Its two in the morning
and instead of listening to
the noisy flood
of keyboard and bass.
I listen to rain.
cause that's all that is there.
with no boat to paddle me away
and no door to float on
I watch everything crumble.

I like you
Whell like you
Ya
Like you


Don't look like that
Well...
Yep

that's all i had to say

I remember the moment i saw my parents as people.
stumbling and babbling like normal humans
with eyes that seemed flighty
lost
but only for a second.
They caught my eyes.
And i saw myself in them.
squishy and
malleable to an extent.
they were no longer infallible
they were no longer better than i
they were just older.
And it ******.
To no longer see them as super heroes
but as cash cows.
as
just another school mate.
But they wished to prove me wrong.
My father seemed to see it in me too
My mother watched it come close
They wanted to show me how super they could be
they already handed me the world
and they wanted to show me what it all meant
but i was too old by then.
and had already grown familiar to ignoring them
Like a deer pants for the water.
Like religion to a sinner.

Never Kiss a woman.
Not even slightly
Especially after work
on a cold night
in a bar bathroom
Never kiss a Woman.
If you like having a spleen
they distract you with lips
and feed you a cold knife
Never kiss a woman.

I think i
spent my happiest hours
not thinking

Being in love is
like being sober and
I'd rather be drunk

You remind me of breakfast.
I can wake up in the morning
and you be there
you, flayed
warm and inviting, and
the next, it isnt
The moments pass and
It isnt the time for it anymore.
But, there is always
tea.

And in a pickle i find myself hard pressed to not attempt to impress this one. She seeks it like a lost pack of cigarettes.
It is in her eyes, and it is in her hair. its in her shoulders and its in the way she points her ****. She wouldn't say it
in any other way than with the heavy gin soaked breath, faintly and subtly in-between huffs and sighs. She wanted the colour
of her words to match the red of her cheeks. She told me that she had heels cause of me, and i denied that i had anything
to do with it. The way she spoke reminded me of Daisy Fay.

I met her one night in March
In a bar
cut between two rain slicked streets
and the drab shopping districts
that forcibly reminded you that you were downtown
and your city isn't New York.
She would tell you the same thing.
Somewhere in between sips.
Every sip forced a smile onto her face.
A smile like a well timed Tea.
She said she was happy.

Ive had too many coffees
more than i can count
devastating my systems
and
rattling around my brain
like a small child with
its bits in hand
Morning will come
like a waffle iron
And no one will know
when its all cooked
I want fruit on mine
with whipped cream
and powdered sugar
But that isnt life
and we are all out of fruit
im afraid.
But we do have coffee.

Poetry doesn't work like it should
crazy bastardization of something
called love and emotions
It doesn't take much to be unrequited
it never does.
and somehow i wind up backwards.
like the little notes on my mirror
we don't truly understand the whole thing
and so, some of us skip it
like breakfast

I Want to make love to you,
innumerably,
over time and space,
between sheets and over hills.
And I want to make it last,
longer than the age of man,
(longer than a decent sized ****)
And I want it to be with you.
We may not know love.
But we love to know,
that in each other, we find
The absence of solitude
And the abundance of
Well,
We can skip the semantics and
toss in some romantic entanglements.
Should you not find fault in my style
we could move in after a while
I won't dump you for something better
(unless I find something better)
Sure darlin, only time could tell
But you know good and well
time isn't waiting for us.
I'm almost twenty-three
and a fair bit lonely
But I like spending time with you.
Lets not play games
you know they're all the same.
lets state our intentions outright.
For once in our lives be true
Maybe,
One day,
I might love you.

Why write poetry
when i can just *******
makes me feel better

She would start.
Skott left her last year.
then she went to Matt.
Matt all antiquated
Reciprocated then revoked
Getting married this year
to some other chick.
She went to James
lovely bloke.
Folks sent him to rehab
Forgot everything.
then Andy, and Roy.
Started off well.
Each got all individual
both said
my life ain't right
baby you're too good
I'd be unfair.
"well i think we should"
She teared and talked back
then denied
both abated and baked
he requited in the woods
Who was left
in her little window.
no one
She sobbed to me
and I listened.
I wrote for her
and
she said
i think i should
Fixes the wound
makes it feel better
she felt marooned
like a scorned *****
But she would say this
and i would listen
him she would miss
and her eyes would glisten
But I wrote too
mainly about her

Sometimes in the thick of things I find it hard to imagine that anyone else would be better for me than you. Maybe it is the words that come across my lips that make you blue. The world is different inside this large head of mine. I find it funny that I don't love you. I don't see it. It doesn't work like that. And what is this thing? Stuck somewhere in space. I have acquired friendship.

I fear that it isnt long enough.
and i cant describe
it sinks
Like a carrot in gravy
Straight emptiness.
Existence begins and we float
characters in a bowl
thick goop holds it together
with no end.

sometimes its hard to
be happy with her around
but then i just smile

Blue

And I dont think you understand

It isn’t that

Language and wording

mucking itself up in translation

Freedom is what i believe in

but belief means nothing to you

I think you transcend

You don’t know why, right?

Words and Language

translations that arent always accurate

Freedom is what I seek

but what does that mean to you?

Inside, the thought
Seeing her face
she looks past
I never know
how things work
broken like a crisp
brown skin
forgettable name
fork and fissure
fizzle and feign
force and...
We won’t speak
Nameless books
shelved permanently
truth be told,
I dream of her.

Night came
like ivy climbing a tree
we sat and watched
the ivy clung to our heels
and scratched up our thighs
wind sifted through our hair
it carried the moon
Its frost fell onto us
we wouldnt stop it
She smiled. I couldnt.
our feet bare
wrenched against the rough shingles
each grit reminded me
of the words she spoke
her fingers pried into mine
when the sky turned black
Then I would wait.
We would wait.