Love poisoned me
It made my hands shake
and my head ache
and my hands twitch for a lover who wasn't there
and my stomach feel like the ocean
and my head was filled with love letters and stolen kisses
and it made me stay up late waiting for a tap on my window that would never come
it made me weak
because when i looked in your eyes
my breath would become fast
and i'd lose my concept of time
and when you left
i would lose weight
and i would lose sleep
and i would lose sanity
and love would tear me apart from the inside out
as soon as i tasted your lips
and so as you ran your fingertips along my spine
and soon as i heard you breathe my name in the dead of night
because your lips were poisonous along with your finger tips
and your voice was a drug
and what we had slowly killed me,
like poison in my tea every morning.

Sometimes I wonder what you ever have seen in me,
You stayed for 30 years, through thick and thin,
Enduring all my flaws, loving patiently,
Despite my disappointments and my sins.

It hasn't been an easy road, I know,
I've put you to the test more times than not.
I've been a less than stellar beau,
I wonder did you ever want me shot?

I'm sloppy, weak, unkempt and always late,
I haven't been the best at earning cash.
Could this be what you wanted in a mate?
I often think I've made our life a hash.

I know I make you laugh once in awhile;
Is that enough to keep you coming back?
A chuckle here, an unexpected smile,
Does that make up for everything I lack?

I hope I give you something more than that,
Perhaps a sense that life is not so grim.
A lift in spirit, a peppy morning chat,
Something to make you shake your head and grin.

My contribution to our life is small,
Diversion and distraction certainly,
A joke or two, a pratfall, that is all
I've learned to do, I'm sure you would agree.

You've given so much more to me it's true.
A rock, an anchor, a shelter from the gale.
One thing's certain, I can count on you;
You have a love that never flags or fails.

I'm grateful for you every single day,
There's not an hour goes by that I don't wonder why,
You've stuck so long with me, but anyway,
You did, and till the very day I die
I'll say a prayer to God above,
Thankful for your crazy stubborn love.

we haven't spoken in months but
just so you know, today
we're fighting
'cause when he tried to kiss me
in ohio
i wouldn't let him,
feeling guilty as my
heart
is with you
in california
beating on the floor
while you listen
to the sound
of hers.

Watching documentaries about your trendy bands.
The 'Creative Process'. My shaking hands.

I'm inspiration and envy and my own constant shame
Because I'm still Lost to Larsson but by a new name.

I find meaning in nothing and nothing is mine.
I find meaning in water, in four inked red lines.
I fixate and form cycles, I'm Beckett's star act.

I make all these references, I muddle all that.

I'm an artist, I read, these aren't my own thoughts.
I'm not troubled, just open,
And I'm not really lost.

So what can I believe in? Hell, what can anyone?
**** God. **** 'The Classics'

I'll believe in being young.

Was it a mistake to cup your breast
that day,
just like you wanted me to?
I feared who you were. That
is why I could not
go further.
To me it would be like Love
*******. Love doesn't ****.
Or so I
thought.

She watched the apples from her window,
The way they clung to the branches grimly
When the wind blew, making them shiver.
Yet retaining their blush, as if to say
Look at me, and my innocence

She waited for the autumn eagerly,
They swelled importantly, but she knew
That the end was creeping closer,
A gentle touch could make them fly
And land with an honest thud and cracked skin.

Once she put her hand to impassive glass,
As if she wanted to save them.
For all their simpering arrogance,
She didn't like to see them in pain.
Weeping as time coated them in mould.

She bore witness to their disorderly end,
Spilled beneath the tree that birthed them
Like discarded marbles. She would've saved them,
But thought there was little point.
They always grew again, every year.

I don't usually put pen to paper
and write out silly love poems
just to pass the time but I can
not deny the way my smokey lungs
seem to stop working when you happen
to grace me with a few moments of
your time. And my face gets oddly
warm as that very special smile
comes out to shine. And yes, it's
completely cliche and so cheesy
but my heart, it has a mind of it's
own when I start to realize how much
my body years for a single poisoned
glance just so I can say: Yeah, I've got it bad.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.