I didn't come here for the overpriced beer, that's not gonna cure what ales me.

What ales me is here, hidden beneath the cure.

Inaccessible, leaving hope that makes it only more painful.

They don't know what to make of me, for I am not defined.

But it's their indifference that chisels away at parts of me until these parts are no longer mine.

I am not crazy, repeating these patterns.
Dropping placebos and falling victim to patterns.

The deafening music, sweating skin and the passion.
I watch the others take it in, it's my only distraction.

And she'll turn to me at the most awkward time, maybe buy me a drink or feed me a line.

And she knows she's just fishing to see if she's still got it. And when I force a half smile she knows for a second I bought it.

If I turn her away then I'm the **** and mistaken, I'm left with only myself to blame.

If I tell her we've never met that it's her that's mistaken, she'll have her confidence restored and her senses awaken.

She'll move on for the night and look to upgrade. I'll sit and try to explain away the trap that she laid.

It gets late enough that I can pretend that I tried, and I make as if I have a reservation with a cabbie outside.

We're all born alone. Everyone dies. But for a few seconds, a few get to lie.

It's ok that she didn't show because you see...
Guys like me, we don't belong in relationships. Our love is fixated.
We love the adrenaline rush and beating heart from approaching a beautiful stranger, like a social skydive when your destination is beyond the clouds and the mystery...

of never knowing where you'll wake up next. Because you haven't seen every shade of green eyes, until you've seen them against the many magnificent backgrounds of the world and we love the sinful opportunities....

that come from being at the right place... at the right time... with the wrong person.

I'm reminded of a scribble on scrap paper
Cardboard. Brick wall.
as if from an 'Unknown' creator.
Smeared by the rain.
No room for grammar.

A faded stain.
Written in the moment.
Full of content; lacking in substance,
Read forever out of context.



These words reflect the reader.
Written not for the receiver.
Nothing more now that a splash
of inspiration.
No less a tool in it's creation
than the recorder or the pen.

Don't focus on the subject,
The message will be wrong.
Compare a lady with any woman
Who has ever come and gone.