Once I was playing 1st base,
dreaming of the ice cream truck.
Now I'm rounding 2nd base,
just hoping she wants to ****.

Paths diverged in the woods
and I just stood and stared.
I waited for the tears or joy,
only to learn I never cared.

The waiting game came and won,
leaving me cold in its path.
Still waiting for the rising sun
that never seems to last.

The theme song of my twenties:
loss of innocence, that old cliché.
Learning to hate my friends
that still slur the word gay.

Bukowski gets so arduous,
and who wants to marry that?
I bet it all on truth.
No room for love on that track.

I built this golden reputation,
only through subsidized kindness.
I rob the words of minor poets.
My love is a plagiarized styling.

My head is on the pillow now.
In due time my eyes will seal,
and then I'll melt into my dreams,
just hoping they're what's real