The clacking of keys
Doesnt sing like the
Scribble of a pen
And then
When
The next line has begun
The thought has run
Off
The pc cannot loft
The vision of choirs
Instead mires
In the new age of funk
The increasingly drunk
Sounds of clacking
Feels like its lacking
Its own song

If i never drank  
I don't think
I would understand
How people work
When i've been drunk
I wouldn't have tried
I think i wouldn't
Have opened my mind to
Who people could be
Or was it before
the drink and muck
That i understood what
Lie underneath
Most of our skins
It was within
That i had to defend
Who am i
The drink decried
What is it that i satisfy?
The answer i sat
And had to contemplate
I do not know what of me you sate
Is it the lonesome parts of my soul
And the inevitable toll
I had to pay
Drinking may
Make me feel like dust
And like water can rust
The metal it touches
Drinking crutches
My own mind
I find
That when i embibe
I scribe  
Out some trivial trouble
Like forgetting five o’clock stubble
To alleviate my soul
I repeat the rhyme with toll
As to make something known
It is not that I am alone
I have passed that part
Of me. Its the art
That i've seeked out
With the rhyme
Rather than some superfluous
Amount of timing  
I've forgotten the purpose
As always.
When I drink
I listen to myself

i woke up with something i wanted to do
until i realized my life was through
and when I sat down and calculated it all
I found that I had let my dreams fall
I spent too much time in the comfort of my bed
I spent too much time in the comfort of my own head
And when I realized there was nothing i could do
I remembered I could have left with you.

Don't talk about it.
Within the whole fit
Of alcoholism
There exists a skism
Of sorts,
That exports
The deviant aspects
Of life, expounding on regrets
Future and past.
Bombast
The standing
Circumstance.
Don't talk about it,
But the though doesn't quit.
Just permit
One lasting comment
Each one out of their mind.
Each one looking to find
Somebody,
Or, some shoddy
Example of another life.
Each one is hinged to strife
And dismay.
Looking to one day
Get away.
Looking for someone else to just stay.
Or to say
Something pretty.
It's ******
Enough just being.
Each one only seeing
The bad side of it.
...
Don't talk about it.
Just one more thing...
It will bring
Absolutely nothing, but,
Remember the bite.
Like a small, lustfilled, light.
It, felt, right.
A small touch
Isn't a crutch.
It wasn't much
More.
One can deplore
Desire
But admire
The effort.
Except for...
Don't talk about it.
I quit.
I can't
I won't
It's scant
That I detract.
There exists desire
And not an aquisition to aquire.
But, I
Can't help but sigh.
Even though my
Other shifts to cry,
I won't speak.
A hand she seeks.
And I give,
With the warmth of a shiv
To touch her face.
She's come from a strange place.
I won't speak.
For once, one, is not meek.
Friends before
But for a second, a little more.
Don't talk about it.
Don't let it persist
Like it was pretty.
Remember the city
And the stars.
There was no trip to Mars.
Remember "mistake",
For it can make
Friends...
But to what end?
Why is it important
There are no memories to sort and
Nothing to find.
In this mind
It exists as nothing.
No bluffing
No feeling
No realing
Just two
Of a few
Who
Wanted
Nothing left stunted.
No whelp
No cry for help.
Don't talk about it.
Yet, I sit
And think,
And no it wasn't the drink.
It was lonliness.
What did I miss?
Placation of desires and Nothing more.
She walked out the door
And was gone.
I sang no sad song
And it wasn't wrong.
Don't talk about it?
Fine, I submit.
I quit.
This is it.

I try to make
Poetry for my sake
Instead of submitting
To others. I am permitting
My words to do what they
Want. Despite what people say.
But I remember the rhyme
Every time
I write a line.
Can they be mine?
Because of my limit
I come off too timid
To shake the words
Around so the verbs
Make more sense.
Should I move without intents
And structure?
I can rupture
Every line I learned
Just to spurn
Some basic element.
I can be reticent
For the rest
Because I am not the best
Poet alive.
I dive
Into this whole thing
So I can hear people sing
My praises,
But it raises
The question.
I won't stop
When I flop,
But if I can't bend
When will I end?

I can not save anyone
Yet on the inside I do not feel any
Pain. I just feel free.

You say I am a child
but i am also a dragon
With wings that make wind
cut through the trees like blades
with voice
that burns down countries
with dreams
that die when boxed
and cut
and sold
till we are no longer dragons
but worms on our stomachs
you want us to be like you
but why not fly



you exist not as a bird
but a man
You exist not as an ideal
but as tangible thought
we watch you fly
and remember things
but we watch you burn
and crash
and cry
for we remember things
i wont break your wings
I show you to control wind
for you can fly straight
and never touch the ground

Aspartame
Tastes sweeter even though
It is fake

The wet sticky sound
It drives me mad
I hate hearing the sound of
It's inherent love
And

I wish my humanity didn't suffer
Not like this
Like millions of jarring bits
And a dozen hammers
Crashing into them
I wish it was negotiable
I could see one thing
And not the others
But that's not how it works
My humanity suffers
Because of the whole picture

You're amazing but
I find myself lost
I find myself inept to the possible nature
Of itself
I find myself in the midst of
Whell
Either
I till miles for you
But there isn't any seed
But I will grow from this
But you are amazing.
But I have nothing for you

Bee ink toe
Get her is bae tear
Than a loan

I would like to go home to a hollow house
But there's always some sound there
And it's not the books
It's the everything else
The humans
And their lives
Screaming out to be heard
But to what avail

What kind of world would I live in
If I betrayed my friends
In little increments
In between their love affairs
With words jarring
With statements to impress
What desire could be lost
Knowing the inevitable cost
Could be their happiness
For my own
With them on sorrowful knee
And myself sitting on my throne

I enjoy her
But to what avail
To string her along
With heartfelt sadness
So she could be near
And I won't be lost
But depression she owns and
Her happiness I collect on

She sighs and
everything is okay
With the world

The way she
Looks at me makes me
Feel like dawn

I don't know
what it means when you
say to us

I would like to go home to a hollow house
But there's always some sound there
And it's not the books
It's the everything else
The humans
And their lives
Screaming out to be heard
But to what avail

I find my time
With the
People I want to spend the lesser of my time
with
Undeniably so
Spinning loose thoughts and phrases
That cultivate nothingness
Why am I here
I ask
But
There is no answer
Only people

I wonder
If you read me
For the drunk
Or the resourceful
Or the remorseful
Or cause somewhere in my broken English
There was a prize to be found
But there is nothing here
I wouldn't say

Dear Barbara
I had a dream
That you still lived close
That you took your drive away
Every day
And that our distance was
Just imaginary

Dear Barbara
I bought you a book
That you'll never see
And you
Wouldn't do the same for me

Dear Barbara
I thought of you
I thought my writing
would get through
I thought that if you thought of me too
Maybe I wouldn't be blue

Dear Barbara
I've gotten old
I write like a drunk
I can't remember good
Maybe
...

bored
and yet you are alseep
I'd write you a poem if you'd just wake
but alas you head finds solace on a warming pillow
Id call it bored so you
could shrug off the intent without worry
but i called you cause i thought of you first
how does that feel
that my mind traverses your memory
before that of any other woman
no
person
but its called bored.
cause there is no more in the bottle for me
and the fire from the smoke melts my fingers
and you would rather me not think of you
sometimes i'm bored
and i cant help myself

Sometimes i wish these words could do justice
for the women who exist in my life
so i could make them sound as amazing
as they existed in this world
They are fantastic.
but

Sunshine
blue skies
please go away

When i say i miss you
i mean all of the bad things
all of the times you never spoke
all of the times you walked away
all of the moments when you didnt want me
Cause the truth of those moments is
freedom
its happiness.
It allows me to just stare at you
cause everything is already known
I can watch you be beautiful
Pleasant and silent
Expectant
Nothing gained and nothing.
I always loved that

I can imagine the worst while drunk
I can imagine a man
pulling a gun
and blasting one into my chest.
I can feel its wave
one to surf until it fades and I drift
ashore.
But, i cant see
you leaving me.
With less than words, slowly
like badly burnt rice.
I know when you taste like smoke
and that taste makes me not want to be near you
but
i never see it coming.
and i hope it never does again.

You are a terrible person. And
yet i fell for you once.
You were someone who
i saw myself with.
I did.
I really did. Then
Next you know,
I've gotten to know you
Im not in love with you like i thought.
Oh my god.
Its a side note to a whole range of things.
Every spark of its word
makes me cringe.
But,
I still do love you.
Surprising right
How someone who makes my stomach curl
finds a place in my heart instead.
I'm in love with you.
But in here,
You're family.

You know when you see someone you miss
someone lovely there is no hope with
Some heart with strings and such
that always keeps you held tight
winched with what not and such
maybe id be happier with
Some lovely hand scrounging her way
betwixt my cotton strung nethers
Never mind an old spot in realistic fiction
I remember the cigarette smoke.
And i was happy to oblige
with the repentance
a hand and a sentence
******* read with a mouth to trace
while your own words form
like honey from your lips.

Im sorry,
I never meant to say those words
I meant to say *******.
Every time I apologized
I always wanted to say
go **** yourself.
I changed them out
to make you feel like something special
but i forsook my own being
I forgot to be me and
left building blocks to our own death
and now they crumble.

Im a devil with a bad title
long words and broken
like conjunctives or
the old sayings
barking up the wrong tree
And with nothing
At its top
Where do you find fruit
Juicy enough to delight in
No skyline to admire
Just less tree to climb
And lost words in the fray

Sometimes i feel a bit better letting some English out.
like blood letting for the soul
I forget the happiness sometimes
its empty.
which
nothingness does feel great
I find poetry
enraging.
Its hard to imagine a more tumultuous art
everything is meaningless...
but meaning means so much.

I really wanted to make
something
beautiful
you see.

I dream of poems
and windows blight
with all the songs
and all my might
i cant mistake
the words unsaid
and even though
with poems read
its world falls
and the towers too
for every turn
comes back to you
with spring comes
the falling rain
it is *******
to rhyme with pain
for pain doesnt seem
to know its words
and always takes flight
like callow birds
the summers seep
like forgotten tea
wax and wane
like spring seas
and in my mind
a dream like state
i detest the rhyme
but that is my fate

in love.
I am,
Maybe she doesn't know how much
maybe i dont either.
bit by bit.
in my arms  
i wish to take her.
cradle her and
kiss.

I'm not one for long titles
with well written diatribes about broken fingers and lost souls.
I've always been better
with the whole ******* aspect of things.
Like a pretty flower crumpled under cheap boots.
Like an old fashioned pity party.
With the teacups and all.
Fishes hold bones like old people.

I have nothing.
My english is worthless
and my noise is unvoiced
viruses infect my knowledge
and my spirit tarnished
I have nothing.
And nothing doesnt keep a roof on my head
and nothing doesnt keep a warm bed
dark clouds call for an umbrella
and rain cleans the roads

Ive (never) been in love
And (never) neatly done
I (couldn't) hold her
With (out an ounce) care

I wish I
wrote better
poetry.

Nothing changes people.
All lives matter,
like the one under your heel.
Sparks fly and things incite.
But some can't see
the road they step upon
or the blood spilled to
mix concrete
Did you know, back in the day
they used bones to make
brick and mortar?
Ground into grit
Mixed fresh with spirit,
hope.
history.
Right, History...
Never to be thought of again.

He told me that he has never spoken a lie
i cant say i believe him
he said he didnt care
he leaned back in his chair and sipped gin
I was intrigued
why bring up the topic?
He said it was a study
to my life how many times had i resorted
to the untruths to fuel
some sort of forward motion in my life
I said all of them.
he sighed.
If everyone says the same thing
then how can i make reasonable data?
what about you?
I asked him
He said he quit
much like cigarettes
"Its about listening
and believing."
The truth is like honesty
they lie in the same bed.
but they resort to different dreams
one of remote happiness
with intent.
The other to God.
And the justice in its lap.
I asked him, what of his god?
He laughed.
I have rebuffed every ideal of the metaphor
Metaphor?
Indeed.
God is nothing more than
words
Every person perceives his own nature.
Every mans God becomes his own vision
For you ask me to lie
And i will not.
I told him i didnt understand
He said it didnt matter.
If a dog eats then he bites
if a man speaks then he lies

Like the sacrifice of young thieves
propriety is gained through noble means
and us with hearts of jackals
Accept it with teeth blaring
And smiles abound
And what remains in our
tarnished hands or
loveless regrets and emptied
thoughts
what have i to gain
from stripping those of their spoils
devoid from its own
gusts of wind keep me up again
like a summertime id like to forget
despondent, taking everything
with nothing to give
But time.

And i tell myself
Im not in love
im not in love
im not in love
When i see her face
But am i wrong?

I had a dream that i kissed you.
In a dry field with no one else around.
We talked, and i snuck in.
I brushed your hair out of the way and
went in for the ****
I dont recall it being soft
or nice
just something ive done.
like a memory or
an after thought
and i wasnt ashamed
cause i knew it had to happen
you said nothing
and i let it be
I walked away slowly
and you
frozen

Seven in the morning
I wake
Like a cracked egg
To the frying pan
And I don't know why
But the wine helps

Every night i dream of home
And every morning i wake up here
But here is home
and there i was unhappy.

I think the only time i feel alive is in autumn
I sit outside on a crisp night with a smoke
the wind slowly caresses my hair.
Or
When i sit near a body of water.
alone.

When I sip some latte in a public place
I look between the faces
and wonder if these people are happy.
Do they feel alive?
I think i look for my own sorrow.
Ive been sad for so long it feels natural
Ive felt sad for so long that no one seems to notice
anymore.

Ive spent night on mens couches
with legs stretched out across them
we watch something together.
But
I just play the part.
I stroke Egos. I smile brightly.
I coo over their meaningless words.
I am just a body.
I am just a body.

Ive drank countless drinks with men.
Ive heard every flattering word.
but I am just a body

We are selfish.
We are animals.
We only look at ourselves

And no matter how much we say
we're longing for love
we always do something to wreck it
or
we love people who wont love us back

Sometimes i think I love these men.
Sometimes i just want their skin.
I know i mean nothing to them
but they don't mean anything to me either

I am sentimental to emotions and sins
not actual people.

Actually written by Mlle.

I dropped my honey bun
I figured Its ruined.
But not technically
the top is damaged but the rest is unscathed
It sat sticky on the ground
And i thought
something is always taken and
something is always given
like people
extrinsically unscathed
internally scared when ripped apart
pieces are always left somewhere
sometimes sticky
sometimes ripped
and i wondered if i would still eat it