I'm not good with words on paper
Or on my tongue.
They get caught in my throat.
Or stuck in the tip of my pen.
Sentences never string together.
But are cut and pasted.
Words carefully chosen and stollen from others.

I'm telling lies to terrorize tame territory,
and so they'll strip me down, string me up, and bleed me dry of glory.
Mourning from the morning after, hanging from a ceiling rafter.
Two rows of platinum canines, call me a gangsta-veloci-rapper.

Truly emancipated, drinking whiskey from Lincoln's skull.
Proclamation of my bank roll grants more ***** than animal control.
Flicking cigarettes at MC's who think they're superior,
into their passenger window to burn holes in their interior.

I run all night, jiggle my handle after flushing.
All the plump gals seem to love me, I've got their cellulite a'blushing.
I don't like *****, but I'll sip on something Russian,
if you ship her in the mail first class from your Middle-Euro cousin.

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

These are the nights I should be out with friends, but I give in to the allure of writing instead.

Not drunk,
yet not sober.
The ones who've left you,
hardly consoled.

At the moment,
I don't know why they would ever leave.

Red, blue, and orange somehow peak,
sun blasted clouds in front
a picturesque scene no words can depict,
or the shot when it's seen.

If such beauty lies in the inanimate,
then am I to believe I too exist?
When the ringing in my chest
and esophagus
echoes with the most hollow pitch?

Blinding light bears a hole,
killing the product
with the source of it all.
I am filled with the sorrow
of watching a loved one fall.

It was the way your body drifted closer to mine
Again and again
I became aware of the veins in your wrists
The blood
The rhythmic pulse of your eyelashes
The ragged cream of your skin
I knew this couldn't be action
No, this was a reflex
But I didn't care
I was awake

And suddenly it was
spring
and it would only rain
at night when you were tucked
into bed with a kiss
from your mother
and a whisper
that everything would be
ok.
But  the whisper
got lost in the sound
of thunder,
and I was afraid that
it wouldn't stop raining
but when I forced myself awake there
shone the sun
through the blinds
of my only window
and suddenly it was spring