Don't blame this **** on me.
I didn't oppress you.
I didn't enslave you.
I don't support them.
I probably don't support you.
I don't want your guns.
I don't care where you're from.
It doesn't matter what you believe.
Have an abortion. Don't have an abortion.
Be whatever gender you think suits you best.
Be a pocket mulching vegan or eat goats raw.
The only thing I ask of you.
Don't be a ****.
See?
Pretty ****** simple.
Right?
Ok now run along.

I know it doesn’t matter
But I’d like to know
Did it matter
To you
Did I teach you anything
Were you ever happy
Or did it mean nothing
Was it all in vain
I don’t mind going
Just tell me
If it meant something
That I was ever here
At all

She’s a painting in motion.
Could I love her?
From a thousand yards out on the darkest night to be found.
Yes.
Even in the absence of light in my life.
I could love her.
But I won’t.
To add me to the landscape of her painting, her life.
Would only serve to muddy the imagery.

I thought I'd write you a poem. It's all I've really got. A pen, some paper, and a well of blackened snot.
At first I thought about you, though you know who you are. So that would be redundant. I guess I'll raise the bar.
A sullen somber December morning. A glass filled up with whiskey. A pack of butts and this poem in case that you would miss me.
Sweaty thighs, forgotten lies, and these things we still hold onto. Tattered sleeves, worn out knees, and rats ******* fondue.
These are the things I think about when at my own devices. Avoiding **** that could otherwise turn into a crisis.
Well I'm done. I gotta run. Truth is I'm out of passion.
Perhaps I'll come around again when apathy's in fashion.

I could tell you you're  pretty and buy you a dinner.
You could tell me I'm funny but wish I was thinner.

We could talk about feelings, closets, and fish.
We'll walk by the fountain and each make a wish.

Your wish came true and I lost twelve stones.
And so I wished, to make a cage of your bones.

I brought the cage home so I could set it aside.
Then I took out my heart and locked it inside.

And there by the moon it sits on my sill.
And there by the moon it resides there still.

Where were you,
when they came back for me?
When hope left.
When doubt came back.
While the rain fell hard
and the moon hid.
Where were you?
I waited.
Where were you?

Somewhere between the cigarettes, cherry blossoms, and bourbon
In that dream that happens after the alarm goes off
When the sun says goodnight and the moon says good morning
In the forest of trees scarred by declarations of love long lost
Wading in and out of hope and resolve
These are the places where my thoughts find you
Where my heart keeps you

I can’t help but think
That there has got to be
At least one perfect
Combination of words
Lying just beyond my reach
So
I keep writing
In the hope
If even by accident
That I find those words
I have to
Because
Writing I love you
Didn’t work

There was once a path in the woods, ‘‘tis what the natives say
A place you should not venture, should you ever lose your way
There’s a path for the harvest moon, and one that’s best in blue
But beware yourself the wolf moon, lest you know what’s good for you

There lived an old woman, an ashen cabin wrought with many curses
When her boy was slain by wolves, she recited bible verses
And though god chose not to listen, as she begged him for salvation
The devil heard her sermon, and offered reparations

“Present your boy to the first full moon and bathe him in its light
Then lay him down upon the path and leave him for the night
You’ll have your boy back in your arms by dawn the very latest
And by my act you will see that god is the only sadist

Though there will be times when the debt must be returned
There are always little consequences, lessons to be learned
On each full moon your boy will become a ferocious raging beast
He’ll reap for me another soul for every man’s a feast”

The devil kept his promise and her boy he did well rise
And come the next full moon she saw the devil tells no lies
Before each full moon ever-after she’d chain him in the wood
He’d cry and scream and curse her soul as she did what she could

Until it was the old woman was bitten by the devil as a snake
He had not received his souls for his debt she did foresake
The tree with all its claw marks would stand alone next new moon
And the people of these lands would know horror all too soon

They say the devil watched as the monster ripped into its mother
Her soul the first to go, before he sought about another
The devil took the mother’s soul in his arms and waltzed her out the door
In his strife with god he let the beast set straight the score

If you look upon the somber rock where the earth and moon collide
To the west, and stay down low for its best that you should hide
You’ll see the devil dancing with his lovely maiden fair
While her son hunts in the forest for those that don’t beware

Soon the lights will fall down around me and darkness will set in
Maybe then I’ll get the chance to come back and begin again
Perhaps I’ll keep a memory of who I was and why I came to be
Then I’ll stand a chance of becoming anyone but me

The wisteria hung like celestial waterfalls against a backdrop of splattered light. As if the sun had spilt paint across the horizon on it's way out of that day. I saw you in hues of blue standing in the rain. Strands of burnt chestnut hair clung to your cheeks like the blind hands of night had just found the most beautiful thing it'd ever touched. The moon paused and everything I once coveted fell out of thought. I saw fireflies, like fallen stars pleading their case to the heavens, flash in and out of the garden. I held this moment like my last breath for fear the sound of my sigh would break the dream.

Where would I find you if I decided to look?
Alone in a corner, your nose in a book?
And what time would you say I could find you there?
If it were to matter, and I were to care.
And what could I say to avert your gaze?
Up from those pages of which you graze?
Perhaps I could offer a limerick or two?
An impromptu serenade just for you?
I hear you, I feel you, you want me to go.
I don't have a ticket and I'm late for the show.
I see you're reading "My Sisters Keeper".
Anna wins the case, but then meets the reaper.

It’s ok.
I know her.
I’ve known her all my life.
She told me she’d wait.
Though if I ever needed her,
I need only die.

I hear her when the pain in my heart rouses my sleep.
A soft whisper as if from another room.
“Jamison”
Her breath curls up around my neck and falls down over me.
It’s a warm sleep she offers.
An end to my pain.

I'll start this prose,
with a pleasant verse.
I'll keep it friendly
and try not to curse.

Puppies and satin
and curtains and ****.
**** it I ****** up
so much for my lit.

Well it's said and done,
I'll just continue.
I promise I'll try,
not to offend you.

A baby elephant
was born today.
It came in to life
it's own neat way.

See? It's happy.
I'm doing quite well.
A few more verses.
This'll be swell.

This baby pachyderm.
A chipper young lad.
Perfectly healthy.
No cause to be sad.

This happy baby,
he loved his hay.
Why he could eat
that hay all day.

Until one day.
The hay was bad.
He killed everyone.
Caused he was mad.

The baby elephant.
He tore off limbs.
He ripped heads
Like flowers from stems.

You never saw
such carnage and fear.
This laddie was cross
and he made it clear.

When the swat team came.
They surrounded the zoo.
They never expected
what they had due.

That little baby,
arose in the roof.
It wasn't a stunt,
it wasn't a goof.

Well before that calf
could say what he wanted.
His life became
sunndenly stunted.

They put a few bullets
in his pudgy body.
They

**** this **** is way too long.
It's like the very last verse.
In a very bad song.

We're the keepers of each other’s past.
Holders of memories, long lost or stranded.
I can say that I knew you when.
That’s to say I knew you then.
Though you’re not that person anymore.
You’re not the one I knew before.
Tomorrow again you’ll be anew.
What are you going to do with you?

Does it warm you
To think me cold
Cast down
Settling like starlight
Upon a landscape of pelted glass
Broken and scattered
Save for those few moments
Wherein the truth fell out
And pour over your eyes
Like a warm spring rain
Was I there
In the room

Spending too much time alone with your thoughts
You start to wonder
Are you really that alone
It’s almost unfathomable
To think
That no one else is there with you
Quietly pacing the halls
Every fiber of your being wants to shout
“Am I really alone!”
But you don’t
Out of fear
Because the thought of hearing no one echo back
Well, it’s unbearable
To most
Some
Well some did ask that question aloud
They got their answer
They’re the ones
That never say a word
Walking by us in the shadows
Longing to comfortably slip into the void
Without so much as a whisper

There are conversations of great importance taking place above my head.
The branches house the senate and there's great debates taking place upon high.
The robins are vehement in their allegations against the sparrows.
The finches support the sparrows but are apprehensive over their trade alliance with the cardinals.
The cardinals insist the robins be compensated for their worm losses due to the finches overpopulating.
It's quite fascinating.

I was wondering just what it is that keeps me up at night.
When I could be deep in slumber and walking towards the light.
I asked my cat just sitting there, looking dumb but wise.
She licked her paw, wiped her face, and slowly blinked her eyes.
Staring deep into the night and there I thought I heard a sound.
Not a call, not a song, but it moved along the ground.
"Who goes there?" Who says that? This isn't 1542.
"It's just the Devil passing by. What might I do for you?"
"Devil. Ma'am. Might I wonder just why we're made to suffer?"
"And might I add, please don't answer "it's meant to make us tougher""
She lit a cigarette off her finger and performed a little curtsy.
"So let me guess. You got to thinking that it is I who has hurt thee?"
"Listen here you wayward lad. One who suffers of his will.
It isn't I who hath poisoned you. It isn't I who made you ill.
You suffer cause your human and you only want to love.
This curse you carry with you was cast by him above."
She then licked her crimson lips and gazed off toward the east.
She set out to slay the sun, for to her, it is the beast.
I finished off my whiskey and then I made my way to bed.
The sight of her eyes, those deep green eyes. Residing in my head.

The snow was deep but she had found the sacred burial plot
An ancient granite archway over a tomb that read only Cain
She looked up at the crescent goddess and closed her eyes
Embers arose from the ground and danced about her
She whispered her spells fluidly and a fog crept in from the moors
Her freshly sharpened teeth bite her lip until blood spills
Whispering one last spell she takes a smile upon herself
The stones supporting the archway begin to fall out of place
Embers brighter than before envelop her arching form
She feels a surge of warmth emanating from her core
Granite falls and breaks, the smell of rot permeates the air
She collapses to the ground her red dress splayed out
A dark figure emerges from the shadow of the tombs embrace
It draws a deep breath to take in its new time and world
Kneeling down beside the beautiful raven haired woman
It traces its ashy finger down her cheek to her lips
Long had its hunger suffered against itself in vain
Her neck slightly throbbing with every faint breath
The silhouette of her body like the angels who dance with fire
A shimmering of moonlight catches its eye against its will
A gold clasp on a leather bag she’d brought along with her
Securing the bag to itself it found amongst the items currency
It took the gold and stood up before dropping the purse on her face
Then went up the road to Dairy Queen for a chili dog
It met some tourist and got a ride into town on their way through
It set about the next night feasting on  virginal blood
Forgetting all about the lady back at the tomb
And it lived happily ever after

She moved like smoke.
Wafting about.
Tempting.
As smooth as warm water.
Holding her would be like sliding into a hot shower on a cold day.
I'd imagine her whisper to be like caramel.
Despite what I imagine though.
Regardless of what I see when I look at her.
She still finds herself standing in the rain.
Jumping in puddles hoping one of them will be deep enough to consume her entirely.
Cursing herself because she can't dodge the raindrops.
I'll never ask her to come in from the rain.
That'd be asking her to change who she is.

Thank you for the drink young lady. Though I would be remiss. If I were to take my leave of you without suggesting this. It may not be my place or it could be why I'm here. I suppose it doesn't matter. So I'll make this short and clear.
Some things were said, some were not and perhaps we both share some regret. So let's remember what it was lest we bother to forget.

You can search if you like, the library of those who have lived.
Row after row of dusty books, stories of some that gived.
Others are just pages of lamenting, describing their pain and loss.
Scribbles of things unsaid and things that silence cost.
You may just find your book, amidst the stacks of stories unfinished.
Ink still wet on the pages, of a life not yet diminished.
In there you’ll find a sentence, in which you casually mention me.
In my book you’ll find a chapter, of which was written for thee.