And yet she slumbers,
knowing not what goes through his mind,
and little more of what goes through her own.

Listlessness in terms of what to do,
and what not.

What's there to do when both the kettle and the *** are black?
Is it what many call love?

Why does it feel different than rom-coms
and everything that seems so well to point it out.

Instead, it's a hunger; it's a hunger to do more for the sake of her.
For the sake of self, and more for the sake of the one who created them both.

*Let us pray

My names are misnomers,
but you already knew that.

My lines are free flowing,
but these give no credence to that.

I wish to let you know I live,
and let you know desire's back.

I care, I care, I care so deeply,
and that is the end of that.

While there's no ink on any paper,
No clicking of keys to satisfy
the hunger of a page
My mind holds the ink and the clacking
Typing up inaccuracies
Drawing conclusions

Writing a fearful poem
Drenched in black ink and woe.

I've written for a long time,
In the silent pauses between words.

What means to me
Does not mean to you

I have oh so many things
I have yet to do

Basic rhyme schemes
And what's left in lieu
...
Of the newest disasterpiece
Line break to savor a dramatic lease

On life, on love
On whatever's least

What's there left
when we refuse to see each other
for what we are?

Outdoors smells like death
And indoors brings no life

Literally.
Figuratively.
There are no words for what I'm thinking.
There are no words for what I'm thinking.
My life on repetition
My lines on repetition

I need to let loose
I did
I didn't
I need to cleave to a good read
Good Book
God Book
Good Book
Dog's nook
I left away the peels of the orange
On the linens

I want to smell nice.
But isn't it better to be nice?

Poetry
Self-interest
Entitlement
Title Fight
Fighting Rights
Dining light
And finger ******* away feelings.

I wanted to make that stuff that’d rhyme
Only to realize I’ve yet to mime
And find time
To reference the Power Rangers in a piece.

Nobody does that.
Why did I do that?
Whobody does what?
Whybody does who?

What the **** am I?
Who the **** are you?

Language, Mr. Clement, language.
Reign that tongue in before I stick it to a frozen pole