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 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.

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.

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
...

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

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.

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 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

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

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

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'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.

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.

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?

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.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

I think i
spent my happiest hours
not thinking

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.

I really wanted to make
something
beautiful
you see.

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

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.

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.

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?

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

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

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.

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 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.

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

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

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.

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?

Bee ink toe
Get her is bae tear
Than a loan