You don't like new acid jazz.
It's exotic, non-native flow.
It's like a traveler, dressed for show,
With a silk neckscarf as topaz.

You don't bear the style mixture.
It's like a slapdash of free spheres.
And no need to gather then down the years.
It'll be-all a needless fixture.

You don't accept circumlocutions,
Allegories and hidden meanings.
Quotations, accents and other symbols -
These are unnecessary gleanings.

You know, you're unbearably stubborn
You can't stand any fancy guessing.
You're far from a beauty of word expressing.
Sorry, but you're monotone.

Hey, don't worry about me.
Everything's ok in my
Life is good and there's no
Possibility of anything bad happening

My poems and other hobbies make me happy
Everything's great, and you shouldn't worry, ok?

I feel so warm and coddled like melted chocolate,
dribbling against the mug, split over a counter.
Finger tips freezing as it touches the air.

No reason to cry over spilt milk.
I boil the kettle again, clean the mess I've made and start again.
Throw in the grounded droplets, a dash of powered chocolate,
                                                      ­                                                         'click'
The kettle coughs bubbles. I pour, enveloped by the steam against my skin, a dash of milk.

The perfect coffee.

My pillows aren't right
One side too fluffy
The other too flat
Flip it.
Switch it.
Bunch it.
Theres no use to it.
Maybe,
It's time
To change
Pillows
After all.

Planets
                     Revolve        Around
Stars      
                               Like Us

You could have numbed the pain
but instead I turn to whiskey.

I drink away the sins and pain
I wonder if you miss me.

You left but it's unclear why
there is nobody here to get me through it all.

So I drink myself unholy
and pour my heart out onto the table.

She is an open book.

One
That has been left open
For so long

That dust coats her
Pages
In thousands of layers

And you
Can't seem to read
The words anymore.

Porcelain skin,
white with rosy cheeks.
Lips sewn shut,
concealing her shrieks.
Knotted hair,
with pink pretty bows.

Smiling mouth,
lips red as a rose.
Eyes open,
staring at blank space.
Pretty dresses,
covered all in lace.

Broken teacups,
will soon fall apart.
Never revealing,
her lack of a heart.
Perfect girl,
with an alluring complexion.

Fails to see,
her and her reflection.
Flawless,
you can’t see her cracks.
Scarred,
only seeing whites and blacks.

Collecting dust,
sitting on a shelf.
Contemplating,
life itself.