Poetry becomes me,
I become a verse.
Words flow from within
my twisted mind
to alleviate life's curse.

Poetry defeats me,
I succumb to its heavy load.
Confusion reigns as I
wield a pen
to relay my thoughts in code.

Poetry defines me;
I am but a willing slave.
The chains cut deep
into my skin
as I hide inside my cave.

Poetry becomes me.
I am everything I write.
Once upon a time
I had no voice
until poetry shone its light.

As I tiptoe towards our bed,
you lie — snuggled,
beneath the covers.

Gently, I place a kiss
upon your warm cheek,
whispering
sweet nothings.

Those beautiful Southern eyes
open with a soft and
deliberate smile.

Together,
our bodies embrace.

We are blessed —
for this is pure love.

I said, "No,
it's my turn
to watch
you
burn."

The old man
drifted into memories—
technicolour visions
of a young farmhand,
naked to the waist.

Sweat added a glossy shine
to an already impressive torso.
Mary, the land owner's daughter,
gazed longingly at her fancy,
then approached, offering
homemade lemonade.

He nodded thanks,
drinking the glass down
into his empty,
thirsting stomach.
They both smiled.

Slipping from the memory,
the old man
closed his eyes,
took a final breath,

and then
once again —
tasted lemonade.

Sweet Caroline,
You're on my mind.
You're a crazy minx,
But you're pretty fine.

I can't deny,
I miss you close,
So I read your words
To get my dose.

Caught in a maelstrom
veins a poppin'
thunder rolls and
the storm's not stoppin'
On my feet
to Eminem
Stan's the main man
in dis old skool gem
Dido singin'
alarm bells ringin'
Year 2000 —
opportunities
bringin'?