Not sure if overreacting is a
sign of weakness or passion,
I lash out over little things
and shorten breaths over things
that live for little in my mind,
the violent expirations of chest
and mind saw the door frame
a little bigger every time,
regret comes after,
I’d call it short term memory loss,
with every responsibility I’ve taken,
steps back; I’ve taken two
the ratio is uncanny,
I’m starting to believe that
instead of the urge to change
I have the desire to
desire change,
the steps that follow
are getting deeper
and situations are
becoming shallow
yet my reactions
stay the same,
I’ve wished
and promised reversal,
the pills and reclined leather
really does nothing,
I’ll swim in my vices and
the unfortunate thing
is that I know how to swim.

She saw through
my        pseudo smiles
and
empty eyes and
        gave me
iris’ of blossom
and perpetuity
if she had       kaleidoscope lenses
she’d still see
me
clearly,
she’ll always
be my median of
perceptive mires
or
thoughtless meadows,
if a diamond in the rough
sleeps on spikemoss,
is it
still worth something?
                                              MJB

I create my own jealousy,
       and load my own gun,
I make my own bed,
       I never shoot
and
      I never sleep,
I’m a stagnancy
of
imperfections,

the cement is dry now,
I’m sorry,
but you can't leave

She's claims
she's homeless
and heartless
and lives
under a roof
and her chest
still sings

some of us
think differently

An after midnight wolf
lives as a sheep by day,
amongst opposites
he sees through
sheep’s clothing
and moralizes through
insecurities,
though inaccurate,
accusations man
a marionette,

a wolf in sheep’s clothing
can manipulate but
is easy to forgive,
an after midnight wolf
can ruin his sheepskin,
and have follicles run dry,
alcohol and anger
and selfish malevolence
over compassion, thought and
apathetic benevolence,
the sun can divide strong from weak,
an after midnight wolf lashes
and drinks
and lashes,
regrets and lacks morals
yet lacks intent
only listens to his mind
and not his heart,
he sheers himself
with broken bottles
and it takes a while
to grow back

I'm a mosquito trapped
in a clapping hand,
I know that I can be bothersome
but I'm just trying to survive.      
                                                          MJB

The aftermath of a finished
cigarette lingers in the air
and I pick at it like a
cobweb in the wind,
floating aimlessly
unable to grasp,
and I’ve never felt so weightless
                                                            MJB