Your poetry is like
Stockholm Syndrome,
I'll follow you 'til I die...

I love how your perfect lies
hug imbecile people's lives
and how your pure madness
is used for soul's caress

but the thing i love the most
is your pretty and deadly note
that you deliver with your smile
which dooms everyone with style

our demons should be friends
and play together till it ends
and once it ends, it should be us
to stay together and discuss

about your icy and savage eyes
about what you love and i despise
or simply, we should watch the sky
under which we used to die

you, hundreds of years ago
me not yet, maybe tomorrow
still, i promise that i will
since there is a kiss i must fulfill

may your thoughts about me
never leave you till I'm free
and may you please understand
its not my fault, its how Time planned.

He inhales,
The ghosts of death,
Little soldiers sent by Hades
To fight this battle,
They enter.
They'll climb through your lungs
Cling to them like leeches
And claw their way,
Inside out.
Eroding you from the inside,
Slashing back and forth,
Warriors.

He exhales,
And the injured leave,
Smoke curling around his trembling
Lips,
His face slack,
His lungs infected.
The soldiers prevailing,
Taking control.
He doesn't notice.
He'll stomp the cigarette on the ground,
**** the remaining soldiers left in that short little stub,
Exhale all the injured soldiers out,
Letting the smoke waft around his lips,
The way he let his soul spill out,
The frigid chilly air whisking it all away.

He's just a carcass now.
Half dead.
He doesn't have long left.
He's running out of time.

Thirty years of monthly
payments for a roof,
garage, and backyard,

The house burns down
the day you pay
it off,

A brand new model,
heated seats, leather
wrapped steering wheel,
more speakers than
you can hear,
pride and joy,
taken from you
by some careless *******,
focused on "Me"
not focused on red
lights or stop
signs.

The frame is bent,
airbags deployed,
the insurance
writes you a check
and sends a form
apology with next
month's bill.

The newest clothes
aren't so new,
once they're washed
twice,

but we base our wealth
on fleeting things,
wood, status symbols
and cotton,

We pay ourselves
by saving money
already spent,
and paying old bills
so we can have new ones,

Wealth isn't tied to these
temporary things, easily
replaced by more
work and money

No

Wealth is created,
easily sustained,
by good night kisses,
road trips just because,
and matching shirts
for family pictures,
things that make us
remember how to be
happy,

because we are all temporary,
but our love is
not so easily
replaced.
So even if
you rent, or
you take
the bus
or you have clothes
in your closet for years

The time spent
with people you love
wil always cover
you until the
next paycheck
you've already spent
anyway.

There's a bluebird in my heart
too,

but unlike
yours

I like to let mine out
from time to time,

I let him spread his wings
I let him sing

his songs to me
& to the world,

My bartenders like him,
he's how I've gotten most
of the ****** into my bed

and he doesn't mind the smoke,
everyone needs a drag
from time to time,

He's the one
who prefers Jameson
and told my tongue
to not drink
much else,

I don't hide him,

But I'm not mad
that you hid yours away

I'm glad you did
because as much as you
inspire me and make me
want to share my songs

with the world,

I'm glad I'm not as angry
as you made yourself out
to be,

I get it, the image
is everything about
what seperates the men
from the boys,

and at this point I think
I'm all grown up
and we're stuck together
with the same fate,

So I let my bluebird sing
Bukowski,
because more than anything

your songs taught me

how to ****
what the world thinks.

And thank you for lying
to me

You old, drunk *******,

Because you let your bluebird
fly, you know it

and may the gods bless you
for not even trying.

I love you
*******.

Just one question,
Are you crying now?

Your name.
Your sweet name.
Even when I hear it from someone else
it has a particular sonority
that affects my soul, weakens it,
and surrenders to you.

And it haunts me. And it follows me.
Wherever I go someone calls your name.

Oh, your name.
Each letter hurts me, digging in my heart
like seven tiny daggers,
bleeding out.

It hurts to know.
Reaffirm day after day the fact that you are not mine,
and that you never will.

Far away.
I want you far away, but not distant.
The pain of your absence is greater than the pain of your presence.
Violent convulsion that my heart suffers every time I lay my eyes upon you.

You.
Visual representation of a name.
A name that kills me and gives me life.
A name that moves me and paralizes me.
A name.
Your name.

She's like deliquescent caramel,

the cool side of a pillow

        to lay your weary head,

subtleties of springtime &

          warmth in wintertide,

whispering hope upon lush  

        Zephyrus pipe dreams,  

    mellifluous nymph with wings

                 of a butterfly warrior,

softly determined,

    unfailingly true-hearted,

       whilst relentlessly ferocious

  Wise, yet sometimes struts

        blindly in the light,

       as dulcet tones of a cello's

           melodious marmalade

            in sentiment's tender fancy,

she's beauty, charm,

         knowledge, poetry,

               utter strength,

               & humane weaknesses,

she's twisted and ethereal,

           her aura sublimely captivating

     you may covet her body,

            you'll never possess her soul

The bigger the bear
The better the rug