It almost a joke,
See,
Well, truly
It is irony.
That a man
Whose dream is
To have it all.
Has no chance
With who he wants,
Who would  likely
Make him happyist.

It's is likely the sign
Of a vengeful god
Or at least a god
With a black humor.
That makes a man
A longing romantic
easy to fall to love.
As well as a boy
Without skills, Lost
In his child's crush.

That is the irony
Of a blind painter
Or a deaf pianist.
Even a politician
With morals
Is better suited
Than I am as
A bumbling
Casanova,

It's a bitter joke.
And I'm the ****
Of it
Hoping god
Might say
Just Kidding

The naive boy
Helped his friend

The naive boy
Was told not to

The naive boy
Cried "the Earth is flat"
Too late to find
In fact, it's round

The naive boy
Was a kind young thing
Hospitable to all.
Now he knows
The lengths some go
In getting what they want

I am not
The naive boy.
No longer!
Just an angry boy
Betrayed by friend
Who did not deserve
The kindness given

But I will not show
My internal rage
And they will never see
Thoughts on my face.
Who is now Naive?

Some days
I can hardly
Stop myself
From collapsing down
And weeping emotions

Other days
I want to throw
Myself upon
Those with answers
And beg for reprieve

Some days
I wonder
What the point is

Other days
I know.
Those are the worse.

The recipe reads:

2 and 1/2  ounces dedication
To 3 pounds *******
To a gram of work
To a ton of cheating
To a tablespoon punctuality
To a gallon procrastination
All with a base of
Genetic Luck

Success,
Success,
**** this

What's the big idea
Of having to succeed?
I don't need to succeed,
Not by your standards.
I write my  own formula
For a successful life.

One
Bitter
Shot
Of
Not dead, Yet.

Son; he says;
I am going to die.

How soon; I ask.
Real soon; he says;
Twenty, thirty years,
I've lived a while.

Why are you so old?
I ask, brokenly.
Because I was not
Ready to be a father
When I was younger;
He answers,
understanding.

I don't want you to die,
At least not so soon;
I grumble weakly

But, I'm ready for it,
I've spent my years
Holding onto life;
He says;
With you in the world
My last real job
Is to teach you
How to live.

Life's too short;
I say.
So short;
He agrees.

Now,
Let's talk girls
He says with
A wink and a smile

"Do you love me?"
She once wrote
In the words
"Could we be together?"
And tied it up
In red lace with
Hopeful hearts

"No.
I don't love you."
I replied softly,
Sadly, mournfully.
Through
"I don't think it'd work.
I don't have time."

"That's okay"
She whispered
Not shedding a tear
On paper, at least.
"We are best-friends,
Right?"

"Yes"
I murmured
With all my heart.
I was bit by
Rejection before,
And I would not wish that on
My best friend.

Scary thing
About money
There's never enough
To buy what you
Want.

And
When there's enough
There's nothing
Worth buying

So why spend a life's
Time
For a million in dough
When in a night
You
Can have a million dreams