Hand rolled cigs
This music is ****
My red lips
You're pure grit
Grind it out
In the ash
Pick off
Another lash
Flick your eye
Before you go
Grab my hand
And let me know

Before you left, you struggled.
Making me your endeavor.
Fed me wine & flattery.
You bid me goodbye.

You said you never use the phone.
Am I going to be waiting?
My ash tray is so packed now,
Hope thinned down by smoke.

I sat by the telephone
For the last time yesterday,
Drinking your red moscato.
I am done with you

No, I haven't failed to recognize the correlation between working more and making rent
Between saving more and living less
And how if I suffer now then I won't suffer later, right?
Is that a guarantee?
And where do I sign up for the white picket protection from anything bad that could possibly happen to me?
Which broke down fool lead you to believe
That safe is interchangeable with happy
Or that valid is saved only for value
As in
Your car is decreasing in value with each mile and
Your right to drive is only valid if you've got the funds to back it up
So stay home
Save your miles and your luck
Because expense weighs more than experience
And if I'm not careful I'll turn out just like my mother
See you
Underestimate the value of words
You told me only dead writers get paid but
I'll never forget yours
I see them in the hard lines
That place on your face where I've heard some people keep smiles
And I'm sorry
I'm sorry you listened to whoever told you these things
If I could fix you, I would
I would make you deaf to the fear that you channel in through the ear and out through the mouth
But I can't so
Here's how I'll save you
You listened
I won't

That sparkle,
that immeasurably forgiving joy and affection is gone,
but the sound of your voice is just familiar enough to make me remember it.

What we're doing here is necrophilia.
It's gross, but we're ******* something that's dead and we both know it.
I think we thought we could bring it back to life with our selfish demands,
but this coffin isn't as comforting as we'd hoped it would be.

We've never talked about the time between,
that period of time when we never talked.
We should have talked.
Without words, you had nowhere to be angry so you swallowed your truths and they turned into blame.

I can feel it when you look at me,
I don't sparkle anymore.
Well, neither do you.

When we talk we say the least, yet every word has a barb.
Too jaded for affection we bob and weave through a minefield of unacknowledged truths.
Our words rot in our bellies while we sew each others mouths shut.
We never wanted this sort of intimacy.

We let the poison out with play, the kind that's done with knives.
So here we are, playing with knives in a minefield,
the only sound is our own hollow laughter.

Behind every "never mind" and "just kidding",
behind the scoreboard of our interactions and every slap of my *** are two shadows;
one covered in armor from breast to backbone,
and one purging a river of poison.

We're chasing a past we know we can't have back,
and the echoes of our old feelings make the silence so much louder than it was
when we didn't talk.

We were beautiful this summer, helplessly alive.
We had such good intentions but the silence and the miles and the fear have made this thing pale,
dead looking.

We try hard to be sorry.

Every kindness hurts because it tastes like the past,
so now instead we barter in bed.
Turns out *** without affection falls under Services Rendered,
but the shape of you so near to me makes me miss you more than I can bare and if you call me tonight, I'll probably answer.  

I guess sometimes the only way to make sure something's not still alive is to poke it with a stick a few times.

I'm the best, there ever was
Can't get with me, at da club
Other poets, need to respect
My reputation, I'll protect
I got a 9, pen in my hand
Write your name, in the sand
To me, you can't never stand
I ain't afraid, to let out a curse
Write you in, an ugly verse
I'm da best, you da worst

You can't, stay with my meter
I spit sick, iambic pentameter  
I'm da truth you da cheater
You rhyme like Armstrong rides
You have to dope, ya got no rhymes
You da Cheech I'm da Chong
I write, you smoke da ****
You da burger, I'm da veal
I earn likes, you freakin still
You got da, cheesy *** rhymes
Droppin' words, like love & sublime
I put the free, in free verse
You all about, Nonsense Verse
I drop a sonnet, makes his head Shake
I'm the Chaucer, you da fake
I'm a Lyric, you the Lune
You can't quit writen', too crazy soon
Your stuff is dirt, mines the moon
You want a challenge, get in the ring
I'll make you cry but your mama sing

You'all poets, you got to know
You da fluff, I'm da show
I'm the king of the poets, HELLO

A comet fell last night

and I saw the universe inside a flower...

the light and darkness full of power...

then God came and said a few words.

and I was left shaking on the floor.

Its a bit too much much, what we feel
between your mascara lines
and my rifle's steel
My carbon-tipped boots and your high heels
paying for your nails and these light bills
your fingertips are still digging deeper into my back pocket
My wallet, I wanted this  
but steady paychecks don't mean we can afford a tryst
with a solo violinist and a dinner candle-lit
pent-up in the penthouse painted
red, jaded rooftops, movie sponsorships
Blockbuster hits not folded dented
Like your life is rented through my hardships