Do not cry when am gone,
You werent there when i was torn,
Do not stand around my bed,
You never cared when i bled.

Do not act like you're in despair,
You turned away when i needed your care,
Do not lavish money on a bouquet,
A little less is all i needed to survive each day.

Do not speak about your love for me,
Your eloquent speech should have been kind words to me,
Do not show up in mass and numbers,
One or two earlier visits would have been enough to remember.

Do not be extravagant over the box in which i'll be laid
If i had the figures, my demise could have been delayed,
Do not preach about where i have gone,
You the living still has battles to be won.

Compassion is a distraction
Leaving butterflies and still question marks
While I'm smiling, groaning, and thrashing
Swimming in a cesspool filled with cruel sharks
Not used to kind remarks and the complimentary excess
So I hashtag fallacies and clever messages to make them all perplexed

Then
Come the moment of truth cross them out wave goodbye
And slash every last dime a dozen heart
If what they were saying was genuine. . .
I'd find a way
To be disappointed from the start
Pixellated picture frames hover play over dull space
When it's the only real way to me I ever get to see your full face
And when left alone in the confines of a necessary moment
I'd lead with retrospect and waste time wondering what it all meant
I forget to taste and touch. Too busy while I preach and rush
To enjoy a moment in the sun and all that noise seems to hush
The day I forgot to stop and think was the day I had some fun
Until I rewind the reality tape and press play to watch it come undone
The tale I spin runs with parasites that perforate dripping abcesses
Ravage rats ravenous and infected blood flows through cordial asepsis
Fantasizing of better times while right now passes by.
I close my eyes and kiss the sky and wish that I could fly
Fish for stockpile rhythm and dive bar singing blues
Sizing up and dicing up and slicing up the clues

Sometimes it can be as simple as simple: me and you
Until I **** that too and habits bloom I'm just a fool
Who thinks on wasted talent
The words I write don't render sight so I don't bother myself
A single dent.
My cup has run over wild amok. Belly up. Superfluous in extent
I'm not certain whether to give a **** or pray to God my soul is sent.

RE: :) Wow. My Gawd that is sooo hot. You're really so tlented! Hmu 2 c wat's up. Or better yet txt me #Spent xoxo
Until next time
Let me kno wat u ment.

...

"Hows life? 'Oh you know, same old ****..'"

Well that sounds fulfillin....

Same old ****.
Gross

There is NOTHING worse than a complete and utter deficiency of novelty and experience in life

Dont walk the traveled path anymore
It will you leave morbid sick and sore

All my life I've felt an urgent roar

Was like an ocean I had not explored

To reach out far and then still stretch more

I can't believe I have been transformed

Fear holds you you ransom so you crush down fear's door

And beg fear valiantly to give you more

I need a preach,
I need assurances,
To hold me still,
To built steel’s hard faith,
I’m diverting,
Astray,
Starting questioning,
Belief,
And ebbing briskly,
My trust,
Hope’s dwindling,
I’m ruined,
I need a preach,
I need assurances,
To hold me back,
From this fall, I’m falling,
Before I’m shattered,
Broken and sinned.

There's too much in me to get out
I don't expect you to know
What all of this is really about
All I can do is try to show
My deepest and most serious intentions
I don't expect you to understand
All of this pain and all of this tension
Life has far too many demands
For me to try to comprehend
So I search and I wander
Looking for the means to meet the end
But all it does is continue to make me ponder
Why I continue to do this
What's the purpose?
How do I get through this?
Is it worth it?

I never thought of poetry as a way to get famous. I always saw it as a way of expression, a release of bottled emotions shoot out like a cannon. Where the most insecure person can let there inner wings open and start to fly over the clouds. In school you never really cared for grammar or metaphors or illusions because you thought it as just a waste of time but if you think about it. You use it everyday and you wouldn't even expect. It's a way of life it's an art it's as beautiful as watching a meadow of flowers bloom right in front of your eyes. Poetry opens minds opens ideas opens different perspectives that no one can ever imagine. Maybe that's why I wanted to become a poet. Not for the money or for the fame. But for the world can hear what I've been holding deep inside my locked heart.