If I was forced
To consider every word
Every stroke of the brush
With meticulous consideration
I’d find it extremely stifling
Is that a problem?
Many years I've spent in your grace.
Days filled with joy, orange sunsets on summer nights,
but slowly, and then all at once, they turn red.
In the next moment it's over, and you can breathe in the breeze;
Free from bindings I carefully crafted, out of a stifling cell, gone is
You know what they say,
"you and me and the devil makes three",
but you're the devil in disguise.
And honey, I'm not in hell no more.
I'm really glad I made the titles of these past poems a pair- because Orpheus is how I used to feel but now it's Eurydice, or at least it's where I'm getting to- not giving a **** about them or being under their control.
Blood left a stain on my heart
Hands made a permanent dent on skin
You lit fire in me that refuses to be snuffed
My head the residence you built a home in
Taken over, body will not budge an inch
Each time-tested muscle shuts down
If you want total control all you have to do
Look really hard into my eyes of brown
My limbs eager to bend to your will
Stick me whichever shady spot you please
In the gutter or between your bedsheets
Dangle me from fingers with ease
In corners you put me awhile
Another one of your trophies tucked behind glass
Grow bored with everything given enough time
Your mind changes quickly as seasons pass
We left marks on eachother
Until the end will wear evidence you were here, I there
I beg you to tell me if you don with pride
Or if pain is too embarrassing to share
Deep within the middle of our souls
Between suffering, solitude, and stifling ego
Is a scar we're forced to live with every day
No matter how much time passes, who we're with, anywhere we go.
At what point did it seem like a good idea to soak in cologne?
I swear you smell as though you bathed in aqua velva.
Dousing yourself in cologne is not a great substitute for showering.
Seriously that's just heinous.
Literally just happened
Methinks I need an outside day
To ponder the days of June
And how they so stealthily became
The days of July and
Nights of July so hot that
Everyone complains in
Sweat anchored softy-clothes
Here in a cape of Florida
A mosquito named Beauregard Bountiful Belly
Becomes the happiest creature in the swamp
Then became the deadest
Black stain on my arm gallery
No blood to spare, poquito
Blood is thick with boredom
It was so hot today this seemed appropriate...
— The End —