**** myself, or let cancer take me?
Same end game just perception change
Go down a fighter or become a coward
Stronger drugs come from a doctor
Let’s play this out and never answer.

Now I wear an expensive watch
It is fashion, no it’s prison.
7am...**** it, let’s sleep in...
8am...****! *******, drink coffee.
9am, **** myself? Nah, get dressed
Out and now we’re here,
My nose keeps making boogers
I guess this means I’m alive.
Let’s get some ethically approving food.

Maybe not a miracle
Well not by your standards
I don’t want to say I’m Christ
Well maybe not by your standards
I have a capability to change wine
So maybe I say, “**** your standards”
But I did convert wine to ****
So I ******* **** on your standards.
I am my own **** Christ!
So ******* the standard.

To undo your fly
Music plays
You look to the sky.
There’s always that other guy.
It’s alright.
We have our pens
And the question why.
It’s always alright.
My friend we’re alright
Tell me, we’re alright!
I’ll sleep tonight and be just fine.

No fire burnt out, it was doused
Because winter came, souls froze
She was up the stairs but out the door
Cold like no winter before
And trust were the words told
Will I follow or go alone
Certain of my uncertainty
I step out with you on ice
Flailing, deep I plunge
Oxygen has left my lungs
Never again will I trust
Foolish enough to rush
Believing that you’re more
And I stretch for your hand
You leave me by the shore
Thankful,  to have feet on land
Slow to dry but cold to the core.

I have always wondered, “what if the sun exploded at night?”
Would we miss it when expecting morning’s clean sunshine?
Or is it a gift to the lovers who own passionate squalor at two,
To see the explosion happen behind, then reflected off the moon
The night tonight has been as warm as summer’s light.
Condemns the older couple lying on opposite sides
Love as hot as ever, yet colder than our future.
And blinded by the darkness that eternity resides.

To be honest on paper
To write it in order
To cut a line shorter,
To give it some rhymes
And count out in time

To be honest on Paper
To edit a stanza
To have it in line,
To have it be cleaver
And have it be signed

To be honest on paper
It’s not a poem.
It’s an ugly letter.
That looks like your soul
And for no one to know.