I can only think in
half formed metaphors,
and before I know it
they're
gone.
But,
I bet
if I wrote down every
eloquent phrase I thought up
and stitched them together,
they'd make a
romance novel.

I went for a stroll in the wood
felt the earth bend beneath my feet
heard the chorus of cracking ice
out on the old stump pond.
watched as waves of fog
rolled off its melting sheets.

I found a small bit of peace
in the clatter of my footsteps
on my brownian walk
and felt seduced
by the eerie absence
of my thoughts.

no plotting and scheming
or unreasonable wanting
and dreaming of more.
finally an escape
from the neoteric noise
the technicolor screens,
and the scripted realities
we call life.

He pretends not to love her
but every time he looks in the mirror
he sees everything he could've had with her

He pretends not to want her
but every time she says 'hi'
he whispers 'i miss you'
at his phone
but sends 'hey'

He pretends not to need her but hes slowly realizing the sweetness she brought to the air was the only thing he was ever willing to live for

He pretends not to remember her
but when he's crying in the shower,
his tears tell him otherwise

He pretends not to dream of her but when he wakes from night terrors and a sweaty brow, he realizes it's her absence haunting him

He pretends not to notice the flowers in his driveway that she planted
three years ago for his mother
and fights the urge to rip them from the ground

He pretends to shut her out but he knows he can never let her go without losing himself in the process

I lost a friend.
        They started it
                and I finished.

Saying goodbye to
        everything I loved
                about them.
                        I turned away
                                and never came
                                        back.

I'm sorry,
        but how was this
                for the best?

Best for you,
        but never me
                because I'll miss you
                        more than you ever
                              missed me

I may not have the wealth,
The fame,  or the power

I may not have the gold,
The bronze, or silver

I may not have the beauty-
Of the  body, or of the face

I may not be the best-
Woman,  citizen or race

I may not see what they can
Or make loud noise like their laugh

I may not have this world
But having your love  is enough.

At last the time had come to disembark:
Noah lead out the species one by one.
They squinted in the unfamiliar sun
After their long confinement in the ark,

Ready, it seemed, to start the world afresh,
When from the ravaged plains below there rose,
To turn the stomach and attack the nose,
An overwhelming stench of rotting flesh.

Noah threw up; his wife and family too;
Even the beasts began behaving oddly:
The world, though cleansed of sinners, smelled ungodly,

But everyone eventually grew
Accustomed to that ghastly odour, save
Noah, who drank himself into the grave.

I walk up the stairs in a rather unorthodox way
preferring my step pattern to never stay the same
since for years I dabbled in forever and
always pays
always laughs
always makes the first move
Now,
always late, always last, or at least never first
an unquenchable thirst for connections and friends
and un-sad yet unhappy terms coming to ends
with immune systems weak, we're crumbling in the end
but it's only me bleeding out my ends from a poor ulcered tract
For years they've begged me to put on a smile
and I still find it a struggle to stay in tact