me?
it was bukowski
who helped me tear through life loudly
who helped my mind settle soundly
profoundly through his profundity
and, quietly, in his subtlety,
i found me

couldn't sense her sin
couldn't tell a thing
even as the choir sung,
the bells were rung
and flowers flung
for i was strung, roped, hung
by the misdirection of her perfection

don't listen to mozart;
lacrimosa
lack any dosage:
lacrimosa
tea; no coaster:
lacrimosa
broken toaster:
lacrimosa

wined and dined till i wound up dead
drowned and cold, alone in bed
i hid in bottles and bottled smiles
i fought to forget and wasted my whiles

it took a year but i woke up
swapped the pint for the coffee cup
There's certainly less ache
in this life i will not forsake
but the smile is still fake

all of god's angels couldn't put me back together again

you're not my pen
you're my paper
you're not my heart
you'll be its breaker

i'm not sorry for drawing
i'm sorry for scrawling
i'm not sorry for calling
but i'm sorry for falling

she                     like           poem
          walked                a