I just want to sing

about everything

and smile and smile.

Oh boy do I love
just pumping out these ****** poems,
hope your eyes are hungry
dear readers,
because you may feast upon
my endless defecation.

What's a little distance and time,
when they're the only two things
left standing between you and I?

There's a thunderstorm in the sunlight
beneath the sky we share.
Yet it just doesn't seem quite right
without having you here.

So I'll make do just killing time
waiting for the rain to quit,
because once I can call you mine
I'll be happy that I did.

Then we can scour the earth
in search of those bright grey days
that made the wait worth
spending it alone in the rain.

When I stop
to read the signs
I can feel them
reading me instead.

How do you tell her
that you're going to break her heart?
How do you say
that she's just an escape?
Just a drug used to forget,
just a fleeting regret.
How do you tell her
she's better off without you?

Light and the sun it's from,
both burn my eyes in the morning.

As I wait for the day to pass,
I can't quite seem to grasp
the inevitable truths
of time slipping by.
Leaving me behind.
Leaving us all in dust.

God is the way sunlight bends through an empty shot glass,
throwing cascading fractures on the solemn bar top.
God is the skin I crawl in
and peel away by two layers at a time
above the ****-filled blisters left
by that same old sun
on happy afternoons.

God is a drunk
and doesn't give a ****
about what
I think he is.