Lonely is the only emotion I feel, sitting on the counter
Plopped down, flicking guilt
Remanence on paper, I use to heal
I chose to be ill
I'm the unattached ****** desire
Conversation not required
Tormented love, consumed and killed
Around this pole, twisted and unthrilled
Patiently waiting on something
My ******* body feels nothing
Still insanity quenches the thrusting
When will we finally become ***** and musty
I can no longer conceal our secret, smiling
Annoyed with me, I'm done hiding
Tonight I'm not grieving
Deceived, here is your rope of control
I need to find the cover for my gaping hole

Prisoner
I had become a prisoner in my own shell
tallying up the days I've spent in this relationship I called hell. Arrested and handcuffed by the possessive demon he masked thrown in mental confinement.

"I ****** less", she said grabbing her lacey dress.
Her contrary dignity intact as she takes a sip of whiskey.
Walking out the door becoming the prominent mother everyone adores.
*** addict, she ignores.
No one sees the double life she hides so well.
Between the sheets of Monogamy and lustry gratification.
Her heart beats wildly out of control making her want to feed.
Possibly disfunctional programming involved.
She feels no need to anguish in the games she plays.
Love is where her happiness is.
*** is where her gut resides.

There in the belly of the city
Way down there where it's dark and gritty
Lives a very complexe man
There in his Window he stands
Watching the atrocities that parade down his street
He's seen the dealer's and the junkies meet
The homeless that set at their feet
The thugs that prey on the weak
Children abused that turn them meek
It plays out every day of the week

He's seen it all
He's watched humanity fall
It's hard for him to digest
On this life's problems his mind rest
He knows there's not much that he can do
He watches and writes it all down, he's one of the few
Sent to bear witness to the inhumanity of man
To make us think of where in this life we stand

Yes he is a poet
His watched it all and wrote it
He has a big heart
Which makes it hard to play his part
Of watcher in the tower
As those below cower
But his calling he is sure of
To watch the dying of love
To watch the darkness closing in
To watch all of man's sin
To sound the alarm
Of humanity going wrong

He stands at his Window and cries out
But no one pays attention to his shouts
So he soaks the page with ink and tears
Hoping that at last somebody hears