I always said,
"What a man has in his pockets,
says a lot abut him."
I still believe that.
A man carries what he thinks he needs,
or what he thinks will get him what he wants.
As I've grown I can say,
I like how my pockets speak of me.
Some whiskey, some ****, a couple smokes
always a journal and a pen,
or two.
An empty wallet,
and at least two lighters;
that's very important.
With a little intuition,
someone can put those pieces together,
and know me.

Do her eyes still change,
to slate grey in anger?
Do they still turn to blue when it rains,
and when she cries?
I always tried to tell her,
those demons would hang her.
"You're just bound and determined,
to decline til you die."

Like the meteorites we flock to the fields to gaze upon,
I don't want to burn out.
But how do you stop the source from getting eaten away
When the fire's already hot and bright?

I'm stuck in this castle
Never to return to the ground
I will never see people again
I will never get to walk around

On the sweet grass
Or in the cold water of the lake
OH HOW DO I GET DOWN?
How much effort will it take?

I don't understand
What I did to **** her off
She probably chooses at random
Who she wants to lock up

She's a wicked witch
Who will never get caught
Because nobody can beat her
No one's smart enough for her plot.

The truth is I don't think of you
much anymore,
but when I do I think of you
laughing
late at night, happy
under the stars
with a love for another
in your heart....
in a city that isn't ours.

I write my lines in a corner of this dimly lit bar,
unnoticed.
People float around me like fireflies,
little sparks in the darkness
unaware of their own illumination.
I take every ember
and stoke a fire that holds me over,
for the night.
I don't need permission,
to perpetuate my own existence.
I trade what little I know freely.
Only hoping for inspiration,
one more poem,
one more line,
just one more word.
If you drop it I'll pick it up,
no need to feel indebted.
For every word I leave I know,
the world is better than when I met it.