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michael-reid-rubensteinPoems
It was obvious how to do it Yet I couldn’t figure it out Until I saw it in a movie Then it became a question, Was I wicked enough To pull it off? Was I strong enough To see it through? In one instant, you’re alive, Eyes darting, heart pounding, Gushing love, throwing temper tantrums, Collapsing under weight of existence. In next instant, you’re dead, Cold and lifeless, end of story. Leaving arriving escaping The perspiration ***** smell of fear People tell me how smart I am, But I’m not really smart, More like lucky, and fast runner. I run from everything. Did I ever tell you about the times I’ve run straight into death’s grip, And that son-of-a-bitch Keeps spitting me out One more day, year, decade. Ok, I say, and make more drawings, More paintings, more poems, More stories, more lies. Live long enough, everything you know collapses. I know I can be a terrible ***** I apologize. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Dreaming of moving away Packing only bare bones of love And commitment to never betray Leaving arriving escaping I wish I were married to one woman And we lived quiet life sustaining passion Is sustaining passion possible? Under weight of existence? One more moment, hour, night, Eyes darting, heart pounding, Gushing love, emotional insecurities, Making more drawings, more paintings, More poems, more stories, more lies. People tell me how smart I am. I can’t figure it out.
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Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
The Fainter
It was obvious how to do it Yet I couldn’t figure it out Until I saw it in a movie Then it became a question, Was I wicked enough To pull it off? Was I strong enough To see it through? In one instant, you’re alive, Eyes darting, heart pounding, Gushing love, throwing temper tantrums, Collapsing under weight of existence. In next instant, you’re dead, Cold and lifeless, end of story. Leaving arriving escaping The perspiration ***** smell of fear People tell me how smart I am, But I’m not really smart, More like lucky, and fast runner. I run from everything. Did I ever tell you about the times I’ve run straight into death’s grip, And that son-of-a-bitch Keeps spitting me out One more day, year, decade. Ok, I say, and make more drawings, More paintings, more poems, More stories, more lies. Live long enough, everything you know collapses. I know I can be a terrible ***** I apologize. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Dreaming of moving away Packing only bare bones of love And commitment to never betray Leaving arriving escaping I wish I were married to one woman And we lived quiet life sustaining passion Is sustaining passion possible? Under weight of existence? One more moment, hour, night, Eyes darting, heart pounding, Gushing love, emotional insecurities, Making more drawings, more paintings, More poems, more stories, more lies. People tell me how smart I am. I can’t figure it out.
michael-reid-rubenstein
Written by
michael-reid-rubenstein
American
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 10:27 AM UTC
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