Restlessly bleeding words onto a page
And looking past cliches to realize
Just how beautiful they are
Can only mean one thing.

The monster is back.

Once upon a time,
Where we collide,
In our hideous life,
I found the light.

With you by my side,
My tears are dried,
With you as a guide,
I feel alive.

You bring me joy,
You understand my enjoy,
You sometimes annoy,
But now you're my boy.

Thank you I say,
But this is cliché,
Deep down I pray,
Always you'll stay.

It is not
a good idea.

But

This is not
a cliche.

Truth

I’m pulling
no prank.

Please

I mean it
free me.

Look how famous I am!
Extray! Read all about it!

"Yeah buddy, how've you been man?!"


"Let's forget that, want to talk about the things
we've forgotten?"

He looks at me analyzing, and perplexed by,
my intentions against the blank slate that is my face.

"Yeah! Right? Been trying hard to forget
this winter dude, the snow is killing me!"

Matt turns away, takes a slug and summons Vince over
in order to order a shot of cinnamon whiskey. I turn to
wheel of fortune and start counting letters in potential words
when I say

"I bet I've forgotten more things than you can remember"
"..."


"Excuse me?"

He turns back with fireball eyes and whiskey in his hand and
I'm startled by the voracity of his intoxication. Smiling yet totally
instigated he looks me in the eye, takes his shot and states

"are you ridiculing my memories man? You think you had it
harder than me?"
pointing at my chest
"Anyone can see how privileged you ******* are."

I shut up, turn back to wheel and practice my silence.
He drains his beer and steps out into the suffocating snow.
Beautiful snow.
I imagine stuffing great white handfuls of the wet stuff
into his face for all eternity.
Is the snow killing you now BUDDY?!
Lets talk about the weather MAN!!
Tell me all about it DUDE!

I feel the content
rolling about on my tongue
the same words
the same concepts
recycled feelings
that won't go away
no matter how many times
they’re hashed out
again and again
their delicate phrasing
varying in complexity
masked by deceiving themes
but all the same in the end
same organs, same bones
same blood, same flesh
and so as I sit
ready to write living words
I can taste the same content
I can hear the same feeling
I can see the same words
rolling about my tongue