Hues mixing under a blank sky, I look at all I've done in wonder
Was that me
Or did someone steal my hand for their own poetic ruse?
You see as of late I seem confused
And stay in the atmosphere of here and there
My location wasn't given much care
Physically or mentally
And the moon im under stays blank as the sky
And I ponder if it's meant to be
Ask myself why the ink has all but dried from my well

See

I used to constantly change
Now I stay the same
Uttering words in patterns that are always absurdly similar
Pricking myself with my pen to no avail
Because the blood had too many stories to tell
Most drug on and on for mental miles
That many would cover in a single step,
But I sat frozen,
Observing like this pain was a film

But on nights like this
When I have dissembled myself to the point of belief
Something catches my eye
The eloquence of a blank sky waiting to be filled with ideas, dreams, and possibilities
And sometimes, its enough to wake me from my doubts

You don't need to pretend anymore,
Look at me,I've become so strong,

And I never wanted the sympathy,
Even in my worst nights full of misery,

You can't kick me down ,you see
I'm the sky scrapper,look at me

With just a little faith in myself,
I abandoned each letter on the shelf,

I no more want love from you,
I'm colouring my life with blazing hues

I have a blue blanket, it looks corduroy but it's synthetic polynesian cotton.
Considered by some to be polyester. After the ninth year of ownership I started
Telling house guests it had always been mine; but secretly knowing it came from my
Ex Kristina who left it with some of her other things in 2005 in my grand deluxe Evanston
Apartment. In like some really awesome way, I could fold the corners together to see little blocks
Of the Universe form cubes in the fourth dimension and gain a better understanding of my own
Little black shmata. Top drawer, white dresser, in the back with the leftover girlfriend underwear between
My first ever stuffed animal dog/rabbit.

Amazing how these thinned and frayed azure threads had held so many midnight conversations Together- maybe fifteen other girls had nuzzled with Kristina's blanket. Last year the guilt set in. You Watch a girlfriend, say, ratchet through your room naked for something soft to put over her to listen to
Some half-stanza from the new Yeats critical and that, do-I-tell-her feeling comes over you. Blue Polyester really had a way with women. My last serious crush, the one of six months, the one from the place that was close to where I worked six days a week, would you believe, she had not interest in that heap of thread, under my pillows spying on us sleep for twenty-four long weeks.

"Drop in the bucket" the sixty-year-olds say. I say, bring me my ******* fourth dimension blocks and cubes *******. I want to visit the existential, I want to experience the hoo-ra and Ga-Ga those kids throw around on Milwaukee waiting for $150 NBA slippers.

Wednesday is my day for telling the truth.
2:00p.m. sitting in the front of her alizarin El Dorado.
"I have something I have to tell you,"  I said, my mouth practically filled with marbles as I barely could Utter the words: it's not going to work out.