She always waits up for you,
your woman
always on,
lit up
like an old-fashioned
Christmas Tree
in a black & white film,
the way the white lights look
even brighter,
she's vintage beautiful.

So
When you turn the corner
of your dead end street
you two live on..
Does she now
how your love
flickers on & off
for her?

Inadequate.

The skinny jeans
I did not wear,
The only tshirt
I cared enough to have,
A fitted cap
That fit too tight -
I wanted to be someone
That you'd like.

Hopeless Romantic

I told my parents I'd be right back
But I drove off
For an hour and a half.
I took and chance
And went for the surprise.
There you were,
Coming out of class
With no make up on.

The Compact Disc

You shied away
And we're embarrassed
(I don't know why)
And all of the sudden
It started to rain.
You went into my car
And I gave you
A CD.

Regret

I asked you
If I could kiss you.
Was it a mistake?
I had been dying
For that moment
But when it finally came
There was no magic
And I was still scared.

My Return

How different
Would it have been
If I had held you in the rain,
Didn't ask
But helped myself
To a kiss you didn't expect,
Share the moment
We were supposed to have.

Swear I was born
Right in the Doorway.

Cut me off at this moment
No words left to tell
Wait one **** moment
Go straight to hell

Cut me off from this life
With nowhere to go
Wait one **** moment
This life is my own

Cut me off from your world
Oh, What a pity!!
Wait one **** moment
Your life is ******* ******!!

Cut me off from it all
Left me to stray
Wait one **** moment
I'm not going away

I accidentally clicked fallow on my ex profile and I don't really want to fight. I don't hate her mind you I just don't want to upset her or her family. My cell ******* up and I can't seem to unfallow. This is driving me nuts.

Here's to the pennies
Returned at the register;
Here's to the sweaters
In the midst of summer;
Here's to the instrument
You can no longer play;
Here's to the book
At the back of the shelf;
Here's to the song
You loved in childhood,
Or this poem you read
In the days to come;
Here's to the things forgotten
That will always still be.

wanna guess
my empty distress
inside I'm a mess
this **** I detest

crack open a book
hey degenerate, take a look
flip a page
the world's a stage

blind, ignorant rage
our youth's worth minimum wage
living cheque to cheque, dollar to dollar
most of god's children grow up in squalor

the blood, the gore can't you see
it becomes ones destiny
no peace on earth, death, war and greed
ignorance dug the garden, hatred planted the seed

turned a blind eye for far too long
I became weak when I ignored the wrong

James, you make my eyebrows feel so heavy.
To think: if I never find the one and one make too many empty glasses were broken in the mud-
dled my words when she asked for the time for bed –
All during my morning constitutional.
Take your ***** on the Mount and your Sin of the Farter
Because I know there’s nothing behind the artist except falling towers and furniture-sellers.
But can the deaf still listen?
Or should I care what’s inside a box I can never open?
And how many carriages will follow my coffin
And who will be my wormeaten neighbors
And which tongue will be employed to engrave the epitaph
And topped by what symbol or none?
 
In the beginning the first two words began to breed
And each generation issued reduplication
Evolving vestigial verbiage and new punctuation
All the way down to a young Poet-Hero-Creator:
Use illusory contours to paint the gravity between heavenly bodies, and use
The shared human experience of multistable perception to imply the gestalt of Dublin
(and be sure to use that German term).
We are the artificers of meaning.
 
Item: the location of the key.
Cat: things I should be thinking about but am not.
Item: the *** organs of strangers and acquaintances.
Category: things I should not be thinking about but am.
Item: the autobiographical component of Shakespeare’s later works.
Cat: things I need you to know that I think about.
Item: the possibility that my presence is not nearly as commanding as I’d formerly assumed.
Item: the increasing inebriatory similarities between myself and my father.
Item: the fear of losing my memory of Mother’s face,
as directly correlated to the expanding passage of time.
Cat: things I need you to think I don’t think about, at all.
 
Picture a symphony.
Hold the moment when the lights first fall and the cacophony of tuning
Floods into a single, synthesized vibrating tone. After the silence and before the song.
Write what you hear.
Write the chords in semiotic rhyme; transcribe harmony as memory:
Sing lived and unlived love and stride through on inkblot feet.
Now add the missing notes.