If I ran away,
would you look for me?

If I cried,
would you dry my tears?

If  I got hurt,
would you make it better?

If I died,
would you cry for me?

If I wasn't here,
would you miss me?

If I was gone,
would you care?

Would you even notice me?

I have this feeling deep inside, as I sit on the steps of the beach.
Listening to the ocean's roar, staring at the horizon.
My eyes begin to water as the thought of you floats through my mind.
How could I have been so stupid to let you in my life?
The love I felt for you was real,
yet the "love" you had for me was not.
My love has turned to sadness,
and my sadness into anger.
For my life that you toyed with was not yours to ruin.
And now I think of you for what it used to be
For now I am happy you are gone.

What is the difference between being strong and feeling jaded?

When the hope of finding solace is gone, it has all but faded.

If our struggles are nature's way of providing strength to us.

Then unfortunately these failures and hardships are an absolute must.

the Internet sets
higher aspirations

a teaching guide,
on how to

go beyond and deep into
the fast lane's curved and wide,
stretching
the straight and narrow

longer than lasting,
lasting no longer than
memory feelings
blurred overlapping burnt edged video recordings

pores pour oil and noise,
differentiating little between
beginning ending continuous

in the mind, from the walls,
Santana Rob sings "Smooth,"
but it is
the guitar wailing controlled penetrations.
a national anthem
of driven perpetual needy fomenting
outspoken physical truths

you don't care how you
got there,
where you are,
anybody's name,
high octane high performance

*** today,
is not for
the shy and the retiring, sissies,
we all got the necessary expertise,
with violin accompanist of pharma teaching aids

recalling first time tumblings,
exhaling
deep down throated rumblings,
rushing
fumbling ******* an ****** innocence
rushes of surprise and discovery,
success of feeling successful,
the shame of miscommunications

think I'm gonna watch me
a romantic comedy,
write her a love poem,
come up from behind,
caress her *******,
kidding kissing her ear lobes,
then entering her entry point,
her neck
even when she is
armed
but forgiving,
busy chopping dinner's vegetables,

make them make them
give up the hidden
soft atonal squealing
like a
piccolo on steroids,
high pitch teasing,
pinched by air ****** intaking

I'll play the bass,
hitting those low notes,
******* my own strings,
deep ooh's and aah's
diode emitting,
the drug employed
is unadulterated
wanton but wanted
desire

this won't be the poem of the day,
no mind,
it already is was and
will be...