"Rebirth." - 1/16'08

The scars were never romantic
and now far removed
I've got a smile on my face
now that we're done.
Still got the fangs, but found my place in the sun
The bang from the gun
like the sound of me
waiting for my rocket to come.

The wrongs are now just
So let's jump, 'lest we fall for the fall
and get stuck in the slump
with the rest we once called best.
Now chumps filling an empty weathered nest
time-teathered and untested,
these beer-educated are near dedicated to death.
Making up for lost time, I dig into the next breath.
I found my place in the sun, and the "farewell tour" is far from done.
In this century, I do ask that you remember me, as friend, lover or
more
than an ordinary other.
No doubt you'll know those close enough to see them breath,
yet so joined, you can't tell which one is seperate; unique.

Sprawled out on the sidewalk,
you're taller and eye cocked.
You could faulter and die, shocked.
So soak it up and come clean
Honesty will thank you and so will your spleen.
I came with a nightmare and left with a dream
cloths running ragged, now hemmed to the seam.

Rhyme time to get me through missing all of you.
I don't know what I did or can do
to bring it back to that idealized time
where we could just chill and spill
with no in-the-round reveals.
Maybe I'm mistaken,
but it feels like I have to earn back relationships taken.
Overnight, bells stopped ringing
angels quit singing.
I kept dreaming
and now beaming, doing all the things I said I'd do.
But dead in my tracks, know that, no matter the acts, it isn't the same without a friend, gone to something new.
Find something reliable and true, if that's what you're up to.

I'll still be 'round, jumping, though never far from the ground
for what it's worth
still down-to-earth and down for mirth
down to flirt with breaking monotony's curse.
Up for a rebirth.

Under-the-radar, and maybe stuck in a slum.
Don't know where my friends have gone,
but I know when to stop wishing and be done.
Found my place in the sun
On my own
going to get what I want to come.


Copyright 2008 MIKE PHELAN O'TOOLE
All Right Reserved.

"They Say I'm Nuts (Medley)" - 9/10/'07

They say I'm nuts

negative in reflecting
on what I'm expecting
when I'm dealing with lemmings
stuck in ruts,
failed at emotionally connecting and getting off their own butts

When all along, I'm trying to stay positive
and all they do is make it tough.
Find the diamond instead of dwelling on the rough.
In no such position for pain anymore
Meds in remission from my brain
Open the communication channel, or close the panel
close your mind.

Cut your lines
Punch your holes
Pick your poisons
Pick your nose
Inject through veins
The new marrow of your bones

What makes you who you are
Gives the blues and the scars
When you come loose and fly through the car

Everything goes by like the lightening/
it can kill us quick/
in a flash.
It sure can.
This sure is shocking just the same,
but it aint that kind of flash in the pan.

All that I am says to simplify this into "poppiness."
There's no right way to talk to you
when its all about "Be yourself, but watch what you do."
Our whole relationship is based on showmanship.
It once meant revelations to clear the air (in your head)
by way of conversation.
It was a real mind-fuck.
I'd rather opt-in on "mental masturbation" than test our luck.

And they say I'M nuts...

By MIKE PHELAN O'TOOLE
Copyright 2007 All Rights Reserved

"Off My Head." - 6/26/'07

I'll
steal your soul on video
Study life's sciences
Mess with your religion
Turn the knife in the incision
The gaping holes in your belief's indecision.

For all the times you speak of "truth" you gut and mame and hurt me.
For truth be told, and logic ready, there is no such thing other than uncertainty
rocking steady
and taking it all in stride and with grace.
I stand straight in the now with my pride, and you bow with your faith for ever-after.
Happiness is not in the hall with the staying and the praying
But in the self understanding that we live in not the building but the caving.

I'll
break hearts through the arts
with ink, oil, mixed-media and paints
where no scripture prophetizes the path I take
and hits me when I break
So, it's true that I'm a human, so I'm an amalgam of junk ideals
Go bang the doldrums,
label me a punk and tie me in how it is to feel
I don't recall this harsh of heaven, so don't instruct me where to go...
For I've no hate for deviation from the written definitive and depression
of your sinner and your saint.
"God knows" as an expression,
I just finish where I faint.

By MIKE PHELAN O'TOOLE
Copyright 2007 all rights reserved.

"Parting Ways Over Partying Ways" - 12/27/'06

It's a funky dysfunction with an addictive kind of friction
And a love with violent distinction.
1986 could have seen me "eighty six'd" from this scene of distress.
What a hot mess
Give me another twenty and today's friend will be tomorrow's enemy.

That sex and booze are in the excess and flow a' plenty.
Your warm beer is one frivolous thing that gets me upset
But to the women, I won't resist.

Here's party rock and spoken word
Rapped over an eight/eight tempo
locked against your rolled-up joint memento...
What a way to remember what made me arrange these fake words
and ingest meds
Struck by cocaine heads and
Naked girls...
Who all happened to be your best friends
How was I to know
that what must've sucked for you
was my bust after her blow?


Copyright 2007 by MIKE PHELAN O'TOOLE.
All rights reserved.

"Crazy Glued Glass Ceilings" - 12/7/'06

Go read the dead poets
instead of scanning journal posts
Self fulfilling the prophecy;
Out to cut this monotony.
Love is less a conspiracy, more a monopoly.
They eat it up
If only they knew how to sell it properly.

Buying into all the flat generics and straight-up pricks
Sure I'm six feet short,
fate almost hit "abort" and
I'm always late to court you.
But conviction should win over addiction
Integrity should have sold out all that regret by now
already.

I'm just out to write things tonight
Ink through to an opinion that's left over, but is right on.
Everything you claim to crave
I am well aware
You don't understand the way of this waste land.

Offering contemporary vanity in verse
With all the profanity of hip-hop,
and all the perverse energy of rock-n-roll.
No longer blond
Fucking brunettes
Better
Wetter in the heat.
And I don't sleep or eat
And when you're cut
I bleed all the words you can stand to read.

Passion flows to hustle in this scramble
Laying it all down to gamble
Rolling the dice to save a life
Taste the flesh sample.
Hang 'em high by my hamstrings,
tighter than a noose some days
Loose when they stretch me in eight different ways
for better or worse
Enduring that burn to hold what these kids yearn
for you're my last and first.

We scale things upside down
and build new ground
on the glass ceiling of these unbreakable feelings
Still in grasp and screaming loud.


Copyright 2007 by MIKE PHELAN O'TOOLE.
All rights reserved.

"Compassionate...Or Communist?" - 6/3/'06

These possibilities pull a mind-freak
with blinders down, punk sensibilities and pop sensitivity.
Further swelling of ambition and muscular development
only make for excuses more relevant to the nagging questions and
far-out answers from when I wasn't doing so well for myself.
(Hardly "stealth mode" at the moment.)
I CAN'T BE CONTENT WITH LIVING IN A COMA.
You may have issued the issue, but I own it...
The final grades on me;
her eyes allow the "C" before we "F."
But that wordplay hardly matches our foreplay of playing with matches.

Pull one off and scratch my head...
The taste of you is all lit up;
white-hot as an overcast blocks the blues in eyes' shadow.
Rain leaks from the sky, as I lose the mood.
Run away,
try and make it up another time.
But no matter how much it pours, I still know how to make your makeup run,
and get you all wet indoors.

I may be afraid of the reverberation of my own voice,
but presenting the oral is a clear and loud choice.
Somehow I think you might want to listen to the buzz
in the words that mate to make the verse converse with mind's eye,
and enjoy looking into eyes of mine.
There's nothing so divine...
Nothing more than the ordinary bump into the daily grind of our pumping hearts
and beating odds.
Its not hard to see, our hearts are at odds.
We bleed the compassion of God to see this through.
I have faith in "Its worth the wait."

You came over again, just to watch me.
And watch me read these words aloud.
But it was never a date; it was murder.
For me, more than anything, its a blur.
And a chore to spike our emotions this high,
swelling up to the size of my consequential epitaph:
"I loved it when we laughed.
I'd love her to give me my heart back, when she's done with it.
Although I don't need it so much now,
I still know how to make her makeup run like God's compassion, in blood."
Thanks for your cult of personality.
I have faith in "Its worth the wait."



Mike O'Toole

"Change" - 5/26/'06

She says,
"Things can change... And I think I like that."

Keep this idea close to your heart.
There's a helluva lotta hope in knowin' we don't finish where we start.
Keep it in the right direction - keep it in perspective.
With that, comes a certain ressurection
of intellect, a lack of tension and contempt.
Keep it moving forward...
Sincerity is the bassline to strive toward.


Mike O'Toole

"Rhymes With A Full Moon" - 4/15/'06

Vomit and hot water mix as well
as bubbles popping up past the bruise.
Puss passes through like hell
hath no fury against
bloody mary.
"St. Valentine's Day Massacre meets Carrie" ain't even as scary
as losing friends like this,
smoking cheap cigars and drinkin' beer like piss.
But I still hold out to get it right,
get the right girl
still have some fun tonight!
Pull off a keen style of not trying... Am I doing alright?
They won't force clothes grafted to my body anymore.
Leave tee off to relieve a strong fit, and
save the laundering off of your projectile vomit!

I will wait for you, as I reflect on the rutt I puffed myself into,
from an unfiltered cigarette.
Fooling around and drooling was the most action most ever thought to get...
From a mess and a Springtime fling I can't forget!
What a springboard into another weekend.
Weeping from the rewards I've been reaping!
Oh, how much I gain from being the only one to abstain from the insane!
I get...
Less regret; no need to reset mistakes from being fake or too-hard plastic.
Disregarding movements so spastic
they hardly even make the sense you were aiming for.
She's not so dense, just needs to sneak in a window to open her right door.
I chalk it up to MTV and another stacked bloody mary.
What a teaser, (rhymes with a full moon).
How to please her might be askin' certain doom...
Go through the door on the left to her room
on the floor, laughter squirms.
On the walls is not a word to be read and heard.
So over my head, it can't be understood.
Too many wasted opportunities to get it right...
All the words in the world, locked up inside.


Mike O'Toole

"Confrontations, Mutated (Breathing Room)" - 12/18/05

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

"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

"(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

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

"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

"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

"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

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."

"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

"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

"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

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