Eager to see what
is in store for the new year,
just two days away.

Take me for granted--
You'll be sorry that you did;
No more excuses.

Your beauty is unmatched
your essence unscathed
you could wrap me in your curls
and leave me bound for days
The thick bristles on your face
resemble a forest to discovery,
your mouth a cave to explore
lighting the way with electricity
generating from our rapport
Sweeter than a glob of icing
on the last slice of cake—
Your twisted expressions
make my chest quake
You’re a lot to take in—clean cut nails
and pasty speckled skin; the
trail of hair on your belly and
your form soundly sleeping
where our motions had been
Now you are far a fields away
frolicking in colorless grass,
lost and in denial of what
you could have made last.

I think it’s hard for me to stay open
because I’ve been securely bound together
by a thick bind of resistant glue
I snap shut because I’m not used to
displaying all my content for eyes to peruse
I’m written on pages to send your soul on a walk
through caverns with deep trenches of fear
I want to be known through the words I select,
the ones I need you to hear
Read a little deeper, give me your attention
follow the sequential bouncing ball
I’ll whisper through these dry pages
what I feel before I ruin us—ruin me
from not professing to you at all.

why try anymore
why stand from the floor
why speak over a roar
why commence action
why repeat interaction
why sentence construct
when I'm interrupted
why decide when time
keeps on--why contemplate
why this apathy
     despond
melancholy
why this grim mask
life moves so fast
brain's slowing down
mouth stops speaking
thoughts flicker away
no memories today
feeling sedated
tranquilized
catatonic
mute

I guess I’m really the fool
to keep tripping over beards
that have no intention of being kept,
just spreading the seeds of leftover
crumbs and dried up *** from
one pair of legs to the next
I should’ve known, I had been warned
The signs were seen miles away
but I’m an aimless wanderer in search
of I don’t even know so I missed
them by a year of ******* around
Eight in nine—a personal best
but on whose bedpost do I perch to nest?