The older and colder I've grown through time,
is taking it's mental toll.
I'm wishing for crazy things in my mind,
wishing with all heart and soul.

Like, for best example,
i'll get the best of Father Time.
And master time travel!
like Doc Brown in his prime.

I'd take the shots I never took
and book the flights I never booked.
i'd make the right decisions,
i'd test my very limits.
i'd go to football practice like each day was my last living.

without a doubt, one thing I know,
simpler time's await in the past.
sounds nice, although
I also know, there's  always a catch.
like altering the future
or some crazy **** like that.

eventually the realist comes out
and the dream becomes a dream
till I forget what I was wishing about
in my everyday routine.

bad news hit me
like a bomb by the enemy.
all I want is vengeance
even if it means the end of me.
I'll do it for my descendants
plus my pride won't let it slide
for my father's honor
there's nowhere you can hide.
fear me secret bomber
for I await our dance
a symphony of answers
where death strikes at first chance.
I won't hide by any standards
i'll keep it blunt if I might.
blunt as the pipe you attacked with that night.

what is love, and how do you play?
I had a girl I used to ****,
"I love you" she'd say.
I'd say it back, cuz it was my turn.
She gets so excited
over my words.
we talk, have *** and talk, clueless of time.
she asks " is there any blue in those eyes"
and when its time to leave I ask
"any truth in those lies?"
I'd laugh and say i love you, till next time.
But this can't last, I always knew,
I reinforce the hollow words
as I fill my shoes.
perhaps one day ill beat it,
conquer the game of love.
till then I don't believe it,
and I just play for fun.

Im addicted to seeing the number drop.
111
110
105
100
95
90
And it would just keep going lower and lower...
If I could do it.
If the numbers did drop, I wouldn't punish myself.
Food restricting.
Fasting.
Throwing up.
If the numbers just dropped this wouldn't happen.

for breakfast I had
a glass of water
along with xanax

for lunch i had an apple
and the illusion that i was full
while taking another xanax

for dinner i had numbers
and once i saw them
i wasn't hungry anymore

(there are your practice poems)
which we’ve all written
(there are your professional poems)
where we assume the accent of "the poet"
and then (there are your Real poems)
those where a woman can no longer speak to her mother
(and her mother isn’t dead yet)
and her husband stays by her side
(because their bond is that strong)
and that's how things end up
(how memories fail)
and we all get distracted
(from what really matters)
and then some child tries to make it right
(but fails, again)
like some inept diplomat
(and then gets distracted...