Alone inside her head is such a scary place,
Especially when she thinks too much,
There's hardly any space!
"Just forget about it!"
Sometimes,
I tried to warn her,
But, she cannot listen,
Now she's in the corner,
Sometimes the light can hurt,
The garden is full of weeds,
"Where have all the flowers gone ?
Now she can hardly breathe!
She does not want more medicine!
This is not what she chose,
I'd love to see her Blossom,
My precious little Rose
(c)B L Costello 2019

I cannot make you feel better,
No matter how I try,
You take your own medicine and keep yourself alive,
I cannot make you feel good,
Now, you feel used
I really thought you wanted me,
But I cannot assume,
No...I cannot know everything,
I know I hate to question,
I know that you lack patience,
Your prone to such aggresion,
I cannot stop worrying,
You hate the way I fret,
I hate the names you call me,
That I cannot forget,
No,
I cannot do anything ,
You made that plain to see,
I know I cannot win,
You're much stronger than me

Beautiful child
Sad and true,
I cannot write a poem about you,
Inspired,
I don’t know where to begin,
A victim your suffering makes me cringe,
Angry,
I want to tell the world,
How she hurt that little girl,
But movies and books recorded her fate,
For her there was no escape,
This world is cruel and so obscene,
Neighbors “thought they heard a scream”,
Her torture and hell are finally done,
Why didn’t they tell anyone?
Now, I am tortured,
Haunted and disturbed,
They should have told someone
What they heard.
©B L Costello 2019

"Cried so hard, that my face was wet,
in "Five Years",
I still won't  forget,
I just thank God you fell to earth,
An alien...you were the first,
"Aladinsane",
You went so far,
Conquering demons,
and "The Spiders from Mars",
My "Thin White Duke",
You helped me believe,"We begin and end..in eternity ".

I write poetry
for eveything else
has failed

My life has no bottom
It's Hell down inside
my well

Do not feel like you are
sorry
Do not feel at all

Go write some kind of
poetry
It's better than digging wells

Details lost,
No prints mentioned,
But sin is judged by the intention,
So maybe his spirit will repent,
It could have been an accident,
A suicide,
A cry for help,
Maybe it was someone else……
Too long ago,
Too much to tell,
The only witness,
The Chelsea hotel,
A single room,
Not too fancy,
Good enough for Sid and Nancy
©B L Costello 2019

He plays with himself,
He thinks he competes,
But he never wins,
And he always cheats
So long in the game,
He doesn’t know why,
He likes to keep score,
But it’s always a tie,
Clean for minute,
They call it detox,
*** in a jar,
And shadowbox,
He thinks he ahead,
You can tell by his grin,
But he’s running a race that nobody wins
©B L Costello 2018