Naked in socks isn’t naked
“I guess I faked it “
And if you say that to my face
I am going to ask you to state it
Belated in front of a judge I will say
Your honor let me prove that my moves
Would never allow me to
Have a fake ****** on my hands
I know what I do
And you know that this is true
Me and you,
Naked in front of a judge and jury
You start to worry
That if I go any deeper
That a rush of emotion
Comes in a hurry, and surely
If you bite your bottom lip
I am going to bite it next
***, drugs and I don’t know
But if you make me try any harder
I am going to blow
My cover
You used to be my lover
And in front of this crowd you scream out loud
“I was lying I never faked it – I’m just too busy and confused!”
To be naively used
Over and over again
Is the final sentencing

The masses are covered in gloss
And makeup that does not make up
For Imperfections
My reflection
Is my religion
My poetry
Is where I begin
You used to be where I end
My back is what used to bend
My bank account is what I used to spend
And then
I was there
At a destination that happened to be nowhere
No place, your hair, your face, you are not aware
You left a poet drunk
And in despair
This poem is about you
And I hope you read it anywhere

I feel
like I have a feeling
That I should write a poem
Now,
I have no idea
where it should start
or where it should even end
and even if it ends evenly
I get this feeling often
Again and again
And what about this poem
Will make it
Noteworthy
A piece of work
Should it rhyme
Or is that for amateurs
Should I try to remember
How I expected it to go
On the walk
When
I got the feeling
I should write a poem?
Or should I respect
Its singular nature
It’s a moment
On the circle
Of cyclical life
Or maybe I’m just cynical
For believing
That my feeling
To write a poem,
Was worthwhile
Whether the poem is about today
Or tomorrow,
Or this year,
Or life,
And all the **** I should be doing
Instead of writing poetry
remains a mystery
Much like
The end of this poem.

Let me cut the *******
My reason
Is I am here to haunt you
And if we are cutting *******
Tis’ the season
For me to want you
Want you the way you were born
Naked, and pure
Nameless, and sure
You may want to get to know my name
You can call me *******
And I’ll be your ecstasy, your ******
And the hero in
My flesh, my body my soul
Is your Jesus
Standing over the devil in a hole
I am the very reincarnation of your god
You should be able to tell
If this meaningless menacing life has taught you anything
You would see you are as well
But I didn’t come here to open eyes,
Or even mention that they are closed
Or even mention that your saviors are posed
Who knows
I could be wrong
And if you happen to be right
I have done nothing all along
I didn’t come to sing songs
I came
To leave
Forgotten like leaves
At the base of this tree
If you want more, I guess you will have to wait and see
But I highly doubt
You would wait for me

Saying “ I can only hope for a triumphant Tuesday” is *******
Instead I just need to act triumphantly
When I finish writing this passage it will be Tuesday
And I will triumphantly go to bed
And instead of saying “I hope I triumphantly wake up”
You ******* get the point

Months change
Days and years as well
Seasons change
Reason change
And for some reason, my name stays the same
Numerology – astrology
Have we ever really owed an apology?
Or just an explanation
So to November 1st – May it mark
Reincarnation

I want a smoke. Bad.
But its raining. Hard.
Yet I’ve already had one today
And I had it in the rain