Love's a prickly thorn bush in a field of sunflowers
It's bittersweet,
And boy, can it leave scars,
But in time, wounds can heal, my dear friend
I thought we were both hopelessly in "love",
while you were preying on another,
now I realize I was just hopelessly hopeless for you
And I'm much smarter than to fall for a silly boy who can't be bothered to wait until I'm ready
Don't think you can fool me again,
My heart is beating to the beat of my mind now,
which you no longer occupy,
Instead of walking through the bush of thorns,
I simply try and walk around them straight into the heart of love,
Real and true love

A New York City state of mind
   stagnating a pretty face,
one in a crowd of thousands

  had big billboard dreams
    dressed to the nines
        in expectation's
              high class perfection

   barefaced realizations'
        disrobed an illusion - -

                          *'neath harsh spotlights of reality

Still-birth emotions laying on the snow.
If I let you smile, will sticky lips let go?
After-birth sensations, beaten under hail.
I want to **** the blood out of your gums.
I want to touch you until your body's stale.

Venus in the snow -- the more I taste you,
the more the echoes in our mouths slow.
Shake it, baby -- **** me like I just got out of a coma.
Nothing more that I want than to be your trauma.

And I just have to bury myself in your emotions.
And to drown in the swell of separate oceans.

I am in bed, midnight, when the doctor calls.
She says my brother is in the emergency room
with high blood sugar, dehydration, another stroke.
        She wants guidelines.

Dementia.
He cannot feed himself or even smile.
Yet he lights up whenever I arrive —
        you can sense it in his eyes.

As a child I chased after him on a tricycle.
He taught me baseball, rebellion, girls.
Taught me to drive our old Studebaker.
Sent me letters from California until at last
I followed, too. Now he leads
        on this new path.

"No heroic measures,” I say. “Do not resuscitate."
“Okay,” the doctor says, "what about a feeding tube?"

When the heart stops, it is as if the body
has decided to die. But if the body cannot swallow?
Or think? He slowly starves. Who decided that?

To the black bedroom a soft light comes,
headlights passing. Rain is dripping.
Dogs are sleeping on the floor,
one with a gentle snore.
My wife, head propped on hand,
lies on her side, watching.
In this quiet night
with the doctor’s breath in my ear
I am an incompetent god,
        but the only one on call.

Candy eyes ****** me
Angel kind please loose me
Suicide induce me
As I feel thine lingering omnipresence...

Death tis smart,
                           Death tis sweet,
Death shalt die,
                           Its own death to mine defeat!!!