Poetry is our inspiration, we were born writers. People call us BBQ sauce snobs wine connoisseurs and brothers.
But he likes to dance at night-- in the headlights when the air pierces the skin. His deep dark pockets are an oblivion of cigarettes and full minis of Jack. Remind's me of Harpo.
He walks like a snake slithers-- body swaying and a gleaming mischievous twinkle in his eye.
We both enjoy crisp, autumn days, but he prefers them cloudy-- dark. He says it brings out the color in the reds and orange leaves jumping off the trees to twist in the breeze. Listening to stand-up is our solace, though he says Hicks is god. I say Carlin
His shadow reminds me of a demon-- the long lost son of Medusa.
He's not afraid to say what he thinks, cause he knows he's right. Sometimes I believe him-- he speaks with such nonchalant confidence. There's always a needle on his words swiftly flitting and flickering like a flame he's flicking off his tongue. And if his words hurt breaking the skin? "Don't be such a *****" he'll snarl before turning the charm back on with a giggle and ironic wink.
He likes to collect the faults in others cause his thinks his **** don't stink. He keeps reminding me of mine. He enjoys needling people.
We've known each other for a long while. Seems like longer.... but that's cause my roommate is me.
It's preferable to read the poem with this song in the background... http://youtu.be/F29Ky5ncefQ "You Rascal You" by Hanni El Khatib