We are a dying race,
And few will live to face,
The dark days that are to come,
For if romance is to be dead,
Then please, first smash my head,
I wish not to be the last one.

Last one to value a mind,
To see where you fail, and where you shine,
and not just to position for bed,
Oh please before then, please smash my head.

For if i find myself slave to lust,
Without love, romance, i will be worth less than dust,
Reduced down to a mere action, don't let that day come,
Please, PLEASE, don't let me be the last one

If I'm being honest
I'm tired of being a poet.
I'm tired of findig meaning in everything from the lines of the sky to the cracks in the side walk
I'm tired of using extended metaphors to explain how overwhelmed or angry or sad I am 
I'm tired of immortalizing the people I love or hate in half assed lines of poetry
For once I would like a good day just to be a good day or a bad day just to be a bad day
A landscape to hold no higher meaning than to magnify the glory of existence
For the people I know to hold no cosmic significance in the fabric of time
I would like to sit and be quiet
To write and be at peace
For the storm to pass over
And to find some relief
This is not a game for me this is how I breathe and I am tired of having to hold meaning in every crack and every crevice
My poetic nature has become a menice in my tired skin
I'm tired of letting the light in
But this isn't something you quit
This is something you breathe
This is something you are
This is something you need
Even if it doesn't make sense all the time
This is the one true thing I know that's mine
My sense of rhythm and my sense of rhyme
And it isn't easy all the time
Because these days life moves faster than I've even known
Faster than I can process what I've been shown
These days it's easy to feel the weight of all of my time spent alone
My mind isn't home
I'm chilled to the bone
These days I'm tired of being tired and tired of writing about how tired I am
Like I'm six feet under but I'm not yet dead
Using poetic devices to say what's already been said
I'm tired of playing this game
Imortalizing name after name
I still feel the same
Even though I still keep writing
So what I'm trying to say is that I need poetry like I need water but sometimes if you drink too fast or you drink too deep you feel like you're drowning
Out to sea in familiar surroundings
It's astounding how tiring being a poet can be.

I hope you miss me
The way I miss you

But I also hope you don't
Because I am miserable
And you deserve more

Leave before they love you
Or
Stay until they don't anymore

Close your eyes
count backwards from fifty
Asleep you shall fall
Surely, but swiftly

If that doesn't work
It's okay, don't despair
Count imaginary sheep
As they leap through the air

You need to catch some z's
Your body is tired
Ignore the mere fact
That your mind is so wired

Oxygenate your cells
Don't worry, just breathe
Feeling relaxed yet?
Soon you'll drift to the land of dream

What's that? You're still up?
Perhaps you're just parched
Grab a quick glass of water
Then back to bed you shall march

As long as you're up
Might as well make a snack
Digestion should wear you
As the food makes way through your tract

You've wasted enough time
Now back to your slumber
Collapse onto the mattress
Slide under the covers

Each day you face your demons
Though at times it feels you're not winning
Inhale, exhale slowly
Now let's start again from the beginning