It’s risky so high, so shaky, so vulnerable.
He peeks over the edge at the people like ants.
Suits and cell phones, all black and business.
Each with a mission in their click-clack heels.
“Back to business, Boy,” grunts Boss, chewing on a soggy cigarette.
Boy wonders if the click-clackers ever mistake cigarette spit for rain

His reflection is transparent but he can still make out
the scar above his eye and the stubble of sleepy dawns
when he stretches and drinks black coffee early with the sun.
Through the reflection the black business arrives.
The magic elevator transforms all ants into stock-market men
and credit-card women who close the curtains.

He wonders how he ended up on the outside,
towering the city with a dripping squeegee,
pulling it over black, lifeless curtains, opaque to the morning sun.
But Boss is busy now with a fresh cigarette
so he turns back around and remembers why he towers
as the magic sun transforms the magic stars
into meshing morning colors, high enough to meet his eye.

love after love
heartache after heartache
issue after issue
drama after drama
when is it all going to end
i gave up something
i wanted for a long time
and now it wasnt worth it
not all this drama
not this heartache
i want it all to end
cause its killing my heart
to be bruised and beat up
the tears will only stop
when the heartaches and drama end
and when you just walk away from me
without a second glance back

Those decisions you've made.
Made you.
Those words you've spoke.
Spoke of you.
Those ways you've loved.
Also show hate.

I thought I did what was right for me, but I wasn't right to do so.
I thought I did what was making me happy, but I wasn't right to be so.
I thought I did what was fun, but I wasn't having fun in doing so.

In thinking I did, I wasn't.
In thinking I was, I didn't.

take the man who knew everything:
he walked the boulevard knowing and thinking,
that a poorly-planted tree could, possibly,
let go its roots and knock him with a thump, or,
that he could perhaps, trip over a careless rock,
muddy his shoes in an unevaporated puddle
of yesterday’s rain, cross paths with ten thugs.
such foresight, he walked that boulevard with
a shield, thicker glasses, even thicker yellow boots,
except he could not stop no one ****, so,
he crossed the boulevard with that one discomfort.

now, take the man who knew nothing:
he walked the boulevard, and
crossed to the other side.

Words are fun to play about with -
to rhyme sometimes, or simply shout with.
Textured words with rich deep color
that vivify those words much duller;
phrases culled from a private stash
to give your expletives panache.
Cause shock and awe - gain admiration,
with erudite vituperation!
So let your language soar unfettered
away from tired words four lettered.