just a few days after Beethoven was buried
the local drunk heard
music over the composer's grave;
the priest came running
and he said a few prayers
and crossed the air and his chest;
the Mayor came running
and wondered if
this would be it: big dollars and tourism


and so they called for an expert in music
who listened with them
to the ninth Symphony being played
inside the grave
but backward;
and then each other symphony
from the eighth
to the first,
each played backward -
and then, duly composed, the guest expert
made his proclamation:
*There is nothing to worry
about this phenomenon
and this will end soon:
it is  merely Beethoven decomposing

My shoulders were weak
From being there for myself
To lean on,

So I let my guard down
And **** well cried onto
Her naked skin,

Whispering between sobs
I'm so tired. Just...
So tired.

Not my most manly  
Of moments. Not the
Least, either.

The most beautiful thing
You can do for me
is to love
In slow motion

is there anything
that separates me
from a common disease
because all we do
is infect
and ****.

just a few more words
get them out on paper
they need to come out
like blood on a razor

it makes me feel whole
it makes me feel clean

though I am neither
somewhere in between

just a few more words
until I feel better
maybe this time
it will last a bit longer
or maybe I'll write til my fingers bleed