Another blank page serenade
Another night lost in memories
Your Valentine's Day agenda
Had time in it for me

Another bomb hitting my chest
Another fire I'm struggling to extinguish
All I can do is be here for you
But maybe you'll never be back

And I need to be prepared for that

Time stopped,
and life died
deep inside
of her eyes.

The arcade,
flooding with
our peers,
surrounded us.

As our lips
touched upon
each others,
it faded.

it all just
faded away.

The only thing
I'm leaving behind,
is time.

Everything else
I've held onto
so dearly.

With a death grip
and cramping
hand muscles.

Blinded to
what's worth
reaching for,
for fear of
dropping
what I'm so
desperately
clutching.

Can't get my **** hard,
I like her too much.

It's funny, the discrepancy.

I've ****** broads
that I don't give a **** about,
****** them hard and
never had this problem.

Love weaves it's intricate web
in my silver-gilded psyche.

It doesn't even matter
if it's love that I'm after.
It's here, and it's taken me,
regardless of what I want.

So I'll be here
with my soft ****,
hoping that love
will reciprocate.

Limply limping
towards my ill-
chosen fate.

Maybe she'll **** herself.

Maybe I'll get her pregnant,
well...
not with this soft **** I won't.
I needn't be paranoid
about that, just yet.

Maybe we can just be...




happy?




Maybe we can tread the waters between
such poetic extremes,
a child,
a death.

So,
would you like to
just float with me?

We can drift amidst
these in-betweens.

dudududud

I'll be whomever you
want I should be

Decomposed and spouting methane
I lie beneath incorporeal trees.
They breathe and bask in the glory
of the thing I used to be.

I tolerate the buzzards with their
hunger for my eyes.
I tolerate the wolves with their
insufferable cries.

Yet even in death I cannot stand it.
I cannot stand your burning love.

The wax drips and
I am but a wick,
fueling your feast of heart.

The cloth rips and
I am but a mannequin,
a grotesque manifestation of your art.

Pin me up in your fields,
in your fields of acrylic and oil.
In your fields of photographs
and I'll enrich your soil.

I'll be your scarecrow,
voiding their caws.

I'll be your mule,
working myself raw.

Three severed devils,
with their golden-cloven hooves,
stampede upon me.

Bodies take withdraws
like beating MAC machines.

I would go and give blood
if they just ******* paid me.

Or maybe if dying patients
actually got it for free.

Another pull of my beer,
another drag on my cigarette.

These are the things
most-worth thinking:

(so this is consumption,
inability to function)

long forgotten is my Alice,
is Laudie, even my Lynette.

There are numerous new reasons
for why I keep drinking.

(Who would ever make that presumption?
Could you prescribe such assumptions?)

Fall deeper and deeper,
like a boat on fire and sinking.

Combustible effervescence;
so easy to keep smoking.

So easy to keep burning yourself,
so easy to keep choking,
  yet hard to forget the thoughts
     that we've all been thinking.

(My money rapidly dying of consumption.
My thoughts now free from corruption.)

I didn't ever really stop to consider the future,
I was always more of a "hung up on the past"
Kind of guy.
I used to think it was romantic, peering at life
Through rose tinted glasses that were
Fogged up with nostalgia to the point
Where it nearly completely obscured my vision.
I liked having those inward facing eyes,
Anyone who saw me could tell that
I wasn't really seeing them back.
They could tell that I was having
Backwards thoughts,
It was selfish
And I ******* loved it.
But now,
I don't like it so much.

I'd like to look
Into the horizon now,
Not over my shoulder
At a long ago fallen dusk.
I'd like to peek
At a dawning landscape
Beneath the rising sun,
And find a path there.
A path that we could walk down,
Filled with laughter and joy.
A path winding through the
Hills of our lives,
With changing elevations
And varying levels
Of difficulty.
I want to camp out,
And lie under the
Blanket of the starlit sky.
As fate
Weaves a tapestry
Out of the threads
Of our heartstrings.

Either way,
knuckles knock these tumblers
free every single day
from positions un-turned
unlocking blue behind the grey,
precisely placed ******* monotony

I'm left walking rings,
loops,
circles,
and things
around the idea
of being


Optimistic.

Lakes beneath the earth's crust.
Swim in them, they flow through you.
Lakes on the surface of the moon.
Artificial gravity will be coming soon

Today is just tomorrow's yesterday,
then-again nothing ever changes anyway.

It's still as it always will be,
but now you're here with me.

So burrow away my little tick, and
make yourself at home in my brain.

The dreadfully-real nothings can
love my blood once again.

My body absorbs
caffeine and sunshine
and I smile.

Cruising around town
with my imagination
running wild.

I hold the shifter
and pretend it's her hand,
I haven't felt this in awhile.

The wind blows
and the car rocks,
it goes on for miles.

I light up a smoke,
go for broke, and
close my eyes.

I haven't felt this in awhile.