To the lady who thinks she's part fish or something.*
Yes I'm a rude *** ******* when I want to be.  
Is there truth in handles?
My handle is a play on my name AND I admit,
one of my all time favorite activities.
Why hit follow the Schmucker?
Not exactly seeking anyone lonely lady.
You spending hours mass producing poems
screams and shouts no life to me.
I go for women who have actually real lives.
Maybe you are a sea nymph luring men to death.
Hey maybe you sing seductively and you charming.
Maybe you a music instrument making notes and
maybe you full of steam.
Hell maybe you a eel type salamander with
permanent gills and no hind legs.
Seen a pic and a SMOKIN' anything?
Hell to the no! You not to me!

I sit there and know
That I could never
Engage myself in conversations
With these conundrums.

Those who are both human, and
Badly wrapped paper packages,
Filled with so much experience,
Brimming with knowledge which
Is rapidly fleeing through
The holes in the brown paper
Worn by time.

How can I speak to those
Who cannot hear my words in full
So that they must be talked to
Slowly, like
They are children
But that have been through so much
More than I
At the tender age of seventeen
Could even imagine.

How can I speak to these enigmas
Who keep asking me the same questions
But which I cannot talk to
Without being
Disrespectful

Not only towards them
But towards my future
Aged self, who will one day
Be in their position
And who I cannot imagine
Will want to be treated
Like a five year old
At the age of eighty five.

The coach capsized and spilled its freight,
a glut of rabid reprobates,
who swarm towards a sea of lights
and fill their cups with harbour nights.

We do not heed the lighthouse glare,
or match the fortune-teller's stare.
We storm the cliffs as if to pillage
the gift shops of this seaside village.

We mill around a restaurant's doors
and nip at hot dogs with our claws.
Stockpiling rock up by the stick,
whilst wearing hats marked 'Kiss Me Quick'.  

Because we cannot hear their cries
for whispered arcade lullabies,
the gulls will dance above the tide
and mock sandcastle suicides.

The distant fort once planted proud,
clings to the hillside like a shroud.
Its craggy face a last dissuasion,
against the sea's saline invasion.

Perhaps the Ferris wheel's arc,  
can count each dawn against the dark.
A spotlight shone upon each heart,
as we rehearse our weathered parts.

Pastime play or parlor show,
we forget the lines we ought to know
and stumble on with blind devotion,
to pour our years into the ocean.

And yet! We catch the child's smile,
projected on a seafront mile.
His mirth casts doubt upon the claim,
that each new act concludes the same.

The beach begins and ends each dance,
each interval a second chance  
to wake the youth we put to sleep
and cast the hourglass into the deep.

It chills the marrow of my bones,
Rattles my empty chest with a whooping gasp.
We live in a mindset clouded by falsification, washed over by an image of perfection.
With their blinders on, the sheep will follow forever-Their shepherds will lead until there's nothing left to lead to.

There will come a day when the birds no longer sing, and their throats will no longer resonate with the comfort we cling to tightly.
I fear for the world, the Earth. I hear its cry and try to help.
But I am only one person.
I fear for the children and lovers, blinded by ignorance

There will come a time where forests may smolder to nothing, and the leaves will no longer rustle in the wind.
I long for a renewal, a second chance.
I may never live to see one,
Our planet spent to nothing more than a piece of astrological garbage

There will come a time when everything will go to nothing,
There will come a day when everyone will finally see what we've done,
And that day will be one day too late

You’re close to me
Your perfume, filling my lungs
I can’t breathe, because it smells so good
It hurts

The pain of your smell in my heart
When I lay down
Thinking about you

The way you trick me
Into thinking you love me back
Sometimes I forget he’s the one who stole your heart
And I believe you

You say “come closer”
And there I go
I get close to you
And your smell, it fills my lungs
It takes my breath away
You’re killing me

Wake up! My friends
Dreamers are not the tortoise
Which don't know how to rise

Move on! My comrades
Dreamers are the flowing waves
That make thier own ways

I met a wilting ***** by the roadside,
she was barefoot and drowned by the riptide,
she said,
that had swallowed her up
over the course of her time.

I sat down beside her in the rubble,
hubble, bubble and a load of trouble,
she said,
that business must come first,
so she doesn't waste my time.

I told her I was just another waste,
another scrap of food without the taste,
I said
that I would stay with her
and live without clocks and time.

She waved off kindness with her ruined hands,
she knew not love but customer demands,
she said,
no man has kissed me since
my father ran out of time.

We talked for hours more in summer heat,
she was hungry but she refused to eat,
she said,
to find beauty I must
keep thin and defy all time.

At night she stumbled back onto her feet,
for some loose-skinned man she'd promised to meet
she said,
“tonight I have found love,
as if gifted from all the stars above,
but the city bells have begun to chime
and I'm afraid love cannot stop the time.”