You keep on running back to her
like a dog at dinner
you keep on running back to her,
banging on her door till she answers.
You know so much about her, yet you have yet to learn that her love for you is not pure.
You are so consumed by her beauty that it doesn't matter.
Her wrongs turn into rights,
her reds into yellows,
her deep brown eyes freezing you in time.
Her Love is so sinful,
yet you keep tugging on her rope till she falls down with you.

When the urge
to react to the
tactless clowns,
and
down looks like
up,
and life's teeth
are sharper than
a steak knife,
breathe,
and take a
sacred pause.

WHY IS IT SO HARD FOR MY PARENTS TO CARE ABOUT ME

If I could have put you in my heart,  
If but I could have wrapped you in myself,  
How glad I should have been!  
And now the chart  
Of memory unrolls again to me          
The course of our journey here, before we had to part.  
  
And oh, that you had never, never been  
Some of your selves, my love, that some  
Of your several faces I had never seen!  
And still they come before me, and they go,        
And I cry aloud in the moments that intervene.  
  
And oh, my love, as I rock for you to-night,  
And have not any longer any hope  
To heal the suffering, or make requite  
For all your life of asking and despair,          
I own that some of me is dead to-night.

(In my mind
she's gonna live forever)

(She's gonna live forever
in my head)

I can't see her in the clouds
but I can hear her in the rain
I can't comprehend her corpse
but I can smell her flesh

Swords storming down from above
Pierce my hands
Pierce my eyes
Pierce my heart

But try to avoid my brain
The part in which she's wrapped around

I KNEW IT WOULD BE NEVER. *

It’s Rough to Admit you pushed Truth away, especially when it’s near .
Overtaken by a clouded mind that wouldn’t see it clear. 
Shaken, frozen in place, forcing a smile born of recurring fear. Tentatively advising   HER(?), while whistling past the hollow
“Follow  not your heart”, sounding not profound , a magic rescue won’t appear,  as I hear my  futile diction trying hard to steer a tired fiction  to her inattentive  ear. 
Measure not the figment dance , nor the ticking clock of scant romance , knowing rare chance For love real has disappeared 
Realizing my dream prepared was still very much  untaken
Leaping into just a wishful thinking trust? a flawed presumption and sadly so mistaken 
Freshly bruised , Neatly brushed, newly wise, now must adjust , design function search to find
true love robust  and not forsaken. 
Bobby O

The closest I ever feel
to anything
is to the words I write.
When I am a million leagues
into the depths,
and there is nothing,
nothing to do
but carve these letters
into the floor.
No,
nothing.
Nothing more.
Words ring hollow,
and melodies fall flat,
prayers (un)heard,
another test.
This too will pass,
but while it stays,
while it tarries,
black is bequeathed behind
my eyes
my mind is marred
in manic peril
and I carve these words
into the floor
one more time
one more time
once more.