paul-cassano
American
Hello, / my name is Paul, and I live in the state of Maine. I'm 17 happily taken. My interests include: Astronomy, instruments, writing (if that wasn't clear already), emotions, and nature. / / All poetry by http://hellopoetry.com/paul-cassano/ is © copyrighted.
If you're caught slipping
Slip in through the crack, the clock is ticking
Your shirt is caught sticking, splitting at the seams
It seems admitting to yourself you're done for is unremitting,
But "Forest!" is the only thought on your mind, committing
to escape, licking your lips, limping your hips are killing you
2, 3, 4, picking at your ribs, kissing your fingers to God,
apologize for sinning, it's
living like an Average Joe you're missing the most,
Getting and giving lavish flows, spitting your boasts,
You know you were the best, where did it go?
Not committing, from pillar to post
Speaking of post I just hit my head off of this pipe fitting,
I kick the ground, hitting and digging a small hole and sit down
Shit's bound to not end well, I boiled down 3 ideas to 2,
Do I hide and listen for sounds at a distance?
Jump out and visit my enemies to teach em a lesson?
Or do I find a position to grab for a bat or,
plaster my blood all over the wall, make em think I died with no answer
Give these catchers something to cry for,
Shatter their dreams of killing me for an appe-
tite, I think I'd rather die and become a Casper
I'm only a ******* son - a disaster
No sister or mother, I'm a mustard platter
No shout out to Morgan Brown - or the true mustard master.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 8:43 AM UTC
Need some binoculars for you to see?
Please it's not cause you're blind to me
Jeez it's just cause it's far as **** away from this tree
I'm no peeping tom, voyeuristic sightsee
Looks like you're sleeping, boy you're quite the catch
wait I mean girl, actually honestly I have no idea ***** snack
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 8:49 AM UTC
The neighbors are having a party.
Young women are seduced by young men
and the cycle of life has evolved into this
degradation of humanity in the 21st century.
I have taken a large part myself.
Now, however, I sit a room away
with this keyboard, a case of beer
and this pack of cigarettes,
bullying this keyboard as I
punch words out of thin air.
I would take my party over theirs any day.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 12:48 AM UTC
*So it's that time again!
Where was I?
Oh yeah, somewhere else!*
The pragmatic man is back again!
Anti-climactic game plan with slack in the chain
Snagged the habit, kicked it's *** until it's hemorrhagic
A spiky crawlspace,
Dogmatic thematics; slit your throat then cry about it
What an antic! It's kinda romantic... pack your bags and leave you nomad,
No man, would ever wanna deal with your vatic manic fits!
Every fabric of Satan's being isn't satin, it's chintz
Chances are my polysyllabic magic is tragically a product of status;
Maybe it's forced? Course it is, like a birthday party, you get gifts
I think I got this one, and now, I'm an addict
My words are indelible ink, spun in webs like the ones in your attic.
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC
ALTHOUGH I can see him still.
The freckled man who goes
To a grey place on a hill
In grey Connemara clothes
At dawn to cast his flies,
It's long since I began
To call up to the eyes
This wise and simple man.
All day I'd looked in the face
What I had hoped 'twould be
To write for my own race
And the reality;
The living men that I hate,
The dead man that I loved,
The craven man in his seat,
The insolent unreproved,
And no knave brought to book
Who has won a drunken cheer,
The witty man and his joke
Aimed at the commonest ear,
The clever man who cries
The catch-cries of the clown,
The beating down of the wise
And great Art beaten down.
Maybe a twelvemonth since
Suddenly I began,
In scorn of this audience,
Imagining a man,
And his sun-freckled face,
And grey Connemara cloth,
Climbing up to a place
Where stone is dark under froth,
And the down-turn of his wrist
When the flies drop in the stream;
A man who does not exist,
A man who is but a dream;
And cried, "Before I am old
I shall have written him one
poem maybe as cold
And passionate as the dawn.'
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
Back in the day when we could just sit back
Chill out and relax, it was nothing but just that
This one feeling (Psych!) no hidden tax, cleaned up scraps
Advance to attack softly surpass the romance is thick like sap
The impact you had on me I didn't know how to react
The thought is abstract, but intact with vows attached
Our love sapped from each other invitingly,
Finally you see just how much you mean to me
Quite the sheen we had, the luster once explained by Guster
Green light, fourteen, the events unforeseen you must've
Came to me, so afraid, now I'm amazed that I've uh-
found her this early, surely it's not today
It must be a mistake, but I can't contain these sparks
Sparse, is the words I have to say to you, "MONTHS!"
Worse, course you shut a bit of cabinet wood, it creaks
"Curse!", focus not on mom but on her you should be,
gravitational force, by fits and starts, this matter of bursts,
it comes in
I know it but not clear; smokey quarts, ******* crumbs an'
My blank *** mind is turning this into a blank verse
But first, listen to what I have to say, it works!
Not this, at worse I felt reversed, so I put us in park
My feelings for you are neutral, electrons are gone and,
it's too good to be true
You're out of excuses you've run out of time 'n' this shit's on you
For doubt is bruisin', chewin' spun me around and...
Reminiscin' Cough! It even hurts to say
To breathe, my breath, it isn't here to stay
It's kinda like sleeping, it's just a cousin of death
I'm stickin around but not in this circle,
tripping like a round peg in a square hole,
you grind me into this grounded world of mine
Quit it with the same shape jokes fellow,
with your same lame faces, the same claims are racing below
Chasin immortality, thats a futile fantasy, reality
happily robs your dreams candidly, like you did to me
We're done here. Why can't you see
that when the smoke clears, it's crystal but not amethyst or ruby.
Truthfully I don't understand this new "me", I need an analyst
Matter of factfully, that was an accident, kinda like all this was.
I just ate too much and threw up all over this canvas
And it sounds like practice. Maybe I take you all back, just
grow up, crawl then, complain about this slanted stanza
Anxious I am to end the madness, the recent lack of composure.
but you cannot address the cheapest setback: I'm lonely.
The malice, the heartache, the "palace of flattest objects"
The helpless, the sorry, the callous fingers from these projects
What do they mean to you? Anger? Angst?
Somewhat close to a coat hanger, to hang up all of my paint?!
You're like watching grass grow, and for this **** I'm 'bout to mow
"You think you can do these things but you just can't Nemo!"
Here we go-
You know that one time when I said, "I'll always be here."?
I meant it. Now let go! I said it's over, delirious!
I'm serious, who would ever miss this?
I fear some wickedly addictive feelings are making me trapped
but it feels like it's just two ovaries
No wait, it's just you about to ovary-act!
---------------------------------------------
It's a brief pause, but I feel it coming in strong!
The atmosphere is a thief, stealing my breath, so long
I've worked my *** off; it flew away now it's gone,
just like a me to a you, I meet you and ramble on:
I have spent so many days burning our bridges, keeping us afloat
Not once you take time to count me for my vote
Goodbye! Wait, hello... I'm no tough guy, I take chances, though
But you only get one, and this is it, to let you know
I'm outta here for now. And so are you; go.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 5:11 PM UTC
do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,
she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.
she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.
she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.
she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.
Dec 12, 2014
Dec 12, 2014 at 8:25 AM UTC
Spewed out, the Pain, the Shock, the Awe
To hear things never Heard and see things never Saw
The overwhelming light, that falls within my sight
Colors Never seen, and the mystery of the Word
Its only been moments, but I feel so Free and light
As flesh has Fallen away to create this birth...
To think only 72 hours ago, cold and still, I were
In the Coroners Office on a Slab in the morgue
Embowled for the autopsy on a Routine report
The Car Ran the Stop Sign, doing near Ninety
the Glare of the Lights, The Last thing I could See
But its all over, the weight is gone and now I'm free.....JMF 12/11/2014
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
Spittin' the realest **** for better or verse
Converse easily with everyone, but hardly letting it work
Misunderstandment, like a caged animal entrapment,
Guess I'm locked in this aged anomaly detachment.
If it ******* fits it works, in a battle o' wits
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
Something controls this pen I fear,
Something that makes me write these things.
Somebody's voice I think I hear,
Something holding me back from fresh air,
The same feeling you get while on a swing.
Something like ever oppressing foliage, I don't know, something
harsher than the rings around my strained rib cage.
Thicker than the knot on my apron strings,
like the welt given to me from my engagement ring,
Stemming, never growing, although I seem to age.
Sometimes I feel like an caged animal; full of rage
Something is cornering me into a cage, it's like
Backstage I'm him, curtains up and I'm blowing my pressure gauge
Either way I'm an ******* doesn't matter if you turn the page,
the story doesn't change, that's my biggest fear; it's spiderlike.
I am myself, that's what I dislike.
Now I've got all this stress, I can add that too.
On the bottom of self-misconduct, I'm unsportsmanlike.
This game is a game, I'm starting to feel no better than Mike!
I need someone to speak to, to be wise to,
To dig into
Break into
Hell, bump into
Oh **** deja vu
Out of the blue
and into you.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 8:55 AM UTC