How many say
Life is killing me
I do believe
The very same thing

It's like a give away
Of our history
No need to see
A past that's buried

What did you have in mind
As your moving through time
It is your dime
Spend it however you like

But in the meantime
Your still going to find
Life is very much like
A slow suicide

Even holidays
Will not delay
That one more day
From your everlasting fate

You pay the freight
On mistakes that you make
Though there may be a delay
It's never that late

What else did you have in mind
As your moving through time
Spending your dime
However you like

You can try and hide
But your still bound to find
Life is very much like
A slow suicide

Pretty sure it's clear
I don't belong on here
I propose a toast to all the poets
That I hold dear

Who can take a single line
Run circles round all mine
And not just once for fun
But every single time

Not much of a mystery
Well at least it ain't to me
With a future not so bright
And a past that's history

I'm going down with this ship
But by now I'm used to it
I may not be that deep
But I'm too dumb to quit

So I'll throw out another line
Only because it rhymes
I've done it more than once
As I'm doing it this time

I do have to admit
This poem won't hurt a bit
And that is just a shameless plug
To give this poem an end

I've had this smile
For quite a while
The only problem is it's upside down

Some people I know
Won't let it go
That say it's not a smile but a frown

But I say no way
Not on this face
That's not what this smile is about

What it really is
Now pay attention to this
Is a smile that's just missing out

Of all the fun
In having someone
Change the shape of its mouth

Will you be that one
To help it along
So this smile can be turned around

if you don't want my love
i'll find someone else who does
i've about had enough
to the point of giving up

i have offered you my love
more times than i can count
if you won't at least sample it
how will you know what it's about

if you don't want my love
it doesn't make much sense
hanging out here wanting yours
long ago I should have left

they say it takes two to tango
and you don't care to dance
if you don't want my love
i'll give someone else a chance

The well runneth dry
Words like sludge
Are painfully excreted
Through thickened and broken skin
Gone is the peace from this place
All semblance of sanctuary
Eradicated by derisive battles
Of witless wonders
Still, words try to flow
The beauty in freedom gone
The art in emotion
Hindered by fear of judgment
Joy erased to distant memory
Gone are the days of unbound expression
Missed are the times of universal acceptance
Words seeking approval are skewed
Honesty is painful
Truth is rare
Their union is all I know
And it is a  punishable offense

Owning only stolen air,
I function, uniquely
To gently own the unseen
Felt feelings, I look to master,
The tiniest remnants,  tattered
Torn and misappropriation rule
Fantastic forbidden fragment
Fall into hell, held, unshared
No podium,...
no  speaker,...
nor a crowd, of any sorts stirring
Aggitating,  aggrieved masses
slaves in their blissless mindset

those emotional storms
can leave you wasted
so bite your lip
taste bloodshed, and
stop war from erupting

A kind of blue lay
thick over her,
swallowing mouthfuls of suffocation
and drowning in nourishment. It's times like these
when the person you are today
doubts if they can reinvent themselves in time
for tomorrow. Blue is everywhere
like your perspective is bruised
and it feels like hell.

The familiar grip of apathy
makes everything foreign
and you're wilting under water like
some kind of mutant...

Observing people talk with an unrestrained
fluidness is enchanting and why doesn't
your erratic behaviour include something useful
in its repertoire? You swallow things that burn
but spit it out again because
all the nerves in your system left you
for a love affair less volatile.

This kind of blue is fickle. Its melancholy
in a heartbeat. It makes you lie awake
in bed until the sheets have lost the warmth
of your empty touch, examine heartbreak like
its a specimen of a scientific experiment. It makes
you hyper aware of nostalgia at 3am. It takes your
breath away and clouds your eyes with an absent minded
look. It's a surge of sorrow and a burst of hope
unceasingly whispering in your ear...

Someone's talking but you're not listening. The world's
troubles are rippling through you, and
this kind of blue makes you silent.
This kind of blue is you.