Your disinterest is key,
for when my brain bleeds blue.
My mood is ****,
and so are you.

I have oh so many thoughts and feelings,
Hundreds and thousands,
Millions and billions,
But can i put them into words?
No
Not at all
*Never

there's a glass jar around a heart
with titanium tubes feeding into the aorta
It's on a display in a museum
it's art
it's art
the blood looks sort of like
strawberry cream

I fall down, it's no longer bright
Land in a black hole, without light
Oh wait, it's a brown hole tonight
I am falling into your brown eyes
I hope they're authentic, no disguise
Because you truly are a delight
"Oh hey, you look nice"
**** it, you stole my line
"So do you" I weakly reply
My heart thuds and you smile
You lean in, I feel your teasing bite
My tender lips, more than alright
Feel pure pleasure, without fright
There's only excitement, this time
Spare me the misery, my divine
All of the rules have been defied
It's possible that you liked it
But next time you'll deny it
You'll deny my lips with a sigh
I'll deny your denial, what a crime
Better luck next time.
You tasted of... Vanilla, am I right?
You really know how to kiss a guy
Made it feel like my time to shine
Made me feel like I was liked
Pulled my hair, oh, what a life
Held my hands, pulled me in tight
And then a cheeky kiss goodnight
I had to wait for so long... Why?
I guess we've both always been shy
I guess we've both been far behind
But I guess now we would be fine
To hang out, maybe once or twice
With only us, just you and I
That is, if you wouldn't mind
I mean, it's always worth a try
Until then, vanilla lips,
**Goodbye...

Just about.

I go out, for once.
You appear before me and reach instantly for my beloved treasure chest, but I am uncomfortable. No means no tonight, as does it every other night.
You do not step back.
Only the chairs' arms are willing to support me, so my own small hand reaches for your twelve o'clock and now it is you who must flee.
The candles' tongues lick you on your way out.
Explicit.
Are you happy now? Where's your horse and carriage babe?
By the way, you dropped your ******* shoe.
Goodnight.

Today the Irish people witnessed an eclipse in their senses. The morning came over all queer.  Nobody noticed, except the king of bookworms in the book of Kells, and the mice in the Campanile.   I witnessed the eclipse from a windowless room on the 4th floor of the Arts block.  Edmund Spenser's poem, The Faerie Queene,  shall henceforth be named, Long ****, by jury of 5 English Lit. Students and a Lecturer.  Also, Sinn Fein plans to build Jerusalem in Ireland's green and pleasant land.  

Lines written last night over a cup of sugary tea in a public house in North Dublin.

Death come marching in March.
The darkest night with full moon above.
With gloved hands, Death purloins my loved ones.
Takes their coins so they may join the soigne march.

I hear the dull sound of feet over quiet whispers.
Sensing dread before I see the sight.
Death conducting the dead, while abducting new souls.
The march threads away through the night.

Death is a relentless one. The dark menace in an endless pursuit
It becomes clearer as the march gets nearer.
Death hopes to pull up my grass roots
An rope my untethered spirit, whether I consent or not.

Death will not yield to anyone, and I am no exception.
My fate has been sealed. A deadline one can not be late for.
If my body is stubborn, and won't let me give in.
Death will twinge me until I am unhinged.

Each year, Death comes in March
Each year, I watch Death march away.
Each year, Death gets closer.
This year, I will go marching in March.