I wish I
wrote better
poetry.

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 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.

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

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

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.

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

Bee ink toe
Get her is bae tear
Than a loan

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

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.

The way she
Looks at me makes me
Feel like dawn

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
...

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?

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.

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.

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

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

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.

Aspartame
Tastes sweeter even though
It is fake

Sunshine
blue skies
please go away

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

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

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?

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 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 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

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

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 really wanted to make
something
beautiful
you see.

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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 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.

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

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.

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 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.

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 think i
spent my happiest hours
not thinking

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

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

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

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.

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