Echoing memories.
Singing along.
A sweet siren's song,
Beckoning in reverse.

A simple task,
Ignore the past.
Stay true to your course.

Coarse or fine,
Threaded divine;
Fascinating fasteners.

Dogs will bark,
The sun will rise
And, memories
still whisper.

when I stop to think
about kissing you
It usually reminds me
of the last guy's
**** you ******.

What would you say
if by some miracle
I found you today?

What would you say?

Soon the memories you're making now
will be the ones you long to remember.

I'd break all of my fingers
before ever quitting
writing about you.

It smells like chlorine and sweat
It looks like tangled sheets
It tastes like salt and milk
It feels like ecstasy
It must be love

All the loudest folk lie endlessly,
while the honest and the truthful
never speak a single word.

You and I both know
that I'm all for show.

a walk in the park,
or a waltz in the dark

it don't matter to me
I'm pretty easy

so put on your jacket
or take off your pants,
and lets dance already

The smell of burning tires
and ammonia
lingers.

I've viridian envy
for your Teflon tongue.

How painlessly your words slide
from between your lips.
Sure it may be non-stick,
but it sure is cancerous.

I'm always tied and tired.
A stuttering, blundering mess.
That's all that I can manage
when I try to address.

I'm a poor orator.
A vocal trainwreck.

Thus I turn to an inky friend:
My true new blue pen.
My words don't fumble,
or stumble around,
when I take the time
to write them all down.

My fingers don't stutter,
they don't get stuck on
certain letters.
They don't get stuck on
my first name,
or last.

I'll write it all out for you,
I'll write the whole world down.
Although I have to take a break
at least for right now, because

my hand is starting to cramp.


I guess it was all just a moot truth.
I guess my muscles do stutter too...

Hold her hair back,
keep her shirt tight,
help me pick the lock
on her door tonight.

I love you Bobby Pin.

Maybe not a house,
but I'll buy us a trailer.

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"trust..."
she sighed,
"trust is just a product of
your horrendous lies."

I never could find a way
to make her see that
the lies I tell
tell so much about me.

So I kept quiet
and agreed with her
in one last lie.

Fear whispers in the night.

"Come,"
the voice of a fallen angel.

A voice like wind chimes
being dragged down a gravel road.
Like a harp
tumbling down a staircase.

Fear slithers from under a tinct veil of doubt,
that dark curtain hung behind my eyes.

Fear is there,
disguised as apathy.
Sopping with facades.
Laden with guilt.

Fear is here and I see it clearly.

I wonder if everyone else does too.

Where's the mothballs?
I hate this place,
the empty ******
is a stinking disgrace
and Vincenzo should know
that he's too old to be doing this
all on his own.

But maybe he can
be the last one standing,
at the end of the night
I'm just a man
too drunk to know right
from wrong.

I still think anger is foolish
I still hope sadness fulfills
I still want happiness to fade
I still wish for fears to embrace
I still doubt my love
I still trust in myself
I still sympathize with pain
I still long for the rain
I still dream of yesterday

I still hate
I still hate
I still hate

*******!
How did you get down there at the bottom of my beer?!
Oh ****, don't drown down there!
I'll save you dear!
*gulp

Constantly accommodating conditionality
has steadily become entirely intolerable,
thus this premonition of exquisite repose
grants my psyche an opportunity to rejoice.

Bought floss
three years ago.

Maybe longer.



Still have plenty.

The zipper cried
as I ripped it open
and I took deep breaths
before lighting
a cigarette,
and sigh
blue clouds into the mist.

She said something,
what was it?
I turned to hear her better.
It was something about her hair
wasn't it?
So I told her:

"I think your hair is beautiful,
I love you."
I said,
then hesitating
with a shocked look
wrapped round my head.
She smiled at me
pleased
and began to giggle.

I didn't mean to say it,
it was far too soon.
Admitting I loved her
just reinforced the fact
that we've been together forever
and there was no going back
to the lunch table at noon.

Hey I'm feeling ****** for myself,
so let's write some ****** poetry!

Oh boy I'm getting drunk!
*Again

The next time I come see you
I want to read to you.
Like you always used to read to me
before turning out the lights.
For every time I wouldn't hold your hand,
I want to hold it twice as long now.
When the blankets slide down too far
I want to put them back on you.
If your pillows fall flat
I want to fluff them for you.
When you cry
I want to be there with
a fresh tissue for each tear.
I want to quit my job
and be there next to the bed with you.
I want to ask you what I should do
when my world is falling.
I want to do everything you do,
and be just like you.
I want to laugh.
I want to hear you laugh.
I want to read to you,

forever.

Turning into ashes,
burying themselves,
people been really
making that decision
more and more
these days.

Guess it don't make
a great argument
for the state of things.

People'd rather live in hell
than deal with living here
for one more day.

Maybe they're renovating down there.
Maybe it's nicer these days.
I'm sure I'll see it too one day,
one way or another,
but till then I'm just praying
we all stop preying
on ourselves.

I go out of my way
to hate everything you like,
I try my best
to offend you.

I hate you all,
readers of my words.

Your taste is ****
and this isn't poetry.

Find a fire
and die in it.

I don't want to write anymore.
I hate using my words.
I just want to point and grunt
to indicate the things I want.

Dear god I miss her so much
dear god I hate her so much
dear god I miss her so much
dear god i love her so much
dear god i miss
dear god i hate
dear god i love
dear god
dear god
dear god
DEAR GOD
DEAR ******* GOD
DEAR JESUS CHRIST
DEAR JESUS ******* CHRIST
dear santa, what i want for christmas is..

"What was I thinking about? Ah who cares, I'm mashed

Totally ******, can't hardly ******* stand
This is ******* amazing"

Three whites walk into a bar.

With a gaze like this,
***** is never too far.

Can't quite find a way out.
Myself and my own capabilities
are the things that I doubt.

Sent it out, in the mail your
little package of sensibilities.
I'm just afraid of failure.

When the sun shines brightly in my eyes
with clear skies and blue eternity,
I can't seem to stay in this disguise.

It feels too **** good.
With perfect certainty.
Letting go, like I knew I would.

[Prose]

Countless overlapping stickers speak
more history than a sacred sacrament.
The guitarist's personal bible
is the case for their instrument.

The air doesn't smell any different
on this cold October day.
So life goes on,
just feeling more
like a gift now
than it did before.

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.

Is it still a lie
if deep in my heart I believe what I'm saying?

Is it still a lie
if I'm ******* insane?

Is the line as fine as you think it is?

I'm never quite sure.

typing is hard