They say, The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain
But I blame, in vain, the rain for the insane, you see
This plain pain hasn't the same name, nor the same game
For the rain's pain is the same sane as they claim
And since the pain's shame resides mainly in Spain,
Neither the rain nor Spain is to blame for the insane, so now
This sane can claim the uneven plane's plain's the name to blame

But the strife of life is held under the knife of a wife
Where strife runs rife throughout the wife's life
The knife, learning from the fife, plays with the life
While the fife excites life, the knife excites strife
The wife with the knife is at fault, fact or fake?
Is the knife to blame for the strife of the wife's life?
Or the fife for teaching the knife to play with strife?

This just goes to show that no one knows the real rose
For the rose, in it's thorny clothes, just shows the nose
The smell, a pose, so close, tingles the nose till it glows
But the finger, too close, chose to trust the nose's prose
Blame the rose who proposed the show and showed the pose?
Or the nose, whose clothes glowed from the smell of the rose?
The finger couldn't 'ave known the true pose of prose from the rose to the nose.

Driving around this valley of sheets
When I see a IHOP and realize
that a sudden hunger has come over me
They say Come Hungry, Leave Happy, and
with one glance at your buns, perfectly made
I realize that I have been staring far too long.
Like Taco Bell, I should Think Outside The Bun
But as I pass a Burger King I begin to wonder
how many possible ways there really are
to Have It Your Way, and as I lay you down
I smile at the thought of how wonderful the taste
of each one of your Baskin Robbins 31 Flavors will be.
While I start to undress you I pause, hesitant
With your smile and slow rhythmic breaths
a song bursts into my head with a just one tip
as if I'm at Cold Stone, and I think, just Let Yourself Go.
"Where to start?" I ask as I glance up at Subway
and I am reminded that I should always Eat Fresh.
I should go in slow, but I dive right in like a bucket of KFC
The scent of you, so enticing. The taste, Finger Lickin' Good
I'll savor every moment, and by the subtle McDonald's arches
that your back resembles, I'm Lovin' It and so are you.
I grab a handful at ******* and realize that this poem
is Delightfully Tacky, Yet Unrefined. Nonetheless,
I can tell by the look in your eyes that you are ready
Asking the same question that they ask at Wendy's
Where's The Beef?

Light
Brightly it burns
Removing the darkness
From unadjusted eyes who fear
Preying on the weak and powerless
Those who find solace in the shadows
Exposing the faults of the expressionless
Shining light on the secrets of the guilt ridden
Sorrowful souls harshly ****** into view
Forcing the pain to be relived, renewed
Displayed for the cruel world to see
Self proclaimed justice paraded
Timid stillness abused
Self-righteous bliss
Ignorant muse
Explain

When the darkness of night settles around me
and the silence of the dark grows louder
I find myself thinking,
dreaming,
clinging to the wisps of memories
escaping from behind closed eyes
glistening with an old lover's flame
Oh, how I long for those days
ghosts of lives past, reminding
finding,
hiding themselves in my present life
contently discontent in the twists and turns
to jump at me without a proper notice
your voice, hidden in songs of the past
soft and sweet, gently spoken upon
the ears of the hurting,
soothing,
removing the present stresses of the day
Your face, dancing upon my eyes
eyes of the mentally broken, forcing them closed
Healing the mind, if only temporarily mending,
tending,
rending my best days pale in comparison
to the resounding beauty of your eyes alone
And yet, I write, hoping to find solace
away from the bitter taste of my present place
that your memory reminds me of, yet
your name, common as it may be, keeps reminding
rewinding,
unbinding the cords that contain that sliver
releasing a sudden rush of emotion that is uncontrollable
never knowing what to expect
a tear, a chuckle, a sigh
They torture me from the inside out
and yet I cherish every second of the pain
silently hoping it doesn't fade while praying
that the end comes quickly, if only to save face
To hate the feeling would be to hate everything
severing,
suffering the pains I'm not ready to face
of letting go of all the memories that hold you in
But to love these feelings, would be to hate where I am now
This present life, this reality with her
In comparison to others, there's no comparing,
relating,
relenting her image against the memory of your touch
I can't face these thoughts either
so I sit here, contorted in emotional pains
deciding how long I should listen to you today,
Beautiful angel, fair in face
wonderful by thy name, sing me your grace

Down this dark and crimson road
lies the history, the past
darker times of the failing frail spirit
Strong once upon a time, but life's brambles
many sturdy thorns, poke and stab
slowly sapping the strength while turning
these lowly roads many shades of red
Memories of these pains, told by many
growing pains they said, they'll go away,
one day. but your hindsight says that
the words of the forgotten have begotten
the open wounds of the sorely mis-trodden
Mistakes mistakenly taken leaves you aching
for a way to erase such merciless memories.

I beg of you, implore you
listen to the song of the past
as painful as the sound may be, listen
look from another angle, take the positive perspective
that dark and crimson road has led you here
the crimson is from the memories past, you say
but I say its from the lessons learned along the way
Dark as it may be, it led you straight to today's light
This is not an ending for the gloom that hides your mind
Stop searching with eyes down for a spoon along a road of forks.
Look up and see that the signs are not as dimly lit as you once presumed
This is not the end of the book, for the story must continue
That crimson past is just the beginning, just the prelude.

Cocky?
I beg to differ
There is someone out there
that is much better than me
So I don't believe, for one second
that i'm...

Conceded.
A word applied
To the beautiful people without
beautiful minds, embraced
by the ones less intellectually fecund
than they are...

Brazen.
Polished? I am.
Your feelings? Your worries?
*******. I disregard not with brashness
But with angelic cause as my own problems
are significantly more...

Tectonic.
Shifting focus from
your meager existence
as my shear presence fills this page
Outraged? You created these proems
when daily topics I...

Eclipsed.
Full moon rising.
The lighthouse to your sinking vessel
I am not the best, but I am the best of
the better of you and your kind, lower-class
no offense, I speak...

Truth.
And the pain it brings
I don't worry about such things
I don't discount, but I do surpass
Their muggle mind with poise and sass
Dare I say I'm not cocky, just...

Confidently better than you.