Bottled Thoughts Nov 2017
What business you do in the shadows
All your engagements under moonlight
They are none of my concern
Your little secrets, they are yours
I was just wondering how you were

You should be happy now perhaps
Can't think why else would you stop writing
Wasn't it misery that crossed our paths
Wasn't it sadness that made you visit

Now I'm not certain to find comfort
That you found home in someone else's
Sometimes I miss being your go-to
But mistake that not as being jealous
I was just wondering how you do

Do you still bring your red umbrella on days you're certain the clouds won't fall?
Do you still love moons, and local tunes from bands that you and I adore?
Do you still walk slower a bit among roses, admiring all those with longer thorns?
Do you still paint the pictures in your head, even on days you don't have time for?
I was just wondering how you are, but you won't tell me anymore.


Do you still love crying over tragedies?



Do you still love crying?


Do you still love?

Do you?
Do.
Poetry's letter to you who stopped writing.
I wanna have lunch with Poe,
at Burger King,

because I'm sure he would appreciate how ghoulish that King in their commercial is

I don't want him to recite verse
while we fill our medium cups with corn syrup nectar--a giant leap
down from laudanum

I do want to ask about the Cask of Amontillado and being walled in slowly, for eternity

for to me that is creepier than all the crimson cream in the Masque of the Red Death

I want to know if he likes the fries--will he dare to dip them in scarlet paste we call catsup

mostly I want to know if he remembers the alley where he was found,

not yet a legend, consumed by consumption and delirium in equal measure

and if there were rodents privileged to hear his last whispered words--or even a gasp

I am buying, Ed, so grab that Whopper with both bony paws and tell me terrible tales, evermore
Bottled Thoughts Sep 2017
Tired of hanging around, life at his neck, it seems
A little breather was all that he needs
So he took a little walk to a ledge off a cliff
He took a little walk to blow his head off some steam

He recalled "down the road, not across the street"
So he made a little cut through a familiar stream
Now a vein in the arms of time slowly bleeds out
Down for the count, on the ground, he picked his poison

He knew it might be over soon so he simply tried to drown
Out the voices in his head, telling him to never frown
In the face of death. He stood by the edge, knowing
It will all be over somehow.
This would only take a while now.
Whistling a tune, he waited for the noon to set
It might be over soon, he whispered to himself.
Bottled Thoughts Aug 2017
Sunday ceremony reminiscing
Ephemeral sins, mundane whims,
Heaven descended beings
Bottled Thoughts Aug 2017
And it seems as / if she's falling for him //
So she asked / if he feels the same //
He's a real ass / so he told a lie that day //

Because for him it's too fast / to be falling again //
That's relapse / that they could not take //
That was the last / time the two will see each other's face //
How come that she feels bad / when she did the right thing //
He's a douchebag / right up to this day //
That's the truth that / she will tell herself to ease the pain //




I added the pauses since this is a flow dependent rhyme scheme - that of which is common to songs (and rap lyrics by extension). This is from a song I am still writing.
Bottled Thoughts Aug 2017
Happiness is flying kites
Against empty winds and gray sunshine
The happy poem i could not complete. :/
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