Before I went to bed I drank a glas of lemonade
To make my bad dreams go away
Sadly it didn't seem to work as my dreams turned into a very unpleasant charade.

Man I have no time,
for slow minds,
so I stay in my own mind,
while they show crime,

to sew paranoia,
and lessen our faith in fellow Man,
Lennon wanted to give peace a chance,
but the Shadow Hand had other plans,

oh the humanity of our humanity,
full steam ahead even though we don’t know where we’re goin’,
it’s all awkward whether on stage with the spotlight ablaze,
or in the bandstands with a bag of popcorn and a program,

and I’m anxious as heck and want to get out ASAP,
but she’s got her eye on my and wants us to slow dance,
and I don’t want to but can’t think of an excuse not to,
because I’ve got no plans and it feels so good this bad romance,

so I step forward take her hand and take a chance,
nothing else left to do but pick out a spot with a good view,
to watch the fireworks from our collective apocalypse,
as the night sky lights up and we start to dance as if on queen,

because if all we’ve got is lemons,
then baby we’re making lemonade,
and if all we’ve got is each other,
then baby we’re making love until a new day is made,

as they watch in awe,
thoroughly entertained,
keeping up with the gossip,
but not with the current pace of our mental state,

and that’s why man I have no time,
for slow minds,
and why I stay in my own mind,
while they show crime,

to sew paranoia,
and lessen our faith in fellow Man,
Lennon wanted to give peace a chance,
but the Shadow Hand had other plans…

∆ LaLux ∆

Venice, CA.
October 8th, 2018

the tang of your freedom
laced my tastebuds with a bittersweet aftertaste
that incessantly made me want more

and with every dose
i became more addicted to everything you had to offer
until i had ****** you completely dry.

it was then that i realized, that when life gives you lemons
you shouldn’t always make lemonade

savor the tang

My depression is a glass of flat lemonade –
hard to swallow
but I can’t stop coming back to its sweetness.
I have learnt to stop
wallowing in it, though -
deep down there is a part of me
unwilling, yet it knows
to give up trying to get rid
and I’ve learnt to accept,
because despite what I’m told,
that I should not let my depression be so bold
in telling me what to do,
existing like this is almost bearable
because it exists like outer space –
there is so much of it
yet it communicates its complexity in silence.
I am yet to receive a response from the void,
but feeling this crushing nothingness at 2pm
in an aisle of a supermarket
makes me realise it’s not gone yet.
I don’t know if it’ll ever leave.

I'm bitter lemons
I beg, drown me in sugar
Make me lemonade

I am becoming so tired of my glass being emptied by you.
Every time you fill me, bitterness takes up more space

My head is a lemon.
My heart is running out of sugar to sweeten this drink we call love.

I don't want to make lemonade,
I want sweet tea

When is your lavender infusion enough for serving to guests, combustible enough for the summer months, could it make us invincible to poverty? It made Jackson ******* paint the future with sticks, and made Mike Jackson fill a house with unofficially adopted toddlers and children, maybe it’ll make us go out on a limb, we could chill it with ice cubes and serve it with lemon. I’m not sure if it’s the lavender talking or the infusion you see, but it might take several hours until the simple syrup can be poured into our lemonade drink.

I meant to write you a poem,
It was going to taste like
Lemonade when it rolled off your tongue
Bubbly when it kissed your lips,
Just as I wish I could
Make myself do again.
It was supposed to smell like
Lemons and honey when
It was breathed out
The words were going
To flow like my hair
When you run your fingers
Through the tangles.
It was going to sound like
The thoughts I never have the time,
nor breath, to get out.
It needed it to be everything I wish
I could say to you once again
“I love you”s and
“Please hold me”s
That get lost in the translation from
My brain to my lips,
so instead I press them
Against yours, but not today,
Today was different, yes,
not at all the same.
I was going to write you a poem,
Instead here is line
After line of thought
That taste more
Like black licorice
It feels like the words
I scream at you
When I think it’s been going
Way too smoothly lately
For us to truly love each other,
We cannot be in love,
If I don't want to hate you
All the same time.
No this poem is not sweet,
It feels like the grit
Of brick pieces in
Your bloodied knuckles,
Because we don't know
How to be nice too each other
It's always more fun
When you don't like me,
You scream at me, I know
Because it looks like
Every other relationship
I've seen in my life.
I'm sorry, I can't write you
A cute poem where I
Compare your eyes to flowers
Or roll lemonade kisses off my lips.
I don't know that kind of love.