city rooftops at night,
all the bright lights,
my keys and cherry cokes

blisters and sore feet
all the concrete
walking, talking, exhaustion

yellow taxis beeping
never sleeping
whirs and blurs

my morning tea
sunny parks and bumble bees
flowers on the street

subway trains and stations
becoming impatient
don't wait if he's late

July in the city
hot, sticky, and gritty
a bittersweet summer  

the best days i remember  
the nights lasted forever
emerald dusk to golden dawn

rings at riverside park
juggling after dark
the corner by the river at 12:32

so meet me at 27th and 7th
or 34th and 11th
I'll be there

in red heart shaped shades
and a long messy braid
a frappe in my hand

a pink polaroid in my bag
my feet will never drag
snap, shutter, click

there is beauty in every dusty door
and every marble floor
in every street and every avenue

if you're with me,
and you believe what you see
you know that the city sets you free

it was after pink fuzzy sweaters
and clean white sheets
after the snow, then after the rain

that you became a cough
a sigh in the wind
i don't know you anymore

but before, it was strings of lights
fluffy comforters and shiny coins
keys jingling in my pocket

without you, it is trains and frames
of what i can still remember
you didn't owe me at all

i spied you drinking coffee
black black, no sugar
you know I only drink tea

so you slipped away like
slippery soap in my claw foot tub
right through my claws

i fought for us and you fought for lust
it was never even
you never knew me at all

i don't want to play the game
of "who cares less"
because i always lose

so write me a letter
in your tongue, our old language
if you remember

Long day.
Still no job.
Not a friend to hear my cry.
I just really need some sleep.

You know, my ceiling doesn't look the same anymore.
Endless nights of mindless staring--
has accumulated a peculiar fascination with
this slab of poorly painted drywall.
Blank, empty, curious,
it seems as if my ceiling and I have more in common
than I previously recognized.

I don't know when the sleepless nights started,
but my need for them to end is imperative.
I can't take it anymore.
Lying alone in your bed at night,
provides too much time for thought.
I can't deal with more thoughts.
Not with this insignificant life of mine.

Too many thoughts of love,
and how i don't posses it.
Too many thoughts of hope,
And how there is none.
Too many thoughts of Heaven,
And how I'll probably go to hell.
Too many thoughts about those painkillers in the drawer--
hiding so close to the whiskey;
Too many thoughts about how many pills It'd take;
Too many thoughts about the chance of getting some real rest;
...
I just really need some sleep--
Forever.


-Bb

This will make no sense.
It cannot be broken down.
Into metaphors and meaning,
Because there are none.
I intended this to be dull,
So please just leave it.
I don't want some scholar,
In one hundred years time,
To dissect each line
And decide what I'm feeling.
There is nothing here.
It's a literary cul-de-sac
And as empty as Green Land.
So do not read on
In hope of revelations,
There is no dramatic turn
Or cliffs from which to hang.  
So goodbye and I'm sorry,
You've wasted your time
But you should have known anyway
Because real poets can rhyme.

That intoxicating, suffocating, chemical spitting, death pursuing, white stick.

Pressing death on my forever gasping lungs.

Inhale:Addict,
            Inhale:Addict,
                   Inhale:Addict,
                              Inhale:Addicted.

This stair step downward towards hell in my lungs.
Please,
oh god please let me exit when I realize this mistake,
let me crawl up these steps with my everlasting,
hesitated,
chemical tainted breath.

With every breath I take,
a ghostly hand conjuring from the wisps of fading smoke,
choking my lungs.

My body no longer paradise but an ash tray,
each ash, a day stripped away by my own consistency to smoke,
this **** POOR EXCUSE OF A  COMFORT.
A JUVENILE DECISION THAT WILL CAUSE NIGHTMARES FOR ME,
A ******* DECAYING WALKING GRAVE!

I'm getting out of {second}hand...
I need to calm down...
I need...
A cigarette...

She's got the voice of an angel
Her lips conform with gods
I'm unable to be stable
So I sit and nod

I've got the voice of a Demon
A gargoyle in the night
Drawing followers out of the light
And I never see what I really need because what I really need is to see.