I am here, waiting patiently for her,
though long time no see
like in ever, like in never,
my absentia, dementia,
both critiques of self-censure,
here, then, my cadenza,
dedicated solely soulfully for you:

as the sabbath sun rises over the East River,
saying, mocking, laughing upon me,
“still here, though long time no see,”
for though I cannot never look upon her as well,
my sun, my sun,
yet she, too is everywhere-inside of me,
warmly illuminating my muddled mind

I look in the mirror and see
Wrinkles impressed upon me
Some from good and some for bad
I've earned each one, I'm not sad

Each wrinkle tells a story
Some glad some gory
So many ups and downs
Caused the smiles and frowns

I gaze the mirror and ask
Is this really me I take to task?
How did time fly by so fast?
My life is set in wrinkles cast

Upon my face, I wear my life
My sons and dearest wife
Some happened in the fire
Some took form because it was dire

I prefer the ones that came from smiles
A raised brow to see for miles
A ripple around my face pointed up
I wouldn’t remove a wrinkle, it's been my cup

See the world through Van Gogh
Soften your focus and
look out your window

I think I've always had a fascination with the moon
and the sun.
It wasn't one of those things that was all of a sudden or joining the crowd.
It was simply not being shy with my admiration for the moon anymore.

Politicians appear grim faced and contrite offering another sound bite. As angels ascend with lost souls wrapped softly in sorrowful wings

Flashing blade piercing deep another family made to weep. Black on black or white on white crimson flows apon the street

I am numb but I'm in pain
I am healed but still in vain
Please, give me back my hurricane

A moment with you
Is a lifetime
And a lifetime
Is gone in a moment.

Hate is a paper cut
It comes from nowhere
You never know its there
Til you see it

Hate is a paper cut
You can try to  heal it
But the pain doesn't go
Though it does heal

Hate is a paper cut
It can slice through you
But it can heal
Hate is a paper cut

It will grant you mistakes
And hurtful blisters
But it will make you wiser

i want to ask how you are.

A pool of blood is all it takes
For someone to realize they made a mistake

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m ****** –”
I know it sounds ******,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems too *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

I’m sorry I didn’t know you better.

I’ll do my best to listen to every story they tell of you now.

But for what it’s worth, I admired you.

I’m sorry I never managed to tell you that.

I think I know were imagination lives,

it's not in nature or books: it lives in a town called "sense":

two blocks from feeling street and adjacent to lov

You have me by your
Side, when they pull your limits
And you lose your sight

Me(10w)

Dying always seems to happen to someone else... except me!  

Me 2(10w)

It’s always...
someone else dying...
other than me...
why?

Me3 (10w)
Death... like Love...
Always seems to happen
To someone else!

©  2019 Jim Davis

last night,
there were tears in my eyes and i chuckled for a moment.
after so many days,
i finally have the time to think about what just transpired.
i finally have the time to remember you,
to think about the chaos,
the storm you brought in me.
i'm left feeling distraught, not with you but with myself for allowing it.
why didn't i fight the urge to go near you?
logic never saved me, it only made matters worse.
i tried to rationalize every part of you that didn't make any sense.
i tried to explain why every moment we part,
everything burns.
i'm still burning, only the flames are bigger.
and you're still the catalyst.

love is fear
love felt
love is in the air
love desires
love saves
love warms the heart  
love changes
love  is hidden
love choose
love forever

Her eyes
reflect my moon.
In her eyes
it's always full.

you gifted me red roses,
but they withered to black,
i wasn’t a proper water source
to keep them alive.

Both can ****
        The only difference is
                      Cigarettes shatter lungs
         She shatters everything

            I remembered the first moment
my lips pressed the filter
     as I lit it up breathed it all
                savored every smoke
       as if we covered up painful lies
        in a container of painkillers

The same way  
we used to pressed our lips
     sparked something between us
           savored every moment we had
    as if our love was a rose
               in a valley of tulips

(A WARNING TO THE CURIOUS)

Distance yourself
from this world
before you
into its troubled atmosphere
are hurled

i wanna die. i wanna die.
i wanna die. i wanna die.
i wanna die. i wanna die.
but i can't seem to pull the trigger.

Somewhere between the sin of the said and the unsaid, we still found ways to spend all our shooting stars on the same prayer; believing if the cost were shared, gifts would lose their value and become untruth.

You are the love I call, “good night”.

i see the flyer at starbucks

"are you caucasian?
without mental health
and drug problems?"

wow
i don’t know the answer to any of these questions
is a jew a caucasian?
is the occasional *****, ****-slamming drunken rampage
a drug problem?
as for mental health
i’m a deadbeat poet and unpopular pop musician
i’ve got a job fighting death and boredom
and i just changed my facebook password to "eat ****"
my frustrations have driven weaker souls to homicide
but are these PROBLEMS?

so I noticed that we both drink coffee.
just like anyone, we both like ours a certain way.
i like mine sweeter, with just the aftertaste of coffee there.
caramel, sugar, creamer.
i think about when i’ll have my next cup, and the idea of it alone makes me happy.
i don’t care what time of day i have it, i almost always have a cup.
i make time for my coffee.
it might be safe to say i think you like your coffee black.
you might add just the smallest touch to soften its bitter taste, but never too much.
sometimes i think you just pour it and carry on, as though it’s nothing important at all.
as though all it is, is just some quick fix.
like you just want to get it over with.
we drink it in two different ways.
i drink it slowly.
i note every flavor in every sip, i enjoy it.
i note the warmth it brings me.
i like it all hours of the day.
you drink it quickly.
quicker than me, at least.
you don’t care if it burns your tongue, or perhaps you’re used to the pain.
you accept it.
you never let it last, you move on to something else soon after.
i lay in your bed, watching your eyes as they skim the screen in front of you.
your mind is somewhere else.
i savor the moments you look my way, if even for a second, and smile at me.
i wonder if you even notice them.
i feel your laugh vibrate my bones, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
do i make you feel at all?
i reflect on it every time i drink my coffee.
i think about it with each and every sip, taking my time.
something tells me that you don’t do the same.
after all, it's just coffee.
but i put my all into this coffee.
i think you like your coffee black.

Flaccid is death

like snow drifting to earth

a dearth of visions dimly illuminated,

question sanity, humanity and such

yet snow like dust

swirls and blows away

and life's imprint

soon melts

like footprints

on a snow covered day.  .

Sigh, we live, we die,

so who am I

to ponder fate

with innate lines

when the sand is

dwindling and I'm

running out of time?

Sigh!