I just can't stop
replaying it in my head
over and over
again and again.

Soaked sneakers and Jesus,
I felt like a god
and tasted heaven
on your lips.

The sweat sheet cleaned
our muddy feet
and then I found myself
in your hips.

How long does your will run?
Does it bleed through the horizon,
persistently pursuing the setting sun?
Or does it waver in the summer heat
radiating off of these endless streets?
Is it all a mirage, a dream undreamt
from each late night's waking sleep?
How long does your will run,
because mine's only skin deep.

Oh your daughter is lovely,
lovely as rising sunlight.
She shines with such decadence
and banishes the night.
Oh your daughter is precious,
I'll always treat her right.
So I hope that you like me,
please don't be uptight.

Brown bleeds to blue and back again
while man sits upon his legacy
as if it were the throne of a king.

New days come to those
who least expect the throws
of a moral quandary.

New days dream of those
who dream to dispose
of their old ways.

I woke naked atop a sheet lying on the floor
next to a pile of plastic hangers on one side,
her body pressed to mine on the other,
and the faint scent of *** and cigarettes on the air.
Although I doubt you could call it waking
when she and I had such little sleep.

Her alarm was going off somewhere in the haze
and I could feel her skin peel off of mine as
she got up to silence it and call out of work.
I took a deep breath, reveling in the stale air,
and sat up with my back pressed to the wall.
My eyes closed and flashbacks came to the
forefront of my vision from the night before,
my mouth full of her neck,
moans in the dark,
her face leaning out of the window above me
as I smoked outside in my boxers.

I shook myself awake
and the goddess strode her way back in
slowly and salaciously, in a dance with
my tired eyes as they traced the faint figure
that shone through her loose shirt
in the morning light.

I could feel the little time we had
slipping through the curved
hourglass of her body,
and I stood to meet her smile
with a kiss, pulling her against me
with one hand and losing the other one
somewhere in the oceanic waves of her hair.

The flashbacks came again, but differently now.
Years of memories coursed through my mind,
all the times she'd been right in front of me
yet I was too blind to truly see her as I did then.

We dressed slowly in the din of the busy street outside,
gathering the last of her belongings in the empty apartment
and taking them down to her car.

I stepped into the sunlight and lit up a smoke,
it was going to be a hot day,
and she locked the door behind us for the last time.

The car welcomed us as she turned the engine over,
and I buckled up whilst cracking a beer.
The wheels began to spin, I took a long slug,
and she smoked the last three drags of my cigarette,
flicking it carelessly out of the window.

We don't waste time
sleeping the night away,
and home has never felt
so **** distant.

Although that may just be
from all the trips we made
up and down the elevator
of that storage place.

...and the yellow skies
behind her gradient eyes
send me sailing
where gravity's defied
in an upwards sprial
of homelust...

...and Kansas never seemed so beautiful...

If you look hard enough
maybe you'll be able to see
a little bit of your father
deep inside of me.

Or maybe you won't.

But you can still
call me daddy.

It's not the doubt that does it.
It's not the second thoughts
nor is it the insecurities.
It's not about the lack of trust
or the saturated lust,
it's not the natural attraction
or the ****** satisfaction.

It's just the sickening familiarity of it all.
The painful realization that I've been here before, again and again,
yet each time expecting something...

*...different.

Let's just stop and breathe.

Just for a bit,
until the tunnel vision fades
and the circling black dots
clear from my sight.

Until I can inhale
without gasping
and dry heaving,
just a little longer
so the drums
in my temples
cease their
restless beat.

...Just breathe...

Okay.
I'm ready.
******* do it.

I can't hold all of this,
would you lend me a hand?
Come down for me
like I know you can
and stay awhile longer
This time around.

Maybe the days just
aren't long enough
and the miles between
are too far for us.
Come down from there,
and bring a piece of
the clouds with you.

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

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.

Two shots to a beer,
and three beers later
I'm ready to hear
your every word.

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

Never stop smiling,
even if it's through
gritted teeth.

I don't care
if they grow everywhere,
I still think
that each one is beautiful.

It's not easy
trying to decide
on whether to run
or whether to hide.

Because she's a storm,
a torrent of sorts,
and I'm terrified of
falling overboard.

She's ******* ****,
like biting your lower lip and
pulling your hair out ****.
Lazy Sunday morning ****,
the kind of **** that lingers
and continues to surprise me
when I least expect it.

My teeth ache in yearning
to knot my fingers up in
her oceanic waves,
my teeth ache for her
on the bridge above.

My mouth is dry as I sit up,
not knowing where I am.
The fleeting dreams leave me
and I'm left with this throbbing
in my head, nauseated and foggy
in the pale morning light.
Fully dressed in ripped and stained
clothing that reeks of puke and smoke,
gravity presses inwards on my temples
and I want to die like this.

In the grey and hazy aftermath
of a night long forgotten.

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.

Is it ever enough?
I don't want money.

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.

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?

I like this girl, I do.
But I know that nothing will come of it.
So I wish she didn't like me too.
It would be easier.

An ocean on land, sprawling, rippling
in the invisible wind.
Let's roll down that hill again,
if we can.

Skinny girls have big *****,
and that's just no fun.
Sometimes when their pants drop,
it smells like fish and grot.
But that's okay, I'll lick it anyway,
be it the middle of the night
Or the dawn of a new day.
But baby when you ***
that sticky white goo,
I'll pop in a piece of gum
and then I'll leave you.

We re-wrote the whole thing,
from the beginning to the end,
over and over and over again.

Clean your plate.

Bounce and rebound around in my head,
are these voices real?
Whispers of lovers now long gone and dead,
tell me what to feel.

I hate myself.

Brown everything, fair skin and a smile.
I already see her walking down the aisle.
Clumsy and innocent as a child,
I think I might actually stay for awhile
and try to spark a light inside her.
I could go on like this for miles,
as long as I'm right here beside her.

Beautiful brown.
Altruistic smile.

I stepped down into the creekbed
from atop the gravel path leading off into the woods.
and found myself at peace.

It was brief,
but for a moment I couldn't feel her presence
even though she was right behind me.

The shallow water slapped my ankles
and I stood fixing my pants as I scanned my new horizons,
noticing her clear reflection on the water.

Alas, as I turned to offer her a smile
I saw her look down and drop her hands,
putting her phone back into her pocket.

At the time I thought she was disinterested.
Just checking facebook.
Or texting her real friends.

Yet I was glorified whence I discovered she was just taking a picture.

Taking a picture of me.

Me standing in the water,
me scanning my horizons,
and me forgetting all about her.

Maybe if I write a poem about her
she'll finally listen.

(reads through own poems)

Oh, ****, nevermind...
                                                  ..­.I tried that already...

I know the lot of you
liked my ******* plaid poem,
so don't try to hide it
you stupid sheep.

I wonder what it would be like,
were everything a shade of plaid.
Maybe I'll think about that for hours.
Maybe I've just finally gone mad.

*******,
you, the person reading this on the other end of the internet,
and **** your poetry too.

The reason for death, is life.
if there's a reason for life,
I do not know it.

Nor do I care to.

I digress.

The question itself has reasons.
The answer to which we've all been looking for,
for the entire span of our existence.
Searching ourselves for an answer.

Ever since having said existence
****** so unjustly upon us,
like a suit at a funeral,
or the taste of a stale cigarette.

I dream of the gray between the black and white,
I dream of the deaths between lives,
and I dream of watching the sky
through someone else's eyes.

...and I wonder if it looks the same.

I wonder, the last time I saw you,
did I tell you I loved you then?
Because I don't think I ever realized
that I'd never see you again.

Do you think?
Doesn't it hurt?

Songbirds, like lost lovers, call to each other in the pale morning sun.
The wet grass darkens the cloth draped over her torso as she lies
down and considers the people who used to be so **** nice to her.
So joyous, their eyes brimmed with light and appreciation.
She saw those old eyes in the floating clouds, she saw them in the
negative space between the fallen leaves, she saw them seeing her
through the reflections in the ripping creek water as it rushed by.
Little glints of light, like shimmers of the way things used to be,
dance in her sight and taunt her to try and find a way to fix everything.
A way to return the light to her life.
A way to see those eyes again.
The eyes of the people
who used to be so nice.

It's so easy to be kind to people,
the hard part is actually meaning it.

Is it better to be revered,
or just left alone?

I don't know.