Sometimes I write just to write

other times I can't sit still,

my body becomes shaky,

and against my very own will,

I write down my most personal thoughts,

and figures,

and illustrate my fears,

and suddenly it triggers

a waterfall of bottled up tears.

My fingers are rather cold

I gently poke a person,

and they jump.

I am so cold,

I make others jump.

My fingers are pretty cold.

and my nose is like the tip of ice.

So when he leans in to kiss me,

he backs up real quick.

And with worry and embarrassment,

he asks: "Are you sick?"

To which I reply,

"No I am not. I am frozen inside and out.

My inners are tied in a knot, and perhaps, maybe, I have gout.

But as far as i've been told, this is just the way I am.

And if it bugs you that much,

Than please pretend to not give a ****."

"Well,"

He bagan,

"It doesn't insult me at all- nothing of that such.

If it bothered me, I would scram;

but you're more than just finger tips,

and you're more than your nose.

Your kiss is like nectar,

every sip I take glows.

You are my hummingbird

and I, your rose."

I Love You,

My Rose.

Those teenage dreams

were deer in the night.

What once was plausible,

now an everyday fight.

The average became my impossible.

As long as I can dodge a bullet,

I'll be alright.

The issue is, I don't know how to fool it-

So there's only failure in my sight.

If anyone could give me some advice,

on how to ease a troubled soul,

why, that'd be nice.

I freak out over the simplest of manners

And I think it's just me,

but I can tell it's a widely known thing.

So every time the sheriff calls

I crawl into a ball and cry

And as all of those tears fall,

I often don't understand why.

oh my goodness,
oh my goodness,

yet again i write to empty and cleanse my soul.

but you lack the understanding of comprehending my being.

"*******"

Ah, yes.

Fatherly love.

Why form an opinion if it hardly ever makes an intense difference?

What difference?

Exactly.

I get angry when I have to wait.

Not cause i'm impatient,

It just gives me more time to contemplate.

Reflection

A distraction from reality

But we need it to recap our morality

So is this theory, this action,

a burdon,

a sin?

Or is it just another activity to pass the time,

or make us grin

Once I begin a thought,

I have no idea where it may lead

And then I think another thought

And I cannot let it be

So the thought I originally thought is left to rot

Thus, my brain is never free.

So I ponder on this rotted thought

With sadness and with glee.

And on this rotted thought I thought,

No one else but me.

But than I thought you thought the same thought,

And I just couldn't see

But if you thought this same thought,

Was it rotted, or was that just me?

How uneventful my life must be

if you're all I pay attention to

With your dark green sweater

and dark black hair

Moondust eyes...

But can you blame me.


Who would be so ignorant as to ignore you?

my baby, my darling:

I will wait for eternity in the depths of this pit

this shadow

always lurking darkness

distance:

may be our dividend,

but right this instance,


I cannot imagine my life without you in it.