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Frank Sherwood Jul 2018
Kids are cruel,
Realizing you'll never be a ladie's man,
Twelve years old,
Over looked, walked past as if I was laundry,
On the floor of a lackadaisical bachelor.

Questions begin to whirl,
Is it you? Is it me? Am I not physically capable?
See I am as beautiful as my confidence should make me,

Right?

Loneliness heavily consumes the boundaries of confidence.
Build your home on stone,
Raise your flag through the tools of war,
Be the loudest war cry so each maiden takes notice.

But I am not a soldier on the frontlines,
I am the poet, in the jail cell writing "The flag was still there."
Staring at the mounds of bodies of more able bodied men than myself,
Holding it in place.

Ramparts are the beating of my screaming heart,
Bullets sent straight from my mouth, tear through the flesh of those who find love to be aloof of,

What creativity truly means.

It means you watch from the sidelines,
While the quarterback walks away with the girl of your dreams,
Soldiers wear uniforms that gleam, sweeping a woman clear off her feet,
Bar fight heroes win her heart by never seeing defeat,
Drug dealers and users trap her with promises they could never keep.

Yet here I am, still sitting in my seat.

There's nothing wrong with making believe,
I guess I just find myself pondering,

It's probably me.
Who cares anyway?
Frank Sherwood Mar 2018
Rest is a far away dream I can never attain.
Not to be ironic,
I mean sleep is a hard net in which the goal keeper has golden hands.
Fog rules my brain with an iron fist.
A job fit for a king
Who's tyranny rules over the kingdom where my bed exists,
Memories like film reels, keep tick tock ticking away,
Reminding me why my pain still lives,
or what her hair smelled like,
or my mother hiding her tears while we sat in the dark,
because the bill came and her wallet exhaled dust and not capital.

Counting sheep only shows each mistake I've made jumping over a fence that was built with the ingredients of my broken heart.
Each day is a mission, to keep my eyelids from slipping.
I drive away from all my problems while they have unlimited frequent flyer miles.
Beating me to each destination before I had the chance to say,

"I couldn't seem to sleep last night."
Learning.
Frank Sherwood Dec 2017
Tremors, no one will guide you
Comfort in electrical hums,
More than love, more than warmth,
You finally love yourself.

As you watch the sun blind you behind the palm trees,
The thermal glow on your skin,
Clashing arguments of waves,
Countless grains outline the road maps of your toes.

You've learned to love again, not with someone else.
Of yourself,

Reflections no longer smell of hot garbage,
You're an A-list celebrity, starring in your own sitcom.

No need for others, heaven has a height

And it's you.
True beauty only comes when you realize the truth.

That happiness lies in perfect solitude.
Being comfortable with yourself, not too shabby.
Frank Sherwood Nov 2017
Corralling my senses,
Rolling slot machines,
Softly purring words that disintegrate into empty promises,
Forget it, I'll end up smoking alone anyway.

Know your worth, what you stand for
Even what you sit for,
My *** hurts from the concrete stoop you left me on
Just a pack of cigarettes?

It's the final word,
Finally focusing,
What brought me here in the first place.

Love lost, love gained, love dropped
For the bright lights of a Vegas skyline

"No", to answer your question

"We can't be friends."

The new one is a nurse,
Ironic really.
She can mend a broken being and a bone.
Frank Sherwood Nov 2017
Hotel rust, shimmers under florescent blankets
Each family huddled together
"There's meant to be some change in your life."
Yet there is still no warmth

Boarded up windows, broken glass
Turn of the century they said,
Yet the apathy still hasn't come to pass
This is ground zero

Dead men are shuffling,
Gun fire is jamming,
They are not really zombies,
Only seas of blank stares.

Viral visual can be alarming.

"Get to the high ground! It's the only way to survive!"

On the roof tops realizing,
You seem to be the only one alive.
Strange dreams, strange futures.
Frank Sherwood Nov 2017
Made it, it's another day.

Despite the crippling notions,
Suppressive rain drenching my head,
Detail-oriented accounts of you,
Hours locked in a bed.

Another day.

Food degrading to ash,
Your voice inside my cortex,
Gutting emotions,
A dull machete
"Just give me what's next"

It's another day

Hauntings, a ghostly other lover,
Begging to sleep between,
Because to me there is no other,

"Don't forget me" was said

Thank God, another day

Pleading up a universe,
Disintegrate all agony,
If only for a minute, "let me sleep"

"Let me believe I can feel again in my dreams"

A morrow makes a heart mend, right?

So far, another day
The next day compromise.
Heal it, heal it all!
Frank Sherwood Nov 2017
Dementia, deja vu
It happened to me,
It could happen to you.

Bed sheets rake flesh,
High grade sand paper,
Blades dull and rust,
As if I held my breaking heart.

Whenever, wherever,
Brain signals fire, nothing is true
Walls close in, pain takes hold,
Insanity becomes the typical mold

Why can't I respect the flow?

So they say, just apart of the waves.

I wonder why I can never just chill out.
Insane in the membrane, never normal, overbearing.
Frank Sherwood Nov 2017
And so I am nothing
No I don't mean
I am physically not here or mentally a burden.
But something told me once in the distance that
I. Am. Nothing.

What truly is nothing?
It's a state of being, provided by the unforgivable truth that this realm,
this place of living.
Simply does not exist.

The storm clouds ****** you in,
A whirlwind of juxtaposition screaming it can't be true!
There's gotta be something more to this.

But still, I am nothing.

We keep pulling our whits together to make believe that love will save us.
Whether it's the tender hand placed on your back or the loving grip of the soft skin that turns to wrinkles that show the true ending of the story.

We are all made to turn to ash.

I am still nothing.
You're a grain of sand on a bitter beach.
Frank Sherwood Nov 2017
Wasn't too likely,
You missed me nightly,
But the drug drip makes memories appear.

Road lines, coerce the mind
I was believing in something,
Still smell the same, your wet lips on my cheek reminded me of the good days.

When I was yours and you were mine.
Second chances aren't easy,
Guess it's you I have to define.
Guess the saying is true, they always come back.
Frank Sherwood Nov 2017
Shot up,
from broken sleep,
Heavily breathing,
Guess you've really got a hold on me.

Absence
makes the heart grow stronger,
Or is it fonder?

I'll never know unless I get some sleep.
Guess it takes longer to heal than I thought.
Frank Sherwood Nov 2017
Create the message you wish the world to receive,
Self doubt is nonsense, just make believe
The course is charted, misery beneath
It's time to take to the seas.

Goes from pure bliss to loneliness.
From satisfaction to fear,
At least I'm a little better off than I was last year.
There is nothing more fulfilling than recognizing your growth.
Frank Sherwood Nov 2017
Hell draws closer and closer
While the sun rains on the unsuspecting
With this asphyxiation,
the sweat beads
The world I was born in, filters out the weak

UV beams on all the eyes can see
Its immoral waters, it's continuity
No condolences given for those who can't handle the steam
This is the sunshine State, the land of selfish means
And unforgiving gleam.
Sometimes you gotta beat the heat.

— The End —