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Mar 2012 · 643
What Do I Say?
Andy Plenkers Mar 2012
You're throwing rocks, breaking windows.
You're picking locks, stealing treasures.
You're burning memories like it's a funeral pyre.
You're everything I wanted but nothing I needed.
Love of my life, oh what do I say?
What I do I say to make the pain go away.

You're beautiful with such hideous tendencies.
You're lovely but entirely lack any gentleness.
You're intelligent but you can be terribly stupid.
You're my sunshine and my avalanche crushing me.
Love of my life, oh what do I say?
What do I say to make this okay.

Love of my life, what do I say?
What do I say...
Mar 2012 · 566
Heart Lack.
Andy Plenkers Mar 2012
I'd tear your heart out if I thought you had one.
But behind your sternum you're as cold as a corpse.
Another unfeeling entity with a beautiful face.
You I was willing to chase and love forevermore.
But two strikes you're out 'cause I hate baseball.
You strung me along like a skillful puppeteer.
It used to be love but now it's just fear.
I'll curse you in the same breath that I love you.
My heart still exists, but now it barely flutters.
You took what I had to offer and threw it away.
If you ever find your heart again,
I'm tearing it out and laughing as I walk off.
Mar 2012 · 871
No Turning Back
Andy Plenkers Mar 2012
My dreams, they're hiding in shadows.
Being herded straight towards the gallows.
No turning back.
This is no farce, no joke, nor game.
But the audience laughs all the same.
No turning back.
This hill of problems grew into a mountain.
So go ahead and flip that copper into the fountain.
No turning back.
I'll write this off  without any satisfaction.
Happiness for pain, and unfortunate transaction.
No turning back.
Looking back at all the scattered ashes.
I don't remember lighting the matches.
No turning back.
Now I'll struggle through what lies in wait.
'Cause everyone's calendar has an ending date.
Mar 2012 · 938
Ready, Set, Go.
Andy Plenkers Mar 2012
Game face.
Ready, set, go.
Just another race.
Get ready, 'cause I'm set.
If I had bootstraps I'd be pickin' myself up.
Lying in the dirt can only last so long.
We all have dreams, but fear reaching out.
But now I'm running, breakneck pace.
Like a bat out of hell, this fire rages.
Motivation my friend, how long it has been.
Shake hands like time hasn't passed.
Ready, set, go.
Things to do, people to see.
Greatness and such to achieve.

Ready, set, go.
Mar 2012 · 829
All Figured Out
Andy Plenkers Mar 2012
I'm a lodestone for misadventure.
These soles are worn thin by the miles.
This soul is wearing thin from the guiles.
These porcelain faces and mannequin smiles.
A game of taunting and jeering.

Who's to say, winner, loser?
Who's to tell you how far you have come?
Maybe not better than all, but better than some.
Grey areas, gray matter, I'm not dumb.
This is a story, it has just begun.

I've got it figured out, but I don't.
Contemplation, thoughts.
Nostalgia and doubts.
I've got it all figured out, but I don't.
Mar 2012 · 537
Hideous Past
Andy Plenkers Mar 2012
You're preying on my heart with lustful eyes.
Reflections of pupils in the shadows, searching for the prize.
You'll strike, with alacrity and apathy holding hands.
You careless beast, for this I surely will not stand.
But even saying that, well it is a lie.
For you I will take the knife, lay on the altar to die.
Carefully stocking the shelves of this heart.
With fragile items and memories to start.
Simply to remind myself this was not always so.
Because of your actions, to the devil I do go.
No luminescence or light at the end of the tunnel for me.
But instead I'll run in circles in this nightmarish reverie.
Hoping to escape your selfish grasp.
Hoping the alcohol will drown this hideous past.
Mar 2012 · 796
Wishful Thinking
Andy Plenkers Mar 2012
Been wishing on shooting stars for you,
but it seems even a meteor shower won't do.
Seems I've been shoving at this frame of mind,
looking for positivity of some kind.
But you, you just won't cut it.
You'll come and go, spewing out *******.
But I don't have any time for pettiness.
Especially not for a beautiful face so pitiless.

That's not to say mind you,
that I need pity, that's not true.
But some sort of conscience would be nice,
just to be sure you don't have a heart of ice.
You're a fiend for affection,
that's your greatest affliction.
The desire to be desired drives you,
a temptation we all long to give into.

I'll indulge you as long as I might.
In the end perhaps we could be quite a sight.
If ever I can relieve myself of this unsightly vendetta.
Then perhaps we will move forward, things will get betta.
But maybe it's all just wishful thinking.
Like window shopping for dreams, wishful thinking.
Mar 2012 · 1.1k
Meaningless
Andy Plenkers Mar 2012
Pressure points in my head,
you know just the right buttons to press.
Demons crawling under my bed,
500 count sheets to shield me I guess.
Callous ensconced heart,
no more songs plucked from its' cords.
Sunday morning lark,
singing songs needless of words.
Round and round forevermore.
I'll never be what I once was before.
It's maddening it is.
Meaningless.
Mar 2012 · 732
Stitched Together
Andy Plenkers Mar 2012
45 magnum bullets aren't the solution to everything.
They only put an end to your self inflicted miseries.
So pick up your needles, and unwind your thread.
To sew up the holes that are left in my head.
The patchwork is great, though it's tattered and frayed.
And let's not forget to mention the bloodstains.
These days it seems I'm stretched too thin.
Stitched together by fragile threads that will break on a whim.
Mar 2012 · 1.1k
Strolling Thoughts
Andy Plenkers Mar 2012
Cease your perpetually rushed tendencies,
and listen to a boy who believes himself to be wise.
Calm the churning of your thoughts,
open your eyes and broaden your horizons.
Feel the steady beat of your heart.
Slow your breathing, and ready yourself.
I speak in metaphors and analogies,
in an oftentimes futile attempt to understand life.
I spend my days writing, singing, hoping and dreaming.
Sometimes, it is an incoherent and nonsensical mess.
Other times, I find myself caught in an epiphany.
In those moments, I take one step closer,
closer to an answer, to that one question all ask themselves:
What is my purpose for being here?
In the short span of years that I have been alive,
I have experienced a diverse multitude of things.
Some of them possessed of a ravishing beauty.
The soft caress of a lover, her sweet words whispered in my ear.
Or the involvement in something greater, better than myself.
Others have had abhorrent and malevolent qualities.
The loss of oneself to the avaricious fingers of addiction.
Or the helplessness of holding a loved one as they leave this world.
At times I have found myself fighting for my very life.
At others I have found myself willing to leave it behind.
I incessantly find my heart vying with my mind for *******.
I have foolishly stood by and watched with apathetic eyes,
my slow and agonizing departure from sanity.
Even consumed by insanity there is truth to be gleaned.
If only one finds in themselves the exit from its’ purgatorial cell.
Life is not preordained, it is not predictable, or even reasonable.
Life simply exists in its’ entirety with multitudinous choices.
The body is the vassal for life, and thus, you have a choice.
Life is what you make it; you can choose to make it good.
Or, whether through naivety or foolhardy bravado,
you can choose to make it irrevocably bad.
This is not to say you will always choose what is right.
But rather that you alone have the power to define yourself.
I am no longer a child, nor do I profess myself to be aged.
But I can say with undeniable certainty, that my mind,
being enigmatic as it is, has surpassed my physical age.
If only now I might find the remedy to purge my heart,
for it pumps the poison of love into me everyday.
But even being as caustic and acidic as love may be,
to rid yourself of it would be to squander your life.
Harness love and you wield a double-edged sword.
It can cut you down just as easily as another.
I have released my heart to do as it will.
In someone else’s hands it now lies insecurely.
But with a stubborn valor it remains there despite my calls.
With askance acquiescence I call no longer.
I wait with a stoic trepidation overshadowing all hope.
But even cast in shadow as it is, hope has its own light
So now I find myself waiting, forever if I must.
The answers I so desperately yearn for are just on the horizon.
If only I could reach out, with feeble, trembling hands,
and sieze them before they escape my grasp again.
Perhaps then I will reminisce upon the past,
therein finding the reaason behind every occurence of importance.
I've never been the most hardy of people.
But despite all of the walls obscurring my path,
I have somehow endured, and so I shall continue to do.

— The End —