Sweet nothings bore me.

Secrets shared in the first ten minutes
are worth less than the effort it takes me
to hear them.

So say something new, in words
that burn my skin when they touch.
Must try harder.

How can I express a feeling,
Be it happy or sad,
That you yourself will never feel?
Because, well...
I am mental and I am me.
You are you, through and through.

Sink or swim.
A narcissistic value.
You cannot touch them, for they simply float.
But I?
I do nothing at all.
I let the waves pull me under, serene and cold.
The lights from bright blues to deep, dark, ultramarine weight.
My chest and lungs scream and burn,
The heavy, pulsing weight makes my skull explode…
Until I let my air
Burst
And bloom
From my body.
I’m drowning but I cannot express how this experience
Was...
Perfect!
I was okay…
Until I was gone.
Blood gushing from the slit in my throat.
Choking.
Broken.
Gone.

(3 Senryus)

No - don’t kiss me
unless you're planning to
start a new habit.

Don't borrow kisses
unless you can return them
with real interest.

Remember boy-O
it's all fun and games 'til
someone falls in love.

Hello,  I am a puddle person.
I'm certainly not the only puddle person, of course.
And I often think I'm more puddle then person.

I lay on the floor still.
People come by and see themselves reflected in me.
Sometimes they step in me,  and drops of me splish around and evaporate.

I'm content being a puddle it's, comfortable.
People are aware of me whether looking at themselves, tip toeing around me or jumping in.

I am NOT invisible.

Love me or hate me this puddle person isn't going anywhere,
until I become more puddle then person.

so badly I wish to be poetic
I drink my tea in the moonlight
take evening strolls in the rain

I bring a tattered notepad with me
to the café
to the museums
I choose my words so carefully

But I'm sitting alone,
at three in the morning
writing this "poem"

and I don't feel poetic at all