This is for all the ones I used to adore,
the ladies who left before we could explore
a love I have long since lost access to.

This is for each heartbreak that cracked
the beating bit of fabricated flesh that is
not supposed to be damaged like this.

The little red head, the blonde one,
the childhood friend who moved on before,
I realized that we were two coins
floating on the same side in this sad life.

This is for the little boy’s broken dreams,
all those starlight space farer’s fast schemes
of far off fantasies with romantic space queens.

This is for the last chance solo dance
as I face the place where I live alone,
preparing to die in a home
were my hideaway heart stays
because it is tired of trying to play a part
in this human race.

To the one I lost
before we ever met,

to the potential mistake
that I would
never regret.

Oh, that I knew you true
but how can I forget
something I have never known.

A wisp of passing wonders
a vault of sparkling dreams
that playout behind the fantasies
and delirious daydreams
of what if realities.

Still, such sorrows spill
as I swallow that sad pill
I feel the poison of
a love that never was.

Life is a nine to five
prison that no one
gets out of alive.

With the dirt brown doors
to the reflective wax floors
that janitors clean every night
after computers lock the building down,

and we fill up the cubicles,
dull gray squares were
we put the professionals
cause that is what they
went to school for.

Eight hours on and overtime,
a couple smoke breaks,
and an intermission for lunch,
but I got a sick hunch
that this groundhogs day
will take me straight
to my grave.

So, every morning
when I wake up,
I take my vitamins,
and drink my
vegetable gunk,
trying to be healthy
so, I can hit the gym,
and head right back in
to my personal work prison.

When she said, Don't talk to me,
She lost some of her voice.
Then I heard, Don't look for me,
She gave no other choice.
Don't touch, I have no feelings,
You make my skin crawl,
Don't expect a pick up,
If you pick up to call.

But I still smell her everywhere:
The shampoo used on her hair;
The bedsheets where we lay bare;
The fragrance of her festive tree;
Her aromatic herbal teas;
The lilies she could grow in sand,
Are sensational in my memory glands.

I wish you would stop searching for love
within people
and things

the only place you'll find it is if you search within.

Being real is
the simplest
form of honesty.