Dusty bottles of *****,
Raise up dusty ghosts in this basement,
Sickeningly sweet whiskeys and buttery shots,
Warm,
Then sharply struck by icy cold, antiseptic *****,
I’m numbed and dulled to these divorces of life.

All I got is carpeted floor,
Rocking chair,
Too much alcohol,
I’m a ghost… A ghost,
I moan and groan.

I used to write poems,
While I’s high on gin,
Now I gulp *****,
And sin and sin and sin….

**** going to bed early,
Cause this is what happens…
Not-quite-nightmares unsettle me,
Creeping under my skin…
Cold, molasses spiders,
And I wake up with my head aching,
But it’s only 3am and so I’m bored,
And I must further forget,
So I sleep again…
To dream of the loveliest of life this time,
Her voice… Her scent… Her eyes…
The way she stretched out her very being,
When it was only me watching,
I wake up with my head AND chest aching,
**** going to bed early.

Come to me, gentle wrong,
To make it not so gentle,
So I might trace your lips with my tongue,
And torment in shallow breath,
Open our eyes to split-second joy,
And forget why it is wrong,
Soft wrong but never wrong,
I ache in shallow breath.

An unborn boy… with unborn joy,
Maybe an unborn girl… With unborn curls,
To say nothing of their delicate ways,
I’m lost, I’m sad,
11 years have passed…
Since I knew she was pregnant,
And then… she wasn’t,
So I don’t know unborn joys with unborn curls,
After 11 years have passed,
I’m lost… Still sad.

In my dream, In my head,
I have these words I wanna say to you,
The way I feel and all that crap,
Coming together, My words are all for you,
Where are you pretty, pretty girl,
The dark hair I wonder, My creation girl,
With shiny, shiny eyes, I wish for you,
Sticking me up for the longest time,
In these daydreams about the words I’ve spent,
Pretty, pretty girl…
Stupid, stupid me,
You shouldn’t know but I wish you did,
About these thoughts and my **** dreams too,
Creation girl, I’m getting stupid for you.