Homemade spread on crumpets and toast
A thin slice of me, wherever you go..
Bed & Breakfast at the Chateau Marmont..
Where you'd write me letters in an ivory font..
Your old soul haunts through the strings of my guitar,
as I play the songs we'd once sing in the car...
Drugs, Loneliness, Deception & no through roads..
Isn't that just the way our lives were supposed to go?
I hear your music sometimes, on the radio..
a stairway to heaven is just as close...
Sorry that you only thought of me
as a string you played, yours sincerely....
About a romance between a musician and a waitress. When the musician becomes a household name he starts to see her as a groupie rather than his girlfriend.. as he dives into a life of substance abuse and rock star virtues..
***, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll.
Staring at you, wanting to be you,
Wondering how did you become so deep and in tune,
With my thoughts and my feelings and how did you make me feel?
What you were trying to say with your words and with your sounds?
Who really is the real you? Reach me and help me find a heart to steal.
You are lifting me up by bringing me down
And every word you say to me is so real.
Rock-a-bye baby on a tree top;
Don’t do drugs, just because South Park rocks!
There’s a rat in my kitchen and he won’t stop singing;
Poppa don’t preach at me because I won’t become a part of your flock.
This poem is for all those who are about to rock!
When the wind blows the cradle will rock
And baby will raise her Devil’s fingers and say “What’s up?”
The God of drugs is the answer to the reason for everything we forgot.
Here comes a blonde bombshell, knocking on my door;
Who knows what she has come here for?
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
unbeknownst to this world
outsider looking in
the arrogance surrounding me
oblivious to most
and easily ignored
for my skill is in books
and not in the well known
surrounded by immense talent
and the jealous meek
men that has learnt to walk
without having any feet
yet the stench of inequality
leaves a bitter taste
so easy to differentiate
the humble from the pack
more I pity the minions
wanting to be known
strip the fame and popularity
focus on them bare
will you still like the person
you've mounted in the air?
Selfie pictures are such sad pictures.
Groupie, stolen, way better.
'Cause selfie seems so alone.
— The End —