I don't think there's ever been a time in my life when I've felt so compelled, and been able to make decisions with such conviction as I am today. Maybe it's a symptom of growing older, maybe it's just that I finally have some semblance of actually knowing what it is that I want out of life. Maybe, maybe, maybe... Maybe it's more simple than all of that. I'm tired man, bed is gonna feel so good.

forgotten families and hollow points
my books fill me with the emptiness of space
they pour their stories
into the vessel of my mind

This is the last time
I ever mistake tail lights
for the sunset.

Take a minute,
a breather,
a respite.

You lead me
quite well,
my friend,

but

I'll never be caught dead
treading water
in your wake again.

rather be honest
and alone
than live
together
under false pretenses.

I think,
therefore I am
thinking.

...At least I think I am...

When clouds move aside
and let the rays shine,
life seems to be smiling.

Radiant teeth are
a mid-June sky
biting ceaselessly
into my eyes.

There's a space between
you and I
that I just don't seem
able to find.

More of the same *******
each and every day

Saccharine and sanguine
the allure of a pink tummy
I reach out to rub and squish
but then I'm halted.
Daggers for hands,
I'll be bleeding again,
but the brief soft touch
may just be worth it.

Ain't been a man of my word lately,

feels fine.

Just fine.

nevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertryn­evertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertryne­vertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynev­ertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertryneve­rtrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynever­trynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevert­rynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertr­ynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertry­nevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertryn­evertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertryne­vertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynev­ertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertryneve­rtrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynever­trynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevert­rynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertrynevertry

I'm wearing a gun
And a **** ring,
I don't know which one
Feels better.

Anyone can be a god.
But it takes true grit to be a dog.

filth filth filth burn trash garbage burn disgust filth burn filth burn burn burn

Is anyone here?

Always

That bitter brass crash
punctuating every beat
is jarringly unsettling,
just a toy monkey indeed.

Tell me what it really means.
Tell me what it stands for,
why was such a thing created?
Wound up tightly, set it free.

The zombies will all chase it,
relentless and ever mindlessly.
Just a toy monkey?
More like a bomb, indeed.

Its a poetry website lol you have to write a poem rofl

everything
everything is a bruise
painted and dyed
black and blue

and I'm tired of
I'm so tired of the light
please feed me darkness
I've got blackened blues

with purple and yellow
and green sometimes too
broken blood vessels
just make me miss you

her name always looked better
written in the condensation
accumulated on the shower door

I'm writing this for you,
dear reader,
and I know you know
that I hate you
more and more
each and every
day.

Coiled tightly
and buzzing with flies,
on the sidewalk
is where it lies.
I stop to admire
the odoriferous tang,
as a bicycle tire
cuts it neatly in twain.

whatever

blahblahblahwordsblahblahrhymesblahblahblah

Even the loudest dreams
drift off into oblivion
upon my waking.

I see her every now and then, always briefly.
She's busy these days. Holiday season. Peak.
The little white van is gone before I know it,
she's in and out of it in a flash of packages.
A blizzard of letters.

She delivers them precisely, but not rigidly.
She flows, dances with deliveries.
She carries Christmas cards and bills,
her arms full of presents come early.
She brings pen pals to fruition,
she brings eviction notices.
She dances with deliveries.

I smile and watch,
idly sifting through my new envelopes.
Bill from my therapist, local tax reminders,
coupons for the hardware store.
Oh, and a birthday card from my Aunt!

I want to ask the woman in the little white van
if there's anything else for me. A letter from Dad maybe.
Foolishness.

Maybe I'll start buying more things for myself,
making sure to ship them USPS. Little tchotchkes,
trinkets or what have you, it wouldn't matter.
Just to have her dance my way more often.

It's really affecting me,
much moreso
than I initially anticipated.

Should've figured.

Now and then, words fail me.
I can't find the right ones,
I stutter and mumble.
Expression is lost to me.

Yet late at night
I can communicate perfectly,
armed with nothing more
than a pair of headlights
and their high beam counterparts.

"Go ahead," I think to myself.
Ka-chk ka-chk ka-chk.
"Make your left turn, friend."
In return they then light up my little smile
with a quick and brilliant "thanks."

Fat people are so gross.

I wear my watch;
all of the time.

Like what lies between these words,
miles and years isolate us,
empty characters filled with rust
and time filled with beers
drive us further away
each and every day.

And we are forever left longing
for each other's lust,
with bitten lips
and lack of trust.

My girl gets paid
to spend time with this dude
to catch fish all night
and occasionally take a cruise
in his car,
or whatever the **** he drives,
to his other job
where he brews wine
in order to get a scale,
not like the scales on fish,
just a scale that
they can weigh the fish with.

But it's cool man, he's got a girlfriend.
What's her name again?

Girl, womanhood's a boon.

Shine sunlight on your
orchid in full bloom.

Girl, we'll reap, for we've sown.

Your pink flower's slick with
early morning dew.

Mouth watering, do you salivate too?

Taste me, tasting the
spring sweetness of you.

Planted, that fertile soil in June.

So smooth and so fair,
fashion isn't really my taste
but her legs are my new favorite accessory.

Whether as a scarf on my neck,
or as a belt cinched to my waist,
**** they sure do look fine wrapped around me.

That sun is deceiving.
Faux fluorescence, fickle morning light.
In my eyes
so bright,
on my skin
cold as night.

Conniving contrivance of combustion,
yellow liar in the sky
feeding my hopeful mind
full of summertime delight.

Don't step outside,
lest you find
that sun is deceiving.
False light,
bitterly white,
dancing in the
azure heights.

Words.
They spell it out for me,
and shine light on my ignorance.

I close my eyes
and see everything,
on the inside of my eyelids.

I don't want to write anymore.
Stop reading this.
Please.

Girl, you're never more beautiful
than when you're crying.

Twine eyes
wrap me up,
back and forth
is good enough.

Bound to look,
love is tied
with your two spools
of blue twine eyes.

No microphone,
just a stick in the dirt
but that doesn't mean
it's all she's worth.

Writing in circles,
spinning my wheels
in the loose gravel,
in the muddy fields.

Bound to look
into knotted pines,
******* visions
of your blue twines.