When all places seem to be dead ends,

The whole world may not forgive you,
But you will have made peace with yourself.

Acceptance of the right to improve
The most righteous way of life.

Here’s to repentance
For both wrongdoings and misgivings.

Here’s to never expecting a reward
In exchange or insulting behavior.

Let’s be politely honest all the time.

It’s all about ushering in self respect.

For Sure,
Sean M. Smith


Sunshine and silhouettes
Rain puddles and mock ballet
Pity prancing is not begging

Sonic ocean sounds of love
Begging for no more beached whales.

Mother moon motivated to shine.
Most beautiful day
Transformed into starlit empire

Both north and south American night.

Goodnight East Coast
Enjoy Midwest
West coast keep boarding

May every family feel and be one

Moonlight-sunlight oceans that breathe
With gills and not pills

May flood us once more
With Gods as of beacons
And not guns as our quantum solace

Let us all praise the starlight’s armamentarium.

Tale of Horror

Truth is, I have never been more traumatized than a week ago.  Waking up in cold sweats is unfortunate. But, last weeks nightmare was no ordinary journey into the abyss. In fact, I’d prefer to undergo the frightening and miserable near-oblivion that is delirium tremens again instead of my nightmare.

It was a Friday… a rather glorious Friday to be specific. Singing abounded. Cool breezes caressed my ruddy cheeks. Massive, snowy mountains surrounded my humble residence. I was no longer failing the Spring semester at UA-Tuscaloosa; instead, I had finalized my failures. Relieved and reinvigorated, I was indeed.

Due to my Mother’s excessive worry and my Father’s consistent silence, I elected to try to quit smoking coffin-accelerants with the assistance of nicotine patches. A week ago, I put the patch on my first patch.

To my surprise, I was not experiencing cravings, or more irritable than any other morning. I danced about the yard. I did not over eat. The patches seemed to have no side effects. Like any sane twenty-tree year old, I decided to celebrate.

I got drunk as fuck as quickly as I could.

I basked in the glory that is alcohol for a few hours. To elaborate, I did what any drunken, lonely man my age should do: sang songs, wrote poetry, read literature. As the tilt-a-whirl express began to embrace my consciousness whilst simultaneously disorienting my equilibrium, I began to doze off. Before I began to snore, I let out a magnificent breath and smiled myself to sleep.

Next out of fucking nowhere, I am subsumed by shrill, vicious tar monsters. The sheer amount of fear those inter dimensional demons instilled puts the moments of sheer terror during acid into the category of bummers.

As what seemed like eternal damnation continued to never cease, I began living out my living in a way I never had before. The fresh perspective was unfamiliar. It was ghost-like. It was ghastly. Sensing everything that could have been through the minds of everyone I currently miss or once knew, the sheer amount of loathing and disgust expresses about my character was like a scimitar to soul.

Then, I saw myself in a karmic mirror with skin as permanently damaged as my lungs. I began shedding tears of tar. Far from lucid, entirely wanting to die, the scene transformed into me playing ping pong with my former smoking buddy, who hasn’t spoken to me in six months. I was so relieved my laud a lord in whom I do no believe in was sky bound.

In a characteristic dream like fashion, there was a vicissitude that shattered my psyche to smithereens. I’d rather my ten year child friend move away all over again. My ping pong pal transformed into the ghost of my dying older brother who said loudly and clearly, “Everything you just saw was me. It was an experience of all you would have known about me if you weren’t off killing yourself twenty times a day.” It should be stated here that my brother is not dying in real life.

As the dream was clearly ending, I saw my old mathematics professor twirling a strange, infinite lemniscate. He bluntly stated, “Best of luck with your mid-life crisis kid. This was only a dream. It’s the rest of your life that is the nightmare.” Finally, I awoke coated in sweat with tears in my bloodshot eyes.

Bipolar Romance

It’s red wine nights or an absence of fully blossomed beatitude.

It’s frequent pondering of one day realities and making them come true, me and you.

And, it’s all about the when and why
because I’ll have the how and what down pat.

I will softly and soundly sift through the shit-heads that use me for what is truly, carefully calculated chump change, laughing maniacally along the way.

Blow me, Bitches?!

I promise to sort through the kinks in my life,
projecting nothing nothin short of lovely feelings into your irreproachable, far-reaching, magnificent


They say only make love to one’s wife,

Yet in my opinion, there is much more to living out life and love than sexual exclusivity.

In fact, it is about the heart and heart only.
And, if yours doesn’t race like an iambic amphetamine suburban teenagers once did,

I don’t want you around forever.

To me, and maybe to a few others, monogamy is as limiting as the promises of a beautiful sunrise during my suicidal nineteenth year, during which I was way worse off more frequently than I ever admitted.

Why? Because.

Because it is all too filled with ever so broken, yet not entirely impossible, promises.

At this point, I’d like to confess, that I will always be a mess.

But, I’m fine with them– my crooked dreams
and curiously juxtaposed halo-rings
surrounding imaginary supermassive star solar flares

that are actually me talking about

my future maybe-spouse’s G-spot.

And,  my own Aphrodite, will bow my cock like a cello.
Oh, how our bodies will vibrate harmoniously with laud and vivacity.

Moreover, if you don’t want candle lit lotion massages
And bubble baths after we fuck on the kitchen table,
just tell me.

I can easily run away to another lass with a fat ass in the meadow of blazing hearts that is the land of sweet, sweet love.

Quite frankly, she will be just as wonderful as you in some ways.
But in some respects, you will still be missed.
I guess you can both have bits of my heart.

Furthermore, I dance to Ellie Goulding to work on my strip teases.

I’ve never told any one that secret.

Also, I eat pussy extraordinary well, especially if you rest drugs on your belly as a reward.
But fear not, I won’t rush you.
I’ll just do a line or watch you roll a joint for afterwards.

With Love,
Sean Matthew Smith

Fresh Start

Talking through tears
And venting about issues
I felt resolution in your words
Regarding another man and pillow case tissues.

I have no secret plan
to undermine your dreams of love.

Played my cards right I guess,
Encouraging you to chase love.
The rest of what the night,
Wasn’t conversation of up above.

Neither a promise of marriage,
Nor a prevarication of kinks,
Can be found in just another

Conversations of ours to date.

Whether we find openness, love,
Or a ménage-a-trois, is up to fate.

You see, I blame not the heavens
For romances’s demise,
For the end of youthful relationships
Occurs, often, in light of new beginnings.

Fear not my casting you with to the shadows
With all of your charm, beauty, and charisma!
And if you are you to unearth someone more
calm, cool, and composed than I,
I doubt I the pain will be more than a harrowing cry or two.

But if it winds up as working out
And isn’t just another lustful bout
If you are someone I can enjoy on the long term,
Then there blessed will be us both.