He’s a refugee of sorts
From society’s glitter gutter.
His nouveau riche attitude
Show in every word he utters.
That is where he’s from.
He’s nothing but glitter litter.
If he doesn’t get what he wants
He’s ******, obnoxious and bitter.

He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.

His daddy bought him toys
Of the fanciest richest kind.
Dad didn’t care what it did to him.
He must have been blind.
He ruined the boy with money
Buying his way through college
So that when the boy left there
He had style and little knowledge.

Daddy gave him a nice fortune
To start off his spoiled whelp.
Son was never really good at much
But having a few million helped.
The kid liked glitz and glamour
And especially glittery women.
One after the other he used them
And never really got smitten.

He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.

Now a few children later
They have become a bother.
They keep needing things
Like money from their rich father.
He wonders where they got
That sickening greedy habit.
He’s fears if they can get
His gold they'll surely grab it.

He’s a legendary narcissist.
And prostitutes adore him.
He likes his body to be fat
But keeps his morals slim.

And yet again, I care too much.
It burdens my shoulders
and suffocates me everyday.
Thoughts of everyone, everything,
efforts to remember,
it has consumed me
as would a storm.
To think that they-even you,
never wanted me,
it was always her.
Compare us
and I will always come up short.
And? I shouldn't even care.
It is dangerously shallow water to swim in;
but I cannot yet let it go:
I wish terribly to be
just one person's first choice.

Here's where the sip
drips slowly down my chin

she elaborates on the fragments
some self proclaimed
elopement
between her own bitter desires
to distinguish any fire
while she sits like cinders
singing the same praise
he once made

alone in the corner
headset tangled
her mania ignites
it's a spark
where she once knelt in
parking lots
throwing trash over fences
she stands taller
her embodiment of life
smaller

you sing to her like she's shallow
she cascaded down mountain sides
before she bent to you
sang behind the musty moments
of lover's eyes
broke bones
to mold the same life

you claim is your rightful
and true

she doesn't even beg
if only you knew.

Stuck in the moment of here and now
The writers hand becomes clouded by self doubt
He turns on his music for his mind to allow
The power of his words to crash about

A waterfall of his life flows from his wrist
Explosions of emotion fill up the page
Every new story a different experience
Showing why he stays in waters so shallow

Self love finds the sun to scare
Those doubtful clouds of grey
Bringing him strength to write
A heart aching pain away

How are things at the country club?
Was the glitter group too much?
Was that hot young rock star there?
Did you try to get in touch?
Did you catch the ear of
That famous new playwright?
Did the paparazzi catch your act?
Did you do your thing tonight?


Who got mad and who got drunk?
Give me all the dirt.
Who got ****** and struck a blow
And, oh yes, who got hurt?
You see now I understand;
I’m your after dinner lover.
When you’re going somewhere publicly
You find yourself another.

And I guess that’s just not good enough
To keep me satisfied.
To be the after dinner rose
You tried so hard to hide.
So call up Central Casting
And find yourself another.
For I am not content to be
Your after dinner lover.

'Tis not the deep we should fear, No,
For we know not what is present;
Truth is we should fear the shallow
For all we do know is absent.

Petite and concise
Short doesn't always convey solidly. 
Though it trends immediately.

I'm suppose to relate to this?
So, this is what keeps the masses?

The few stanzas.
Holding a shallow briefing.
Arranged extinction of meaning.
This Sparknote poetry.

I'm a short fuse.
Time bombs set faster than a haiku,

Lazy.
Apathetic
Medicating
Entertainment,

What's to appease ? Do you think I
retain a story in a few breathes?
Is it folly to those who take strides?Tormented by creativity and pages of effort?

Maybe it's personal preference.
Or maybe I'm just bored.
Rarely do I complain but,
enough small talk of weather.

We are,
Sitting on water tanks,
As the clouds begin to play childish pranks,
With the moon.

We have,
A perfect moment in an imperfect time,
Your palms squeezed into mine,
Not a moment too soon.

"Where are we going?"
"Nowhere, for now."
"We'll figure out where, once we figure out how,"
"As we go."

But I want to take you,
Taste your soul through sealed lips,
Hold you tight in my arms, as we take trips,
By ourselves.

I want to let go,
Every joy and misery I've ever known,
For a second with you smiling, your hair blown,
In an open car, on the open road.

So take my hand,
We can go drowning in these shallow waters,
Alone in our darkness,  among light that never falters,
And let go.

You can fall,
Know that broken people put back together,
Feel as good as new, as good as never,
But, for you, I'll try,
I won't break, I won't cry,
I'll hold on to you, like reason, to the only thing that matters,
So take my hand, we can go drowning,
In shallow waters.