I have my feelers out
maybe I'm just grasping at straws
Grasping at strands of blond hair
as you pull away from my embrace
I don't care if it hurts
I just want you
down on my level
feeling
how I feel
I grasp and I *****
Hands out, making my way through the dark.
I think I see light at the end of the tunnel
Oh, it's only you.
Nov 30, 2011
Nov 30, 2011 at 1:45 AM UTC
I'm starting to think that in my endless quest for attention
Instead of chasing after slammed doors & second chances
My time would be better spent with those who stuck around.
But this may just be the euphoric recall
of a man addicted to heartbreak
so much that he keeps going back to
the same abusive dealer,
the same dealer of abuse
in the hopes that the rush
of his first love being ripped away
will come flooding back
And sometimes I think
I'd be better off famous
Because people would be paid
to love me
And all those who scorned me before would
come bearing gifts at my feet
and I would shun them,
and they would thank me
for my precious time.
'Cause that's all it comes down to,
How much time you have & who to spend it with
Time is the world's currency;
It's priceless.
And when I finally prove my worth
-When I'm finally worth your time-
Will you finally spend it on me?
Feb 16, 2011
Feb 16, 2011 at 8:58 PM UTC
I am a rock.
Solid and stoic.
I can sustain my will even in the strongest storms
And laugh at weaker things.
Yes, I am a rock.
And I am as dumb as one, too.
Rocks don’t have friends.
No one to share their feelings with.
Rocks sit alone, saying nothing
As I do so easily.
It’s a simple life, being a rock
No one need look after you
You can leave a rock for days, years, even decades
Gathering moss in a bold, unmoving sort of way
And when you return
That rock will be right where you left it
Unchanged,
Still a rock
Silent and strong.
Dec 8, 2010
Dec 8, 2010 at 11:50 AM UTC
Sometimes I still catch myself
Driving down your street
Where I sit with the engine idling,
Contemplating losing my keys
Somewhere in your unmowed lawn
But i guess it's just a phase
I keep wanting to run into you
In places we used to go
So I can tell you off
But I'm afraid that in that moment
There would be no cardboard shield
To hide behind,
No couch cushion fortress to spout from
And I'd have to settle
With ignoring you instead
The truth is I hate you more than Katy Perry
Because you're catchier and
Her words are far less hypnotizing
So consider this my cease and desist
I just hope that when I pull the sheets from over my eyes
Your image will be gone
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 11:42 PM UTC
When for whatever reason we stop talking
And it’s been hours since I last heard you
I start to get antsy and walk upstairs and back
As if I’m expecting someone to show up
But you never do because
You’re too far away and working and
I find beauty in the strangest things like
Wanting to see you again
But not knowing
Which room is yours and panicking
Because I don’t want to knock on the wrong door
So I’m running down the hall staring at the numbers
Trying to make some synapse connections
It’s like I’m a starving kid
Who keeps on checking an empty fridge
Expecting the scenery to change from the last open
Only it’s not a fridge, just my empty chest since
I have no need for a heart or lungs
Because my heart’s always broken and my breath always lost
And I’m still running circles on the staircase
Trying to remember which floor I need to be on
To be on the level
But I can’t understand how they go from twelve to fourteen
It’s as if the other floors muscled out the thirteenth
Because it was home to too many bad memories
And domestic disputes
Now my eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of my head
And the corridors go on forever
But when my legs finally give out and I collapse on the floor
I will be sprawled out before your feet
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 11:24 AM UTC
My brain atrophies
And still I wait
As if someone will
Come carriage me off
The curvature of the planet
And bestow upon me gifts
I have no title to.
I walk between the aisles
Quietly admiring the mass of produce
Bared fruits eagerly poised
Waiting to drive home in the back seat
To be manipulated and munched
And hastily shoved into lunchboxes
While the coffee smugly percolates
But the engrossed bins prove
Too bountiful to harvest—
My appetite no longer yearns
For the gifts at its feet.
I swear not only did the price go up
But the loaf got smaller
That’s all dreams turn out to be
An amalgam of juxtapositions
So we stand on both sides of the river
While trying to swim against the current
And we know
It’s much too late to still be awake
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 8:51 PM UTC
This is not how I planned to spend my evening.
All I end up feeling is the equivalent of being punched in the face for two hours straight.
And at the end of the day, that’s not something I want to do.
Yet here I am, sitting here with a big, stupid grin on my face.
And all you give me is one word answers
And eventually silence.
Music to my ears.
My hand twitches on the edge of the table
Because all I want to do is upturn the already stale dinner
And scream while you pull noodles off that over worn dress.
But instead I just stare
And grin politely
While you silently slurp your soup
And leer once in a while.
I have no appetite.
Later, you’ll refuse to take off your jacket
As you press your hips towards mine
And my mind will drift to thoughts of the schoolyard
When I used to run from trailing girls
Afraid of imaginary diseases and unaware of real ones
All the while you’ll keep your arms at your sides
And my whispers of adoration go unanswered, or unheard
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 8:50 PM UTC
I feel
Like retiring to my bed
And lying there
Until spiders come
And cobweb me securely
To the wall I stare at
I feel
Like I’m typecast
As Pagliacci,
Recitar! Vesti la Giubba
Sung ad nauseam
Until a shepherd’s crook tugs me
Through the curtain
And it seems
I haven’t grown tired of losing
My footing while I reach for the summit
And I feel
Like there are only so many times
Someone can tourniquet their limbs
Before hesitantly clutching
To the handle of another departing car’s door
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 8:49 PM UTC
How lucky I must be
To have been born when I was
The middle of autumn,
A score ago
To have grown up as I did
Playing with stick swords
And scraping with villains only imagined
To have been fighting for love
Before the term was defined
How lucky
That I didn’t grow up decades ago
Before you were so much
Or even had such
A thought
I was blessed I didn’t develop ideas
Only to rust sleepily in a corner
While you gasped for your first breath
And how fortunate
That in this so-called tragedy
I was not cast as Yorick, the foolish
To think I was already dead
How lucky I must be
To have grown up so fast
To be mature enough to be burdened
By your memory
How serendipitous, auspicious
That I have the strength
To bear the weight
When you could not
How lucky I must be
To be able
To live
With a shadow over my head
And “love” written on my wrist
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 8:46 PM UTC
Like a Hemmingway
I wish to shoot myself in the head
In the hopes that what comes out
Will fall on the page in just the right way
That she is left in awe
Of my scattered (splattered) thoughts
As though I were Van Gogh
I slash and sever my body
And offer it up to passersby
Who only offer indifferent glances
While I slowly bleed to death
Atop another blank canvas
And just like the great wordslingers
Luminaries who build empires from pen strokes
I will take the stage with my magnum opus
Only to crumble to dust in the light
Jun 17, 2010
Jun 17, 2010 at 8:41 PM UTC