is it bad
that i can already taste the goodbye
on your tongue?
-a.c.b

I told everyone
that you were dead.
I accepted their condolences.
Smiled politely,
while my chest hemorrhaged.
Somehow,
that just made sense.

I remember the evening
that we sat clinging
to paper cups
of coffee gone cold

over secrets spilled and memories told
two bodies cursed
with hearts grown old

behind your eyes
I found new worlds
A winding road stretched out for miles
to a small cafe at the end of the isle

Sweet pastries filled the mouths
of those who sat beside us
and stayed for a while.

How the hours went by,
people just passing through
The descending sun ending
a forever with you.

You get me off..... I'm so confused. I've never been here but I like being your muse.... make me cream....make me cry...take me there--you know why---you get me soooo high...so high in your deep--so sweet, so tight, so warm, so right.... I surrender all to you-- I be yours all night. I'm so confused.... when it's this good, I don't mind being used. Use-Me-Up, I be your muse.

we write because we are told
we write because we are cold

so why write poetry?

is it to obey
is it to simply misbehave
is it due today
is it more than what we say

if not
why do you write poetry?

because I can
&
because I am

we are made to feel
we are made to speak
some people are quiet
and others are bleak

words are expressive and alive
but some words are best left to die

I have an old soul,
But my heart is still young
Treat it with care
It has not loved for very long

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.