I'm still figuring this **** out
Life doesn't make sense
And honestly neither do I
I just mumble
Or Ramble
Or a mixture of both because they're basically spelt the same
All I do anymore is stare at my rooms messy floor
Thinking about how life could be better
And yeah I find the opposite *** confusing
But only because I'm confusing to myself
So how the hell could I understand any one else
Its not just the opposite *** that's confusing
Its everyone from A-Z
Between you and me
From hair to knee
Those are the ones who really confuse me
So until I get myself
(which will probably be never)
I'll just sit here ******* about how life could be better

Tonight it's Bach, Handel , Chopin
and more
just music please,
tried many songs
lyrics of kinds,
melodies high and low
yet, none reflect
my numb thoughts.

I wonder though
why so,
am I too dead or
words lack strength?

Just hold me tight
until I wake up
and really hear
words of your song,
till then
let it be only music
tonight.

A string of shiny days we had,
  A spotless sky, a yellow sun;
And neither you nor I was sad
  When that was through and done.

But when, one day, a boy comes by
  And pleads me with your happiest vow,
"There was a lad I knew--" I'll sigh,
  "I do not know him now."

And when another girl shall pass
  And speak a little name I said,
Then you will say, "There was a lass--
  I wonder is she dead."

And each of us will sigh, and start
  A-talking of a faded year,
And lay a hand above a heart,
  And dry a pretty tear.

Squawks of terror from
mother and child,
a scene never making Hitchcock's
final cut. Competing gulls flap,
swoop,
kamikazi dive bomb
for fallen fried clams. Boardwalkers smeared
in cocktail sauce and blue cotton candy
sweet and sticky. Shrills sounding,
"kitta-wa-aaakee, kitta-wa-aaakee"
as wings slap in spun sugary goo.
She is tarred and feathered.
Gull down! Gull down!
Weekend warriors in Atlantic City
never saw it coming.

The sea wind whips westward
and ocean regurgitates all matter
of gunk. Tampons, syringes, punctured
floaties in shapes of ducks and dragons,
it is ever there
in the gleaming reflection of casinos,
for homeless veterans
to scavenge upon.

Even wounded gulls eat better.