Every time I se her name
On someone else's face
I want to cry and die

My late night malaise.
My recurring waking dream.
My vestiges of depression.
Turning inside out on me

Uncomfortable feelings.
That I do not know how to control.
I lay here passively.
In the dark. And let them wash
Like tides ebbing and flowing
On my tiny soul.

Late night malaise.
I'm stuck in your
Twilight zone. Trying to pick up someone
Who will make me feel at home

But my golden years feel so long gone.
People look at me and wonder
How I was ever good looking at all.
Failing to understand who I am
Again .
A light malaise. Yes. And endlessly deep.
A perfect fit for
A broken man.

Half Empty.

The beautiful girl she Sat alone
Her hair of fire and her eyes of stone
Prettily covered a void now grown

It had always been there but even still
Now at last it felt unreal.
As if she was not herself. But a caricature a void of ladies past.

I could see her sitting there in her half emptiness.
I felt my other side waiting and I looked her
In her eyes.
With soft shown bliss she smiled. And I said to her simply
You will be mine for a long while.
While before you've never felt whole
Upon one look the truth shall be told
You were made to be mine.  And I shall
Have you body mind heart and soul.
Though it may be scary because of false prophets long since past
If you take a fall into my rabbit hole
You'll find yourself awoken as you really are.
Alice in Wonderland
At last

It always shocks me that people love
My poetry.
When you are enveloped in flaws
And develop through,
Get this,
Critical thinking,
You find yourself a self same mess
Just getting older and clinging to
The chemical bliss your brain elicits
When someone says yes,
This poem is something I loved.
It's an addiction, honey, but it's worthless,
For the second it arrives my consciousness
Comes in with three different thoughts,
First the emotional and egotistical
I'm the best why isn't there more love,
and then the collusion rational,
My personal poetry is meaningless to
Others except by a voyeuristic view,
There is no intrinsic value,
Finally, always, the doubt and internal
Degradation. This poetry is really
Nothing at all. Just failures like
Adam grasping for straws reaching for God
But I aspire to nothing really,
And I don't care much about anyone or
Anything anyways
I just want to be special. And it's easy.
And the talent does sometime flow nicely.
But it gives me nothing. No bread on my table.
At what point does therapy and sharing
Just excercise my own limitless desire
For pleasure and devotion.
So many counter opinions so many theories
But every time my mind acts the same
I'm just a disgusting human with a
Dastardly perspective and I enforce it on
You in lines and rhymes to be God in your
Mind if only for a little while.
And I always think,
For those this bothers most,
How shocking it is that people
Love my poetry.

The blood moon
Fell softly in the night
Just another night
Alone
Nothing special
Nothing different
At all.
Just a ******* red moon
To mirror my long
Fall

You can ******* lie to me baby.
If that only means
I can be back in your life.
If I can see those eyes again
And that smile
And that presence
I almost feel alive
Over a ******* lie
4 years since