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; Fresh Air.
Free from bindings I carefully crafted, out of a stifling cell, gone is The Warden.
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 **** 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.
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.
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