Do I make more out of this
you and me
when I write poetry about it?

Do I over analyze it
and dream too much about it
so that I think its more than what it is?

How am I supposed to know how you feel
if you don't tell me?
All this guessing
and going with the flow,
makes me anxious and all I want is you.
I want to know that I have you.
But do I right now?
It's okay if I don't, I just want to know you aren't going anywhere.

"I say it was the butler,"
And so the accusations begin.
They fly through the dining room
with their winged reasons
based on heresay and whims.
"It can't have been him.
He wasn't even there!"
A professor counters with snark.
Pointing out the other was wrong
for their own chance to glow.
"Well then it must've been the maid"
A woman in red counters
Glaring daggers like the ones
That get buried deep into trusting backs.
"Maybe it was one of you!
Looking for monetary gain!"
A man exclaims pointedly
Green overcoat buttoned tightly
as he perused the crowd unkindly.
"Everyone calm down!"
A gentleman speaks soothingly.
"Since we're speaking in clichés
I thought I'd put my two cents in."
the man inspects the body
and with dramatic flair
Announces:
"It was Colonel Mustard, in the dining room, with a rope."
And the fancy dressed group
Cried out in frustration.

But upon further inspection
of the victim dressed
in peacock blues and greens
yielded a braided rope pattern
surrounding her neck.
And it left them all to wonder,

"Who is Colonel Mustard?"

Whisper into my ear all the words you wish to say.
Whisper into my ear all the secrets that you hold.
If you are too scared to speak the truth, write me a poem.
Hide your feelings in metaphors, write your heart's desires into illusions.
Tell me how your heart beats in metre, so late at night, when the night is still-
when there is nothing to hear, but a faint heartbeat,
I know it's yours, yearning for me.

Sometimes when I'm faced
With a decision I freeze, great..
My Lifes taken to sticks it, and sit it,
At a fork In the road, to wait

For my choice, where's fate?
....cuz so far my choices to date
Is why I'm writing this, fighting it,
Knowing in my past I've made

Decisions causing collisions
Man made damnation,damaging
The way only a master of disaster
Can... With a strategy of calamity

A catastrophe, to make an *** of me
Like I compete VS. tragedy
To see who can cause more horror,. &destruction; but no match for me

Is he, as my demolition savagery
Similar to whenever havocs seen
And as it happens. I'm always like
"Yo..What the F$&@ is happening??!"

Clueless like Alicia silverstone
In the library with a wrench
As Cornel mustard calls her *****
And this is where ration ends

And wanders like it saunters off
topic hoping itll delay or help
Fantasies of **** woman come out
Now I'm a Plummer...hired to help

... But eventually, I'm back held
Forced to be an adult, oh why ..
..forced to pick a road or grow old
And hold stagnant, until I die

Which don't sound so bad, but a dad
Always has to consider
And factor in. to weigh the variable,
In the form of his lil diaper *******

Who really could use a baby sitter
Who is ****,so a ....baby sister
Can be made, but ...focus dont stray
This is no time to joke or play

Eeny-meeny miney moe
Catch a politician by its toe
So you can ask advice, then told:
"It's a gd time to relapse on blow"

Which is only said cuz my head
Controls the imagined figment
Which says nothing except that,my
Heads not where sane thoughts visit

So as I stare at the two paths
I feel debilitated and instead
Of perpetual fear, the thoughts fed
Says no matter which way I head

Ill be left to wonder where I'm lead
If I chose the path, which I did not
When I decide and divide I try the path I now continue so do not

think too much. and yet still
Frozen and paralyzed at a halt  
I stand a man, full of fear, a vault
holding a scared boy full of fault

But Self doubt amplifies as adults
At least for me, so immobile I'm left
Confused by why I'm still undecided
But already feel my choices regret ...

.....  I hope I don't fork myself .....

I guess I'll never understand some poems...
I have never felt their pain.
And when it comes to the idea of love...
Well, some people are purely insane.

I guess I'll never truely know...
I have never walked in their shoes.
And when it comes to sadness...
Well, I rarely sing the blues.