She likes toy soldiers with mustaches
and rolling camels from newspapers
(that way she has something to read when she smokes)

She likes spin the bottle at recycling centers
and starting arguments over produce
(she prefers steamed vegetables, you see)

She adores staycations in someone else's house
and dinner theatre for breakfast
(a little Hamlet and eggs)

She likes every other Tuesday
and clocks with only minute hands
(it's more her speed)

She likes hunting for change in penny arcades
and five & dimes
(but not dollar stores...go figure)

She likes soda crackers (but not soda)
She likes beer nuts (but not beer)
She likes wine cozies (well, you know the rest)

Green shoots,
little shocks of brilliance
from mouths so oft distracted
tis a wonder they’re not more malnourished

the courage to give an opinion
on long dead white kings of literature
who speak Christ knows what but it ain’t English
is, as they themselves may say, lit

my tired soul has read the lines so oft
I feel peppered for all this,
so finding out Romeo is now a simp,
has the hot blood stirring again

I’m making money
quoting Shakespeare
smoke filled rooms
a dim lit theatre
I’m glad the man’s dead
he’d be asking for part
memorised in my head
was drunk from his heart
I’m making it by
on a dead crowd stage
I’m a poet making money
on a dead man’s wage

I’ve played the scene in my head-
Like the director's cut of his wife’s affair.
The bitterness of the metal,
The poisonous lead.
The expense of myself-
In a waste of pain.
Suicide isn’t the only answer,
It’s just the best option
Out of a cesspool of ****** ones.
Don’t tell me you’ll miss me if i’m dead-
When you won’t talk to me if I'm alive.

I'm laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling. You're staying in my head, and I can't shake these feelings.

My every word and deed, confesses that you are my need; love has sown her seed, and from it roots my heart bleeds.

I'm laying in my bed, while you're laying in my head, and so this tragedy begins. Might someone please rid Shakespeare of his pen, and let this story come to its end?

The tempest winds are blowing strong, I am slowing falling down; I feel that I am suffocating underneath water, but I can't seem to drown.

My heart can't get any sleep, causes it speeds up its beat, when I tell you that I love you... but you don't repeat.

I am staring at the ceiling, imagining that you are staring back, and for now... I am content with that.

Sonnet LXXV
So are you to my thoughts as food to life,
Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;
And for the peace of you I hold such strife
As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.
Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;
Now counting best to be with you alone,
Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure:
Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,
And by and by clean starved for a look;
Possessing or pursuing no delight
Save what is had, or must from you be took.
   Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,
   Or gluttoning on all, or all away.
~~~~~~~~
By:Shakespeare
and rddjpc 75-present.

When you realize you’ll never seize the day,
Never have the right things to say,
Your judgments are always erroneous,
You’re not Hamlet, but Polonius.
Though you know that all things must end,
It doesn’t spur your torments to mend,
A dutiful advisor,
Who never gets wiser.
It must be so serene
Never having thought you might have been-
“Neither a borrower nor lender be”;
I say, yet fear both apply to me.
“To thine own self be true”;
ah! Long ago, I missed that cue-
And all do agree,
The audience doesn’t need, my soliloquy.
Under all this weight so crushing
And the envy to just feel nothing,
This act’s end, now I’m certain:
I’ll die off stage, behind a curtain.

the son comes at night
the sun is a holy fount
electric shakespeare