oranges are nice

this is me
coming back
to reality
the same i left
in dress
from parents
who love me
saints i hurt
and stand on
like towers
above
the push and shove
of this lie
they protect me
from
but i want
to fly.

it is one more
one more for me
this much for you
but i dont have
much to give you
other than me,
everything.

but you don't
want my
all.

I am better than you.
Sorry, but it's so true.
It is truth in such spades
that dig up your sad roots
and you see what god's made
in me, genius, such loot
you can't fathom to grasp
and so, in last breath, gasp.

broke down in a piece
of art with no peace
sits the artist lone
and in wonder shone
on his face once more
in a moment for
the ages of his
youth gone through no bliss
he stays and writes here
and wonders whats there
to find in this ****
this bottomless pit.

The Film is running Thin
flapping Free round the reel
then hits the Final Frame,
Freezes up on the screen
reflecting all the same
Faded views in bin Ends
from the cutting room floor
laid so Numbered, Ignored.

there you are, a quaint star
shining sewn in your clothes
nonplussed, some queried glare
on your face, with your shoes
matching ware, there you stare
into space, that dark place
surrounding like your hair
on supple cheeks, red, bare,
faintly covered in lace.