Tied by a rope to the image
Of familiar comforting predictable
Misery seeing not the truth you cling
Like a baby to the cold hateful mother
She drags you through cities and islands of
Solitude filling you up on hate like
Rotten breast milk
They say you're a hopeless case
Unfit for true greatness for you have
So little to give
I say you Fear life more than death
Too many chances to take
Too many disappointments to endure
For the fickle heart Lost and confused
Child full of love
Don't listen to it's song
It only aims to fill you with disdain  
To embrace the hate in you
As one more comforting hateful failure
That proves it was right
All along

Tuna sandwiches on white bread
Carried in a paper bag
Josh Groban on the CD player
Season Three of 2 broke Girls
Matching shoes and purses
Vacation in the Pocanos
Subscription to People Magazine
Pennies in a piggy bank
Silver-beige 4-door Accord
A little college but no degree
Always ten pounds overweight
Celebration meal at Sizzler
Artificial Christmas tree pre-lit
A mole that wants removing
Off white walls, pale green carpet
Outfits from mail order catalogs
Paydays with no yearly bonus
Jeopardy and Wheel of fortune
Polyester perm press everything
Bic Stik ball point pen
Swanson's TV dinner
Flip phone with no camera
*** two times a week and Sunday
Writing verse nobody reads
ljm

Where no one can disdain
Where no one feel be scorned
Where no one try to brag
Where no one feel helpless
Where no one try to fight
Where no one try to get rid of
Where no need of a barren land
Where no need of desert insight
Where no need of any shyness
Where we would ready to hear the truth
And take it as a tweet of bird
Where flowers’ beauty and fragrance
Can lessen pangs and sorrows of
This cruel cunning ugly world
And we would start to dance in breeze
With the jocund company of You
When a tiny, an innocent
Shining and transparent dew drop
That cannot miss a chance in hurry
To make a snap impatiently
Be a witness!
Bless us O’ Lord!
Bless us a chance
O’ my Lord!

Our lot was not to stay all night;
In kneeling praise by bathroom stalls.
Alcohol numbed your honesty's bite,
wrote her destiny on the divider walls.

And we weren't the kind to cheat, don't believe,
All the loose lips half-cross town,
Last call patrons who watch me leave,
And shut this ****** down...

Like Zane and Beckett, so convinced,
Their **** would last forever,
Bad enough to make you wince,
If they spend one more second together.

Or Jane and Kinney, young, driven, and full,
Of lust or something similar.
Don't be surprised, you've seen this fire,
The end? ...all too familiar.

And pretty Syd had all the gall,
and Pony Boy thought he knew the score...
but he's just a **** like so much Pyrex,
Stuffed inside his paper *****.

But Ashtray Woman with ***** Mouth,
And monster's blood on toilet tissue,
Is just another frightened girl,
With real and dangerous daddy issues.

Now, here, at the close (I'm still glad to say),
You deserve almost everything, that you've won,
Our karma arose ( and, in time, took the day ).
Now I ponder regrets in the hours before dawn,
It wasn't the when, or with whom we may lay,
or the time in the morning before I should be gone,
It's more about how we desired to stay...
When we gazed into stars lying flat on your lawn.
I once craved your poison but, now, in my way,
I'm actually glad
to see you gone.

You disappoint me in so many ways.
So far from everything I ever wanted.
How is it you come to me like candy.
Unwrapped you're only rotten fruit.  
I must be a predictable person.  
Stable and empathetic.
Those around me up and down.  
Vindictive and petty.
All I see are the better option if I were they.
Simple like turn left or turn right.  
Why do people act this way.
And underestimate a valuable connection.
I am valuable.  
I treat you with love and compassion.
Raw and sensitively.
Like the liquid gold flowing through the earthly depths.  
Supporting your every move and fault.
But now you show disinterest and disdain.
I lived for your smile.  
And you bring me pain.  

Many will never appreciate my value.

The more you try to tell me
What is right
And what is wrong,
What I should do
And what I should not,
The more you make me
Want to face-plant
Into a wood chipper.

And yet,
You continue to speak.

Love and disdain
Are two fruits
On the same
Clustered vine.
When picked
And fermented,
They make
Fine wine,
Or bitter vinegar.

grey
the sky is
the fields are sometimes, too;
it is England, after all

view upon view, an expanse of
dusty hues -
the sorts of colours you might find
locked up in an attic, unused
for years

the grey is a stillness, an unrestful quiet
that stretches out across the country
like a tapestry of disdain

we feel nothing here, because
the grey has taken it - well
has dimmed it; perhaps
it still exists somewhere
beneath the sombre sea

of colour, or a lack of it;
and i can make no sense of it, nor it
of me
because, you see
the grey pervades

it turns everything the same shade,
and impossible to pick out hues
it blends in one
leaving but an impression
of a world no longer clear

yet artists, poets, lovers and children still hope
and they stare expecting to suddenly see a sunburst of colour
across the grey.

The electrical energy that powers a city
Fridges, happy songs, and lighting so pretty.
That same electricity that powers our lives, can destroy a home in the blink of an eye.
A bolt of electricity thrusts through the sky. The home is destroyed, they’re lucky to be alive.
Is it better to feel pain than nothing at all?
Is it worth the tears of rain that inevitably fall?
The lightning has struck and only a drizzle remains.
The home is now ******, and they’re left sizzled with disdain.
But had they not built that house, in fear of regression,
they would have been left in a life of sorrow and depression.
They will cry, they will mourn, they will ***** and they will scorn,
But when the sun rises tomorrow there will be no more storm.
They’ll reset, they’ll rebuild, better than ever before.