
That's why I'm in your brain.
Don't make me feel like a hypocrite because I can't lie.
Come be at peace and die on this ride.
You already know I'd do the same.
Cause it was out of my way all along to grant anyone's wish.
I gave all of this (all along).
Mike O'Toole
just like the people wished.
Anyone who wanted a kiss
locked lip for the best.
The high school stage
I just couldn't find my self
so you know I took a break.
It was all out of my way
so you could at least remember my name.
You already know I'd do the same.
Twisted games;
the people pay to play the wrong way.
I can't pass up this opportunity
of being all I was supposed to be all along.
Extreme and the like.
They label it rock and roll.
And as sure as I create,
I call it "Mike O'Toole."
It just might be preemptive rhyme scheme,
but I came up with that on the fly.
Afterall I am
crazy enough to come up
with "Pierced Eye."
I gave the vibe of all of you.
The high school stage has been taken down.
And they say shit is the new Boston sound?
I feel no lost desire.
Only a gained sense of what is anew fire.
Because when I show you my earned glory,
ONLY THEN do the people cease to call me a liar.
I see that it is that way.
And I feel fine, although I shouldn't, in the grand scheme.
But I am determined to take down nightmare and make sound dream.
I already knew all along that I was worth it all along.
Presentable awards, girls and press
seem impressed, finally.
And the people come and lobby for me,
when I've been here long before this.
Who today, stuck it thru when I was paying hella dues?!
Nobody's gonna stand in my way.
You can think that this is just a little game
or
shut up and bring you're "A"
to test who plays.
No matter how much love I give, I'm the one
who will always pay.
And I'm fine with that, although I shouldn't be, in the grand scheme.
I gave all of this to kill your nightmares and make it into dreams.
I've made it half-way
and already, I feel a wave of energy and strain.
I gave all of this.
I hope you find out how much I tried.
That's why I'm in your brain.
Don't make me feel like a hypocrite because I can't lie.
Come be at peace and die on this ride.
You already know I'd do the same.
Cause it was out of my way all along to grant anyone's wish.
I gave all of this (all along).
Mike O'Toole
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
A Word Or Two - 5/25/05
I hope my legacy sucked enough for you to remember me
as a tough-to-love punk,
with little to no energy
...haaa u got it all wrong.
If you thought I was sick in the head then, you were right.
Cause from here on out, there's nobody iller then me.
as a tough-to-love punk,
with little to no energy
...haaa u got it all wrong.
If you thought I was sick in the head then, you were right.
Cause from here on out, there's nobody iller then me.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Ain't Anger - 5/31/05
Anger truly is the breaking point
of all the fire in emotion.
Lost as to how to structure this
Just wish I could create indentations
with my fist right now.
Chains broken as fast as they were linked
and as egos grew larger, friendship began to shrink.
All that brotherhood shit you talked was no good
Just assumed that you would've understood
that there is always more in the depths
then whats seen on the surface.
I was wrong in my guess.
Those that think they're
bigger
faster
maybe taller,
should know that a bastard wont faulter
in this intensity.
I wont let this sequential degeneration be the end of me.
"Victoms, arnt we all."
And you've heard that saying... la la la,
the harder they fall.
Pray for the lose of your oxygen
for this is Soul Enigma's new rep and call.
"Always prevail."
If you dont like this
here and now
own up to your own feelings
before I leave you reeling in your own spit
after I bust up your lip, know that I explained
what was and wasnt "Insubordinate."
And you called it your own for shits
and giggles.
The laughs are paused.
Just in case anyone is confused as to my intentions...
Here they are;
To supercede all the hypocrisy I too often see,
to disallow fear tactics, for it's only a four letter word,
to live past these physical confines, for, when you die,
your body is gone. You soul is ejected thru your eyes...
This is why I ocassionally laugh at all the muscle bound punks...
Because, no matter how much you lift,
after death, it will never be enough to fight for your self-worth.
Not that there's anything wrong with havin' your cloths rip from muscle...
I just assume get 'roids ripped to be more powerful in the hussle of the struggle.
It's just that, we have to remeber..."What is strength without a double shot of wisdom?"
And answer is, it's shit.
That's why I make sure to bleed from this pen, in writin'.
Bein' ripped and suddenly losing your muscle?
Or bein' mentally strong and suddenly goin' shrimp? To me, that's more frightinin'.
Deal with it.
Can't keep everything I give.
I'm on a helluva trip
since the start
everyone gets sick.
Girls get loose
And everyone pukes.
Read the words spit
in anger
laugh for a bit
at this gibberish.
Then...set your sites
and never ever submit
to the pain
stress caked to the brain.
And as they look for a way to break you
and turn you insane,
keeo going
cause you don't play their games.
That's not the way.
The Charismatic Enigma is the new name
and I don't care if it is taken...
It's a fresh philosophy that says
we're gonna make it no matter how many
have to be foresaken.
If their a true obstacle, I break 'em.
Don't have a lot of hatred,
but lately I've read people
and been mistaken.
Wrong in how I saw 'em...
They were fakin'.
An impulsive thinker,
yet time to think it over.
Driven by cloaked pressure and
a four leaf clover,
to get where I'm goin'.
Self-reflections reflect true sin...
Not perfect and have never been,
but with all the smoke you're blowin',
you're
no one better fool
then
Mike O'Toole
of all the fire in emotion.
Lost as to how to structure this
Just wish I could create indentations
with my fist right now.
Chains broken as fast as they were linked
and as egos grew larger, friendship began to shrink.
All that brotherhood shit you talked was no good
Just assumed that you would've understood
that there is always more in the depths
then whats seen on the surface.
I was wrong in my guess.
Those that think they're
bigger
faster
maybe taller,
should know that a bastard wont faulter
in this intensity.
I wont let this sequential degeneration be the end of me.
"Victoms, arnt we all."
And you've heard that saying... la la la,
the harder they fall.
Pray for the lose of your oxygen
for this is Soul Enigma's new rep and call.
"Always prevail."
If you dont like this
here and now
own up to your own feelings
before I leave you reeling in your own spit
after I bust up your lip, know that I explained
what was and wasnt "Insubordinate."
And you called it your own for shits
and giggles.
The laughs are paused.
Just in case anyone is confused as to my intentions...
Here they are;
To supercede all the hypocrisy I too often see,
to disallow fear tactics, for it's only a four letter word,
to live past these physical confines, for, when you die,
your body is gone. You soul is ejected thru your eyes...
This is why I ocassionally laugh at all the muscle bound punks...
Because, no matter how much you lift,
after death, it will never be enough to fight for your self-worth.
Not that there's anything wrong with havin' your cloths rip from muscle...
I just assume get 'roids ripped to be more powerful in the hussle of the struggle.
It's just that, we have to remeber..."What is strength without a double shot of wisdom?"
And answer is, it's shit.
That's why I make sure to bleed from this pen, in writin'.
Bein' ripped and suddenly losing your muscle?
Or bein' mentally strong and suddenly goin' shrimp? To me, that's more frightinin'.
Deal with it.
Can't keep everything I give.
I'm on a helluva trip
since the start
everyone gets sick.
Girls get loose
And everyone pukes.
Read the words spit
in anger
laugh for a bit
at this gibberish.
Then...set your sites
and never ever submit
to the pain
stress caked to the brain.
And as they look for a way to break you
and turn you insane,
keeo going
cause you don't play their games.
That's not the way.
The Charismatic Enigma is the new name
and I don't care if it is taken...
It's a fresh philosophy that says
we're gonna make it no matter how many
have to be foresaken.
If their a true obstacle, I break 'em.
Don't have a lot of hatred,
but lately I've read people
and been mistaken.
Wrong in how I saw 'em...
They were fakin'.
An impulsive thinker,
yet time to think it over.
Driven by cloaked pressure and
a four leaf clover,
to get where I'm goin'.
Self-reflections reflect true sin...
Not perfect and have never been,
but with all the smoke you're blowin',
you're
no one better fool
then
Mike O'Toole
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Untitled rough draft - 5/14/05
Brittle bones
and I’ll break them if I’m forced
to be alone
My sanity divorced.
Blood stains
A fire fly, cursed.
And I’ll cry out when you die
I am in pain the worst.
Stronger then death, my blood vessals burst
from the emotions you put into motions
to make me regret
all these twisted notions
will take a lot.
Red in raw agression,
mutated from depression.
Recoiled impressions make me race
And this is bullshit
look at this pretty face
and how an angel fucking fell from grace
Bitter taste is left for you.
Choke on it while lips stay rich
moist while they are split open.
Relish in the spit.
...This man’s way of coping!
And a lot of people
don’t see
the insight
coarsing through my entire body!
Veins tested and tight.
The explosion shoots off the ladder
I had to climb to get away from you.
But I don’t play Shoots and Ladders.
I don’t play any games.
Rather cut this off at the roots and watch the aftermath
the splatter from your brain.
Violent behavior is not in my nature
but it is still in range.
This Metaphoric shit is ripped out and stripped of toxicity.
Proof that you took and toar a part of me!
The gore is far more then bloody.
Kept inside; this expression wants to be freed.
And I agreed, as I watched it all bleed off of us.
Future regression illustrated that it was not enough to lock this up.
You: A feminine razor, deep in my cut...
I don’t push you around like a slut.
Since birth, things have gone wrong...
So I’ll just go ahead and scream if you don’t like
the tone of this song!
And rotten responses rest when you
just don’t give a fuck,
so short on luck,
drained of value,
all of it sucks at the neck,
until it finally fouls you up,
cause she is rolling with another heartless punk to stab this heart.
Convinced that that’s the pure reason;
chains are snapped off during the frustrated grieving.
Stop with your fables
I just do not have the patience to wait through all this!
It turns to hate, which wastes my kiss.
Pissed and another curse helps
and another lighter would be nice,
to spark the fire
burn this down.
More then twice, I’ve played the clown,
made you laugh.
Held you when you felt trapped,
soothed you when you were geared to snap and pop off,
glued you back in pieces,
and sewed the fine cloth in you together with dedicated thread.
And you crushed on me before you crushed me.
Once upon a time, you were like an obbsessed fan of mine
and stuck in head
couldnt rewind.
Def, dumb or blind,
something is gone inside.
Blonde and blue with too much pride
to hit you,
ignoring the sucka punch.
Haaaaa true are the encapsulating, burning furies that are revving
within all that this blood-shot eye can feel.
No matter what, why, where, or how,
this is real.
My time is now!
Not to cut you down...But your stuck in the water and will probably drown.
You get so high, that you have to come down.
Razor blades, whips and chains...
Satisfaction teters daily
and I don't give a damn.
So tired of being admired
I just might set it off
on fire.
Mike O'Toole
and I’ll break them if I’m forced
to be alone
My sanity divorced.
Blood stains
A fire fly, cursed.
And I’ll cry out when you die
I am in pain the worst.
Stronger then death, my blood vessals burst
from the emotions you put into motions
to make me regret
all these twisted notions
will take a lot.
Red in raw agression,
mutated from depression.
Recoiled impressions make me race
And this is bullshit
look at this pretty face
and how an angel fucking fell from grace
Bitter taste is left for you.
Choke on it while lips stay rich
moist while they are split open.
Relish in the spit.
...This man’s way of coping!
And a lot of people
don’t see
the insight
coarsing through my entire body!
Veins tested and tight.
The explosion shoots off the ladder
I had to climb to get away from you.
But I don’t play Shoots and Ladders.
I don’t play any games.
Rather cut this off at the roots and watch the aftermath
the splatter from your brain.
Violent behavior is not in my nature
but it is still in range.
This Metaphoric shit is ripped out and stripped of toxicity.
Proof that you took and toar a part of me!
The gore is far more then bloody.
Kept inside; this expression wants to be freed.
And I agreed, as I watched it all bleed off of us.
Future regression illustrated that it was not enough to lock this up.
You: A feminine razor, deep in my cut...
I don’t push you around like a slut.
Since birth, things have gone wrong...
So I’ll just go ahead and scream if you don’t like
the tone of this song!
And rotten responses rest when you
just don’t give a fuck,
so short on luck,
drained of value,
all of it sucks at the neck,
until it finally fouls you up,
cause she is rolling with another heartless punk to stab this heart.
Convinced that that’s the pure reason;
chains are snapped off during the frustrated grieving.
Stop with your fables
I just do not have the patience to wait through all this!
It turns to hate, which wastes my kiss.
Pissed and another curse helps
and another lighter would be nice,
to spark the fire
burn this down.
More then twice, I’ve played the clown,
made you laugh.
Held you when you felt trapped,
soothed you when you were geared to snap and pop off,
glued you back in pieces,
and sewed the fine cloth in you together with dedicated thread.
And you crushed on me before you crushed me.
Once upon a time, you were like an obbsessed fan of mine
and stuck in head
couldnt rewind.
Def, dumb or blind,
something is gone inside.
Blonde and blue with too much pride
to hit you,
ignoring the sucka punch.
Haaaaa true are the encapsulating, burning furies that are revving
within all that this blood-shot eye can feel.
No matter what, why, where, or how,
this is real.
My time is now!
Not to cut you down...But your stuck in the water and will probably drown.
You get so high, that you have to come down.
Razor blades, whips and chains...
Satisfaction teters daily
and I don't give a damn.
So tired of being admired
I just might set it off
on fire.
Mike O'Toole
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Beautiful Oblivion - 3/22/05
Midnight in a perfect world; /
beautiful oblivion lingers in darkness./
Cold in the heart of the spark that is lit.../
For, by itself, it is only nothingness.
Meaning lives on in the depth of mortal coil/
a concrete structure of day-to-day doesn't mix with it; like water and oil./
Emptiness, with a certain substance that is sure to ask,
"What does your Soul look like?" And has raw artistry propelled it...
...Only to crash? Gone in the sweep of oblivion, perhaps? /
Sacred only, is the impact of impressions, surpassing all time and space.
It is true, that one day, even YOU will forget your face, /
regardless of it's beautiful shape. /
Better to make your mark from the inside,
for, tattoos on the skin will fade into the earth, leaving only eyes of mind. /
No one can truly define the dimensions of such a blurred line of oblivion.
But rest assured, that in your body's decomposition, /
when all things that we find grand, are no longer there to find.../
In the midst of such beautiful oblivion and thus absence of life,
no concrete subject needs to ask, or find answer to...
"What does your Soul look like?"
###
Mike O'Toole A/K/A "SOUL ENIGMA"
beautiful oblivion lingers in darkness./
Cold in the heart of the spark that is lit.../
For, by itself, it is only nothingness.
Meaning lives on in the depth of mortal coil/
a concrete structure of day-to-day doesn't mix with it; like water and oil./
Emptiness, with a certain substance that is sure to ask,
"What does your Soul look like?" And has raw artistry propelled it...
...Only to crash? Gone in the sweep of oblivion, perhaps? /
Sacred only, is the impact of impressions, surpassing all time and space.
It is true, that one day, even YOU will forget your face, /
regardless of it's beautiful shape. /
Better to make your mark from the inside,
for, tattoos on the skin will fade into the earth, leaving only eyes of mind. /
No one can truly define the dimensions of such a blurred line of oblivion.
But rest assured, that in your body's decomposition, /
when all things that we find grand, are no longer there to find.../
In the midst of such beautiful oblivion and thus absence of life,
no concrete subject needs to ask, or find answer to...
"What does your Soul look like?"
###
Mike O'Toole A/K/A "SOUL ENIGMA"
Coal Chambers Are Beautiful - 6/2/04
Hold up
eyes are red
dry from tears bled.
Extreme like mixtures.
Coal chambers are beautiful; should be
a standard household fixture.
Eyes may be attractive
right now, strictly a blur;
a scratched record of bad medicine’s stinging cure,
even though they look chill
when squinted-red makes vision obscured.
(It is) Frighteningly ill to be in her head...
Graffiti from Enigma’s depth and call.
Just like wasps stinging,
to fall to it for real,
as hell slept and scars healed.
Please don’t touch
just let them heal
and skin breath
regenerating
only coming off when sun burn pulls it
to peel.
Fighting with medi-SIN, to make insanity seal and suffocate
itself.
Alter-ego is connecting until separation
is numb to the way it once felt.
Lucy’s eyes are like one, plus one jewel.
Coal chambers are so beautiful...
Like you.
Mike O'Toole
eyes are red
dry from tears bled.
Extreme like mixtures.
Coal chambers are beautiful; should be
a standard household fixture.
Eyes may be attractive
right now, strictly a blur;
a scratched record of bad medicine’s stinging cure,
even though they look chill
when squinted-red makes vision obscured.
(It is) Frighteningly ill to be in her head...
Graffiti from Enigma’s depth and call.
Just like wasps stinging,
to fall to it for real,
as hell slept and scars healed.
Please don’t touch
just let them heal
and skin breath
regenerating
only coming off when sun burn pulls it
to peel.
Fighting with medi-SIN, to make insanity seal and suffocate
itself.
Alter-ego is connecting until separation
is numb to the way it once felt.
Lucy’s eyes are like one, plus one jewel.
Coal chambers are so beautiful...
Like you.
Mike O'Toole
Body Paint Complex - date unknown
Cool and relaxed
Shadows building a silhouette of cut muscle
and girth.
Thickness, to connect the severed wrists
of all artwork. Her Soul has it.
My Brother weaves needles in himself, to sew up
open patches of spoken words and thought.
I am a wonderer, the fighter
Crazy colorful hair, masked in the drawn lines of a
lighter, and pretty eyes. Drinking in life
I grab it by the balls
The one who does not hesitate to climb highest
ladder, and brace for the most orgasmic free-falls.
A little flaky, like a modern Artistic Predator
should be.
A wordsmith, who's more sane.... Or Less INsane,
then all those who circulate these blue veins,
pumping full of artistry.
Fresh body paint, glows!
Shadows building a silhouette of cut muscle
and girth.
Thickness, to connect the severed wrists
of all artwork. Her Soul has it.
My Brother weaves needles in himself, to sew up
open patches of spoken words and thought.
I am a wonderer, the fighter
Crazy colorful hair, masked in the drawn lines of a
lighter, and pretty eyes. Drinking in life
I grab it by the balls
The one who does not hesitate to climb highest
ladder, and brace for the most orgasmic free-falls.
A little flaky, like a modern Artistic Predator
should be.
A wordsmith, who's more sane.... Or Less INsane,
then all those who circulate these blue veins,
pumping full of artistry.
Fresh body paint, glows!
Last Man Standing (Medicine) - 11/20/04
Local name
Blood pressure pushing through the seam.
Veins explode, following a scream in nightmarish dreams.
My eyes bleed.
A grown man;
holding more depth perception
then most hellions can understand, or care to believe!
As it pours, the rhetorical inquires
resort to nonsensical theories of their God-fearing needs.
I know every fact
holding in my mind
barb wire confines.
I knew it was something extremely special,
being given these gifts, then being subjected
to traumatic tides and dark rifts.
Being so blind, some insist non sexual grind,
dodging
accountability for hypocrisy.
They will receive the Punch of Justice, in due time.
The right and wrong shall be clearly known,
if the veins in my head have to explode
Until dead!
The wrong will ingest all the excrement they’ve said
in the past.
SOUL has been born and bred to stand last, amidst the fallen and
stay whole among the broken!
In exchange of love, harsh words, too often, are spoken...
For that, all those will fall... Increase the dosage.
Mike O'Toole
Blood pressure pushing through the seam.
Veins explode, following a scream in nightmarish dreams.
My eyes bleed.
A grown man;
holding more depth perception
then most hellions can understand, or care to believe!
As it pours, the rhetorical inquires
resort to nonsensical theories of their God-fearing needs.
I know every fact
holding in my mind
barb wire confines.
I knew it was something extremely special,
being given these gifts, then being subjected
to traumatic tides and dark rifts.
Being so blind, some insist non sexual grind,
dodging
accountability for hypocrisy.
They will receive the Punch of Justice, in due time.
The right and wrong shall be clearly known,
if the veins in my head have to explode
Until dead!
The wrong will ingest all the excrement they’ve said
in the past.
SOUL has been born and bred to stand last, amidst the fallen and
stay whole among the broken!
In exchange of love, harsh words, too often, are spoken...
For that, all those will fall... Increase the dosage.
Mike O'Toole
Pierced Eye - 6/14/04
Drops streaked on eye
lashes licked in blood
- shot out to fly,
suddenly defy expectations of directing onlookers.
Shook blonde and looked at first, by said eye,
burning dry and craving thirst.
Teared up
dilated pupils will burst
with as much inspiration as the moment a virgin tongue
has willed itself to curse, and lick it’s body’s blood;
a suited-vessal of spit words and spit fire...
Passionate like the love for other fighting high-flyers
absurd in the flakiness of not staying with the herd.
Drops streaked on eye
dilated pupils,
BLURRED.
Mike O'Toole
lashes licked in blood
- shot out to fly,
suddenly defy expectations of directing onlookers.
Shook blonde and looked at first, by said eye,
burning dry and craving thirst.
Teared up
dilated pupils will burst
with as much inspiration as the moment a virgin tongue
has willed itself to curse, and lick it’s body’s blood;
a suited-vessal of spit words and spit fire...
Passionate like the love for other fighting high-flyers
absurd in the flakiness of not staying with the herd.
Drops streaked on eye
dilated pupils,
BLURRED.
Mike O'Toole
Brothers In... - 7/7/04
The young;
impartially perceptive to harsh realities.
Different crews and cliques of kids fill the halls
and uptown.
Down my spine, a chill crawls.
Beautiful girls and liars who follow them, infest this realm.
A kiss on balls.
He who kicks out the first foot, falls
no soul to back him
no boots to stomp against the masses who mall & trample him.
What kind of example do his invisible allies assemble, in such sin?
I’m young & alive
‘going to take full advantage of this privilege.
Attractive inner core, and out,
with a natural knack, to explore the skeleton of words,
fight, and keep score;
die, and come back.
Eighteen years and counting
until I finally crack.
(My) Eyes spotted friends & blood brothers on sight,
together again, to light up another
night.
A makeshift rhyming meter, is in flight.
Believe
life is a fleeting element
death seems forever
existence held close, between breasts
an enigma, revealed in gradual dosage,
details, uncovered in cryptic undertone,
as are Mary Jane’s potions.
Van Reese’s mixed signals;
stewing in confliction, as her vibes find my ear and go in.
Soul Enigma grabs them with a fire, as hell spews out gin.
‘Spark my lighter to shock the senses
with self-inflicted pain, relentless.
There is a beat in the head, as I beat my own head
against odds, of mythological proportion.
Great, now I have another ominous headache
taking pain pills,
unlike the Ex., which drips on the cerebellum, down the spine.
Drugs kill, by your own will
our generation seems content to live their days blind.
The difference between SICK and ILL.
What if “rhetorical” becomes the thing in question?
I could not decipher the entire meaning in it’s existence.
With each passing day, no matter how I use it,
I lose some lively connection
and you can’t blame me, when I speak of resurrection.
If you were free to mold a timeline of life,
you would want to polish it’s reflection, too!
‘Rather plant my own garden, then wait for God to drop a clue
of how to cultivate the soil.
The dysfunction around me is so soiled
I’ve tried to kill the disease, but the bacteria refuses to be boiled.
And this mold only grows further, no matter how spoiled...
And they do not a thing.
These are only simple words
from a dangerously complex mind.
This is one approach to writing down thought, which I choose.
(I am) a wordsmith; vocabulary, tight in review.
Take these words home.
If I am the Devil, Hell is “home.”
Some segments of time, I feel alone...
Until I meet up with my brothers... Then we are
poetry-in-motion’s crew... Think it thru.
Mike O'Toole
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Please Critique This Poem
Comments
impartially perceptive to harsh realities.
Different crews and cliques of kids fill the halls
and uptown.
Down my spine, a chill crawls.
Beautiful girls and liars who follow them, infest this realm.
A kiss on balls.
He who kicks out the first foot, falls
no soul to back him
no boots to stomp against the masses who mall & trample him.
What kind of example do his invisible allies assemble, in such sin?
I’m young & alive
‘going to take full advantage of this privilege.
Attractive inner core, and out,
with a natural knack, to explore the skeleton of words,
fight, and keep score;
die, and come back.
Eighteen years and counting
until I finally crack.
(My) Eyes spotted friends & blood brothers on sight,
together again, to light up another
night.
A makeshift rhyming meter, is in flight.
Believe
life is a fleeting element
death seems forever
existence held close, between breasts
an enigma, revealed in gradual dosage,
details, uncovered in cryptic undertone,
as are Mary Jane’s potions.
Van Reese’s mixed signals;
stewing in confliction, as her vibes find my ear and go in.
Soul Enigma grabs them with a fire, as hell spews out gin.
‘Spark my lighter to shock the senses
with self-inflicted pain, relentless.
There is a beat in the head, as I beat my own head
against odds, of mythological proportion.
Great, now I have another ominous headache
taking pain pills,
unlike the Ex., which drips on the cerebellum, down the spine.
Drugs kill, by your own will
our generation seems content to live their days blind.
The difference between SICK and ILL.
What if “rhetorical” becomes the thing in question?
I could not decipher the entire meaning in it’s existence.
With each passing day, no matter how I use it,
I lose some lively connection
and you can’t blame me, when I speak of resurrection.
If you were free to mold a timeline of life,
you would want to polish it’s reflection, too!
‘Rather plant my own garden, then wait for God to drop a clue
of how to cultivate the soil.
The dysfunction around me is so soiled
I’ve tried to kill the disease, but the bacteria refuses to be boiled.
And this mold only grows further, no matter how spoiled...
And they do not a thing.
These are only simple words
from a dangerously complex mind.
This is one approach to writing down thought, which I choose.
(I am) a wordsmith; vocabulary, tight in review.
Take these words home.
If I am the Devil, Hell is “home.”
Some segments of time, I feel alone...
Until I meet up with my brothers... Then we are
poetry-in-motion’s crew... Think it thru.
Mike O'Toole
- Vote for this poem -
Please Critique This Poem
Comments
Licked - 6/4/04
(It’s) ripping at the torso
of lips
licked with alcohol
fighting with it, but
nonalcoholic.
Vibes :
dim
mellow
and sick.
“Nifty” is a new Neesa schtick
a study in contrasting dic-tion.
Words are never done
They live in my blood
and shoot out like overloaded gun.
Collapsing in eyes, until permanent residence
is justly won.
Never felt it like this before
and now like a nut, roaming the halls of the hospital,
stinging any crossed white walls I fling balls into;
trapped.
Now, holding energy for reserved relapse!!
I pulled away barbed wire to help your Happiness...
At least, trying,
while writing this just happens to kill droves of stress!
Alter Ego has a compulsive disorder, with which
I’m slightly obsessed...
The flow of words, wrecked...
Maybe this is one to forget?
Mike O'Toole
(transcribed strait from my notebook) :
“ha ha I win I got your pen to work!!!
hey mike it’s neesa ! great poem by the way.
you have a wonderful talent, keep it up and always believe
in yourself. you will go places !” - neesa
June 4 , 2004
of lips
licked with alcohol
fighting with it, but
nonalcoholic.
Vibes :
dim
mellow
and sick.
“Nifty” is a new Neesa schtick
a study in contrasting dic-tion.
Words are never done
They live in my blood
and shoot out like overloaded gun.
Collapsing in eyes, until permanent residence
is justly won.
Never felt it like this before
and now like a nut, roaming the halls of the hospital,
stinging any crossed white walls I fling balls into;
trapped.
Now, holding energy for reserved relapse!!
I pulled away barbed wire to help your Happiness...
At least, trying,
while writing this just happens to kill droves of stress!
Alter Ego has a compulsive disorder, with which
I’m slightly obsessed...
The flow of words, wrecked...
Maybe this is one to forget?
Mike O'Toole
(transcribed strait from my notebook) :
“ha ha I win I got your pen to work!!!
hey mike it’s neesa ! great poem by the way.
you have a wonderful talent, keep it up and always believe
in yourself. you will go places !” - neesa
June 4 , 2004
The Loop - 6/15/04
The heat : ON
So hot
beading bullets of stress bleed.
Old habits rot from their negative consequence.
Responding reflexes in me, tell to move!
Or move on.
‘86 and on...
Numb, after slick bodies merge.
Hate, be GONE.
Numb from such Love
new to the plain of thought.
Mind killing bad habits before they ROT.
STILL stuck...
Gone but not forgot...
Screwed for so long;
Eyes so shot.
Tripped before running begins
foot caught in the gap.
Falling in head... But physically, sitting...
Something fresh and new... On my lap.
I told you I’d become the first to adapt.
“He’s cute and relaxed... With words to keep reflection,
trapped.”
Time ticks on
Summer Blonde and back & forth again.
Stewing in my verbal artillery,
with a lot of blame, but less shame or self-pity.
Fearing, this may actually be some sick trend!
Lucky, at Level Eighteen, to have these friends
and brothers until the enigmatic end, and heaven
all the way thru the hell here.
Trading blows with “M.C.” and my life’s “Switching Gears.”
Just won’t give in!
Remember?
Critics shovel on dirt
...And it’s enough!
Body’s not dead until the soul is pulled & snuffed from
bodily restriction.
A man’s not a popper until there’s a pop addiction!
And so addicted to pop
that the buzz won’t be eased and can’t be securely stopped
in the path of security.
Raising hell with the Crew,
to slow the bell from triggering shocked response.
Let us do it again
a year goes around.
In it’s ranks, attempting to contend.
The fight is finally illustrating the bite in it’s bark.
Now strung sentences are no longer just talk.
Holding respect, but I’d rather stay, and stand at firing- lines
then go your way and take the Walk of Shame out of the gate
wether on the dot, or late.
‘Rather light a cigarette and do shots then
twist personal fate & coil up a dying, unraveling depressed state
almost roped ‘n tied, hanging there until all the tears have drip-dried, and every last Demon has died.
Publication of words, leaves them to be eyed by all able souls
leaving (my) insides empty, yet subtly whole.
Putting them out, leaves some of the warm fire cold and dim.
Writing what is in the mind
reclining; trying to unwind.
Youth flipping in midair
surly bold, in the layout of thought on scratch paper.
Hating the stressful tension of The Loop’s blur!
Back 2 School, and back again, even when it’s long gone.
Keep spinning till dead! Harnessing the momentum, to the end!
Mike O'Toole
So hot
beading bullets of stress bleed.
Old habits rot from their negative consequence.
Responding reflexes in me, tell to move!
Or move on.
‘86 and on...
Numb, after slick bodies merge.
Hate, be GONE.
Numb from such Love
new to the plain of thought.
Mind killing bad habits before they ROT.
STILL stuck...
Gone but not forgot...
Screwed for so long;
Eyes so shot.
Tripped before running begins
foot caught in the gap.
Falling in head... But physically, sitting...
Something fresh and new... On my lap.
I told you I’d become the first to adapt.
“He’s cute and relaxed... With words to keep reflection,
trapped.”
Time ticks on
Summer Blonde and back & forth again.
Stewing in my verbal artillery,
with a lot of blame, but less shame or self-pity.
Fearing, this may actually be some sick trend!
Lucky, at Level Eighteen, to have these friends
and brothers until the enigmatic end, and heaven
all the way thru the hell here.
Trading blows with “M.C.” and my life’s “Switching Gears.”
Just won’t give in!
Remember?
Critics shovel on dirt
...And it’s enough!
Body’s not dead until the soul is pulled & snuffed from
bodily restriction.
A man’s not a popper until there’s a pop addiction!
And so addicted to pop
that the buzz won’t be eased and can’t be securely stopped
in the path of security.
Raising hell with the Crew,
to slow the bell from triggering shocked response.
Let us do it again
a year goes around.
In it’s ranks, attempting to contend.
The fight is finally illustrating the bite in it’s bark.
Now strung sentences are no longer just talk.
Holding respect, but I’d rather stay, and stand at firing- lines
then go your way and take the Walk of Shame out of the gate
wether on the dot, or late.
‘Rather light a cigarette and do shots then
twist personal fate & coil up a dying, unraveling depressed state
almost roped ‘n tied, hanging there until all the tears have drip-dried, and every last Demon has died.
Publication of words, leaves them to be eyed by all able souls
leaving (my) insides empty, yet subtly whole.
Putting them out, leaves some of the warm fire cold and dim.
Writing what is in the mind
reclining; trying to unwind.
Youth flipping in midair
surly bold, in the layout of thought on scratch paper.
Hating the stressful tension of The Loop’s blur!
Back 2 School, and back again, even when it’s long gone.
Keep spinning till dead! Harnessing the momentum, to the end!
Mike O'Toole
Night's Life - 6/25/04
Rolling like rocks,
pillows shielding stress
comes in stock
half dressed from previous evening’s hardcore shock.
Overdosing on legal drugs that fuel the mojo
for underaged peoples.
They greet us, faster then the intentions that’re
dangerous.
With ample pains
and blush
Clique runs the gambit
while I’m tough to all teenage sh*t
tested enough to deal with it
embrace it to barable extent and KILL the excess
baggage
while verse helps to vent.
With a street’s length of friends
calling both our names;
call it Insubordinate, squared.
Dilated pupils in the ‘berbs
Blacks and whites, acting absurd
in spoken word
my broken grammar
and a curse.
X chromosomes are playful to
the beat of poetic pulsation.
The parking lot thrives at night.
Lives fight for flight in the midst of the party.
The beat; so loud, to the INNOCENCE passing by the block.
A dope assembly line of dope, provided by dope dealers
from High School
a pool of Underdogs, Fighters, and Heads;
the one’s who aren't Trust Fund Kids; basking in given riches;
corrupt like b*tches.
We’re all bonded friends,
clawing to sew up our life’s rips and cuts, with stitches
to tie up loose ends.
Inviting propositioned head, to ease the pain of any emotion in brain
this feeling of good, remedies any feeling of cain.
Partying
on vacation from depth
for now.
Trying to make two ends connect.
During the day, other worlds show off their clouds;
full and beautiful.
Youth attracted to destructive behavior.
Attracted to the beautiful...
Just need to lay with her...
To ease the inflammation of tired Insubordi-Nation and
beaten up artistic flavor.
Sins stay in parking lot
Then We walk...
Rolling like rocks,
allies shielding stress.
United, though certain philosophies are as stand-alone
as style of dress.
Cutting loose from curses,
for we are, in truth, lost
yet so blessed to have all this; insane party bullsh*t...
Indicative of the potential to risk it
for a single Poisonous Kiss with the Devil of the body
and Hell-spawn of mentality...
F*ck it... On vacation from depth in thinking... Remember?
This is our shady nightlife...
It’s not as is REALITY!
Mike O'Toole
pillows shielding stress
comes in stock
half dressed from previous evening’s hardcore shock.
Overdosing on legal drugs that fuel the mojo
for underaged peoples.
They greet us, faster then the intentions that’re
dangerous.
With ample pains
and blush
Clique runs the gambit
while I’m tough to all teenage sh*t
tested enough to deal with it
embrace it to barable extent and KILL the excess
baggage
while verse helps to vent.
With a street’s length of friends
calling both our names;
call it Insubordinate, squared.
Dilated pupils in the ‘berbs
Blacks and whites, acting absurd
in spoken word
my broken grammar
and a curse.
X chromosomes are playful to
the beat of poetic pulsation.
The parking lot thrives at night.
Lives fight for flight in the midst of the party.
The beat; so loud, to the INNOCENCE passing by the block.
A dope assembly line of dope, provided by dope dealers
from High School
a pool of Underdogs, Fighters, and Heads;
the one’s who aren't Trust Fund Kids; basking in given riches;
corrupt like b*tches.
We’re all bonded friends,
clawing to sew up our life’s rips and cuts, with stitches
to tie up loose ends.
Inviting propositioned head, to ease the pain of any emotion in brain
this feeling of good, remedies any feeling of cain.
Partying
on vacation from depth
for now.
Trying to make two ends connect.
During the day, other worlds show off their clouds;
full and beautiful.
Youth attracted to destructive behavior.
Attracted to the beautiful...
Just need to lay with her...
To ease the inflammation of tired Insubordi-Nation and
beaten up artistic flavor.
Sins stay in parking lot
Then We walk...
Rolling like rocks,
allies shielding stress.
United, though certain philosophies are as stand-alone
as style of dress.
Cutting loose from curses,
for we are, in truth, lost
yet so blessed to have all this; insane party bullsh*t...
Indicative of the potential to risk it
for a single Poisonous Kiss with the Devil of the body
and Hell-spawn of mentality...
F*ck it... On vacation from depth in thinking... Remember?
This is our shady nightlife...
It’s not as is REALITY!
Mike O'Toole
For Better - 6/2/04
Send a perfect realm
To save
Washing away cain-laced pain
Help to deglorify the Holy Grave;
far away from today.
Train plowing forward
my brain pushed toward it.
Stretched on by wit
that will not fail in darkest hour.
Won’t submit 2 negativity and the way it overpowers.
And I sit and write this
thinking deep in hurt & happiness,
Sweet Laughs & Sin.
Degeneration of the past days (are)
for the better of the resurrection's burst.
The burst burns
skin on broken bracelets
clasping tightly around tattooed soul.
It’s flowing faster then false adrenaline...
Aftereffects force moisture application.
‘Won’t let her give up
she hasn't tasted life yet
tears wasted on inverted tests; forced.
What do you take me for?
I have seen the rock bottom of bathroom floors
giving myself in whole, wither ready...
Ink flowing, or not.
Frustration penetrates any open wounds,
in the loss to articulate the thought beating in the
confines of your mind
Help set it free!
You can, regardless if, in that, you believe!
Look,
coldness is fueled up with warmth of care,
and positive words stick to your mentality’s ribs
and stay there, to drive the wheel
in hopes to heal your Emotion’s Divide,
which draws lines that hide the REAL.
With Smelling Salts, Smoke, and Rosemary...
Reviving beautiful theory.
Who transplanted ideas of writing fast?!
‘Only thing that’s needed is your thought.
Think about the pen-stroke last!
Throwing salt in the wounds that opened in me,
stings against cells that allow dreams to live before
the body leaves.
Look @ the way we act when confused with
“Clique celebrity” and values false prophets have said...
And soldiers have bled for me...To relish in
Government’s false fallacies?
Some secrets are spit out with fashionable lock & key
masked in the magnitude of being blinded in eyeliner
and unable 2 see.
Smear it across, like the culture; goth.
True definition? Lost
warped as it’s touched on by the culture; pop.
A poet, blonde in the ambition to shoot out depth
like endless magazines of ammunition...
Until all the clips drop and harmony comes to fruition!
Salty and squinted eyes, like red-washed orbs of
a life in fight.
In the midst of the battle,
collapse only on your own conditions & by your own will
I can’t let you stay strapped in, on firing lines, folded blind.
You’re too good 2 eat so much darkness.
“Here’s a lighter...SPARK IT!”
Brighten things up, with the light that could
be catching and incinerating your strife, right as I write!
It makes life okay.
Darkness does not.
Iced up and hot, the light soothes the life
just like you
to dance at the fired shots and be content to hop.
...Able to fix all that, in time.
Separated away and left on heels
spine-tinglingly real
exciting
Collisions of white & black, melting into shreds of
metaphor.
So Happy and Alive
able to stand...
It is you, to take this hand.
Pills 2 pop in prescription?
it’s not worth the high, to drop
I don’t want your body 2 die
need you here , Alive
a gift, to just see in your eyes
that, in itself, is enough of a high!
Like artistry, crafted and ripped
train’s head-on collision, to speak Truth, in pure oxygen
NIRVANA...and CheeseRoxMyWrld again
though, I don’t understand the love for rubber bands...
‘Found my friends...They’re over read.
Now...Feel love enough, to birth your version of “THIS”
whatever “IT” is. Make the noise!!!
Everything beautiful, all in your eyes: Poetic Existence.
For the better... Living to drip your colors onto the body of everything touched. Make your mark. Emotion’s chord, struck!
Mike O'Toole
To save
Washing away cain-laced pain
Help to deglorify the Holy Grave;
far away from today.
Train plowing forward
my brain pushed toward it.
Stretched on by wit
that will not fail in darkest hour.
Won’t submit 2 negativity and the way it overpowers.
And I sit and write this
thinking deep in hurt & happiness,
Sweet Laughs & Sin.
Degeneration of the past days (are)
for the better of the resurrection's burst.
The burst burns
skin on broken bracelets
clasping tightly around tattooed soul.
It’s flowing faster then false adrenaline...
Aftereffects force moisture application.
‘Won’t let her give up
she hasn't tasted life yet
tears wasted on inverted tests; forced.
What do you take me for?
I have seen the rock bottom of bathroom floors
giving myself in whole, wither ready...
Ink flowing, or not.
Frustration penetrates any open wounds,
in the loss to articulate the thought beating in the
confines of your mind
Help set it free!
You can, regardless if, in that, you believe!
Look,
coldness is fueled up with warmth of care,
and positive words stick to your mentality’s ribs
and stay there, to drive the wheel
in hopes to heal your Emotion’s Divide,
which draws lines that hide the REAL.
With Smelling Salts, Smoke, and Rosemary...
Reviving beautiful theory.
Who transplanted ideas of writing fast?!
‘Only thing that’s needed is your thought.
Think about the pen-stroke last!
Throwing salt in the wounds that opened in me,
stings against cells that allow dreams to live before
the body leaves.
Look @ the way we act when confused with
“Clique celebrity” and values false prophets have said...
And soldiers have bled for me...To relish in
Government’s false fallacies?
Some secrets are spit out with fashionable lock & key
masked in the magnitude of being blinded in eyeliner
and unable 2 see.
Smear it across, like the culture; goth.
True definition? Lost
warped as it’s touched on by the culture; pop.
A poet, blonde in the ambition to shoot out depth
like endless magazines of ammunition...
Until all the clips drop and harmony comes to fruition!
Salty and squinted eyes, like red-washed orbs of
a life in fight.
In the midst of the battle,
collapse only on your own conditions & by your own will
I can’t let you stay strapped in, on firing lines, folded blind.
You’re too good 2 eat so much darkness.
“Here’s a lighter...SPARK IT!”
Brighten things up, with the light that could
be catching and incinerating your strife, right as I write!
It makes life okay.
Darkness does not.
Iced up and hot, the light soothes the life
just like you
to dance at the fired shots and be content to hop.
...Able to fix all that, in time.
Separated away and left on heels
spine-tinglingly real
exciting
Collisions of white & black, melting into shreds of
metaphor.
So Happy and Alive
able to stand...
It is you, to take this hand.
Pills 2 pop in prescription?
it’s not worth the high, to drop
I don’t want your body 2 die
need you here , Alive
a gift, to just see in your eyes
that, in itself, is enough of a high!
Like artistry, crafted and ripped
train’s head-on collision, to speak Truth, in pure oxygen
NIRVANA...and CheeseRoxMyWrld again
though, I don’t understand the love for rubber bands...
‘Found my friends...They’re over read.
Now...Feel love enough, to birth your version of “THIS”
whatever “IT” is. Make the noise!!!
Everything beautiful, all in your eyes: Poetic Existence.
For the better... Living to drip your colors onto the body of everything touched. Make your mark. Emotion’s chord, struck!
Mike O'Toole
The Fortitude - 5/13/0
Intestinal fortitude, cutting thru the floor
of the limbo between “False” and “True”
cutting thru.
Dedication is black & blue
seeing red for the passed trials of the past DAZE
old & new, private & public school.
Ha! A new set of rules to watch body paint dry to...
If taken seriously,
this fog will obscure the whites of their eyes!
Tangling reel-to-reel tape, trying to rewind
and back step?
We can’t go back, so what are we resurrecting?
What are you thinking?!
Why is there internal lecturing, if humor and depth have
fully swept thru?
Life and Death
still exist!
Life sticks like glue
Death bounces off the philosophical thought we conclude.
“Bunny” flasks and bad intentions segway to the INTERLUDE.
A free ride...???
“Why would we try and sneak thru?”
Who got into The Gates with a counterfeit stamp on hand?
This is the HUMAN, CREATIVE, realm.
Set up camp
build a crib to play in!
Writing...And being blinded by this scorching desk lamp
forget it...
Multiple hand cramps
you come so fast!
I write for blind eyes that absorb life
and can still, brag about what they see
forget M*****...? (Ha HAH !)
The graphic design can’t possibly equal
the magnitude of fun & games
dirty names.
Tripping off the time
TWELVE MIDNIGHT and still stuck in a pattern
stuck in the rhyme.
Paranoid feelings
what?
Who?
Strait.
Only a finger can blind any further
and curse her
out!
Scratching down the words to YELL AND SHOUT
with PRIDE, to feel so alive...
“Oh no! ...
I died...
Oh well...”
...And still fight to build a path
to strive on.
Here is a PEN
a love letter to this artistic blood-letting,
that, if allowed, will never end.
Follow me into the flames
the Pit of Passion and Desire
the rush received, from barely cutting the right wire.
Bombs explode, in creative mentality.
Flowing dreams push thru demographics of urban or suburban.
Segregated confines are taken down, breaking rugged lines
in this artist’s state of mind.
This is,
IN MOTION, Poetry and Reality
A beautiful scar... Inked in time.
Mike O'Toole
of the limbo between “False” and “True”
cutting thru.
Dedication is black & blue
seeing red for the passed trials of the past DAZE
old & new, private & public school.
Ha! A new set of rules to watch body paint dry to...
If taken seriously,
this fog will obscure the whites of their eyes!
Tangling reel-to-reel tape, trying to rewind
and back step?
We can’t go back, so what are we resurrecting?
What are you thinking?!
Why is there internal lecturing, if humor and depth have
fully swept thru?
Life and Death
still exist!
Life sticks like glue
Death bounces off the philosophical thought we conclude.
“Bunny” flasks and bad intentions segway to the INTERLUDE.
A free ride...???
“Why would we try and sneak thru?”
Who got into The Gates with a counterfeit stamp on hand?
This is the HUMAN, CREATIVE, realm.
Set up camp
build a crib to play in!
Writing...And being blinded by this scorching desk lamp
forget it...
Multiple hand cramps
you come so fast!
I write for blind eyes that absorb life
and can still, brag about what they see
forget M*****...? (Ha HAH !)
The graphic design can’t possibly equal
the magnitude of fun & games
dirty names.
Tripping off the time
TWELVE MIDNIGHT and still stuck in a pattern
stuck in the rhyme.
Paranoid feelings
what?
Who?
Strait.
Only a finger can blind any further
and curse her
out!
Scratching down the words to YELL AND SHOUT
with PRIDE, to feel so alive...
“Oh no! ...
I died...
Oh well...”
...And still fight to build a path
to strive on.
Here is a PEN
a love letter to this artistic blood-letting,
that, if allowed, will never end.
Follow me into the flames
the Pit of Passion and Desire
the rush received, from barely cutting the right wire.
Bombs explode, in creative mentality.
Flowing dreams push thru demographics of urban or suburban.
Segregated confines are taken down, breaking rugged lines
in this artist’s state of mind.
This is,
IN MOTION, Poetry and Reality
A beautiful scar... Inked in time.
Mike O'Toole
Open Microphone - 6/23/04
[Open Microphone ]
open, all alone...
Focus on words
block out stress.
Simplicity with a message is worth more
then impromptu metaphor.
The Pen’s Ink is flowing from the Body’s Veins
paper, easing pain.
Tired stereotypes and clichés hurt my faith in Art like this...
Watching Open Mic. sessions tenses nerves,
for, if you go up,
you represent the passion of a Poet’s tears & sweat dripping
from every pore, thru out all of their years.
Take a risk and put pen to Sign-up List.
Say anything you feel, except this.
With a paralyzing beat, comes a spine-tingling chill,
providing an evenly timed framework,
regardless if you choose a style that’s rhymed
or a stanza-driven poem, autographed with tradition’s name.
Famous poets?
Hell,
barely know them!
But emotion...
Emotion?
I always know it!
I own it
and owe it, to Creation’s loins!
Even when this seems like a game, with a questionable point.
Hip pops in surgically repaired joint
This becomes Train-of-Thought...
Prose of a Weathered Man.
Anger threshold, gnawed at until soft
Patience nearly lost.
SO sick of being judged by elders
for Youth,
when my articulated expression can only IMPROVE...
age fuels and hits peak
then, losing the power of COMMODITY, due to loss of
mental prowess;
no longer unique.
Ignore outside NONSENSE
then future confidence will no longer look bleak
sit back
watch the JADED, NEGATIVE people crash in defeat
due to closed minds, blind faith, and senile sickness.
Would you hear this, if there was more like it?
Steel spikes in hair and neck
limping from displasia,
resulting in loose gate.
cannot stop the CREATIVE ENERGY!
Adrenaline possessing beautiful body
bodies of artistry
a body of work
a worked body
a work in progress!
Need to take THE CHANCE
the Point of No Return is blurred.
If anything, Open Microphone is the inanimate object to own
craving animation
Lazurus Complex
INSPIRATION IS ACTING AS BLOOD
Words are oxygen, enstilling life
just as LIVES in your EYE!
Focus the FUEL... Emotion is the UNDYING tool to utilize.
Cries of FIRED ADRENALINE overpower in your CONFIDENCE; clear!
A fighter of broken elements. ‘Earned time to pause on MODESTY.
“The Champ is here...The Champ is here...The CHAMP is HERE!!!”
Mike O'Toole
open, all alone...
Focus on words
block out stress.
Simplicity with a message is worth more
then impromptu metaphor.
The Pen’s Ink is flowing from the Body’s Veins
paper, easing pain.
Tired stereotypes and clichés hurt my faith in Art like this...
Watching Open Mic. sessions tenses nerves,
for, if you go up,
you represent the passion of a Poet’s tears & sweat dripping
from every pore, thru out all of their years.
Take a risk and put pen to Sign-up List.
Say anything you feel, except this.
With a paralyzing beat, comes a spine-tingling chill,
providing an evenly timed framework,
regardless if you choose a style that’s rhymed
or a stanza-driven poem, autographed with tradition’s name.
Famous poets?
Hell,
barely know them!
But emotion...
Emotion?
I always know it!
I own it
and owe it, to Creation’s loins!
Even when this seems like a game, with a questionable point.
Hip pops in surgically repaired joint
This becomes Train-of-Thought...
Prose of a Weathered Man.
Anger threshold, gnawed at until soft
Patience nearly lost.
SO sick of being judged by elders
for Youth,
when my articulated expression can only IMPROVE...
age fuels and hits peak
then, losing the power of COMMODITY, due to loss of
mental prowess;
no longer unique.
Ignore outside NONSENSE
then future confidence will no longer look bleak
sit back
watch the JADED, NEGATIVE people crash in defeat
due to closed minds, blind faith, and senile sickness.
Would you hear this, if there was more like it?
Steel spikes in hair and neck
limping from displasia,
resulting in loose gate.
cannot stop the CREATIVE ENERGY!
Adrenaline possessing beautiful body
bodies of artistry
a body of work
a worked body
a work in progress!
Need to take THE CHANCE
the Point of No Return is blurred.
If anything, Open Microphone is the inanimate object to own
craving animation
Lazurus Complex
INSPIRATION IS ACTING AS BLOOD
Words are oxygen, enstilling life
just as LIVES in your EYE!
Focus the FUEL... Emotion is the UNDYING tool to utilize.
Cries of FIRED ADRENALINE overpower in your CONFIDENCE; clear!
A fighter of broken elements. ‘Earned time to pause on MODESTY.
“The Champ is here...The Champ is here...The CHAMP is HERE!!!”
Mike O'Toole
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