I've taken liquor to head
It's a quarter past 3
I handle my drinks strong
Yet, ya memory makes me weak
I just put my sunglasses on
Like f$&k; what you may see
Take another dose of
(Another dose of me)
Ya heart starts to break
Ya mind may even remember me
When you were rippin off my denim
Injecting your sweet venom
Thinking it was love
But it was just a death sentence
(It was love tho)
You've become apprehensive
Something heighten up my senses
If our eyes interact again, can we both handle the tension?
Of all the lost time and forgotten minutes.
Replaced roses with shots of hypnosis
To take your reality away and imagine something for closure
so you don't feel any closer
To ya feelings getting exposed
And leading an optimistic heart to a door that remained closed..
Even when we were close
Our lips felt so distant
Cause change only occurs to those who don't resist it
And life has a way to push you
Time has a way to heal
Reaching out for something else but nothing ever felt as real...
Falling in a vortex
But not spinning out of control
Sometimes things just happen
You never get to really know
Can't wonder, "what if?"
Thinking, "will she hit?"
The phone - goes off but it's the numbness to last nights pain
Let it be, homie
Life is life, homie
and know nothing will ever be the same

(All love though)

Heartbreak in a metaphor
Written in black and blue pen
And even though there may be love lost
I know it's not on my end. (Echos out)
I forever apologize for how it end...

P.s
How you been?...

The textbook poets try to bind you down
with all of those rules they call renown.
In a strict meter and rhyme they do write
and like to see others match their plight.
They criticise strongly those who compose
such poetry that doesn't follow their nose.

They put forward the case which they raise
and dispute your work to get some praise.
Some even offer their version of your poem
and with some commentary they do groan;
saying your words could be written better
giving you an example to display the letter.

At times they're justified by what they say
and so you are obliged to heed their way;
as from a certain academic point of view
especially if it seems better written to you.
But regardless of what they all have to say
the fact is that with your creation they play.

Little do they know of free flowing verse
that comes from within which isn't terse.
It resembles an off beat meter and rhyme
which doesn't keep fast to any strict time.
Poetry that's written and read in this way
has its own natural beauty some will say.

It doesn't matter if one line isn't the same
to the following one or seems a bit lame.
As long as the words written all make sense
in what is conveyed by sparing no expense.
That's really the way poems were meant to be
regardless of what a book says for one to see.

There are many forms and styles of poetry
devised by man down throughout history;
some will stick to a certain established rule
a formula which is their own craft and tool.
If one doesn't follow any rigid form or style
it wouldn't mean they couldn't raise a smile.
--------------------

The aching skin of hers vibrated and filled the room with a coldness unbearable

It was an awful sight to anyone who wasn’t understanding

Anyone who wasn’t an artist wouldn’t see the beauty behind the suffering

In her blue eyes

They kept the waves of oceans left to crash back into her mind

Flooding her thoughts like a tsunami

Unbearable

And so breakable.

She may of been weak overall,

But I saw the beauty in it all.

She was a perfect painting to me

Sculpted in lust and passion

*My perfect porcelain.

The love bug bit me
I don't know quite what hit me
It all is within each of us you see?
It's all about how love is free.
Don't be blind, being vain is what's desired,
It's about the ones who get *left behind,
Please remember them, they are "easily fired,"
In a while they will be "found so vile,"
No one wants to be with them, they "have no style,"
It's this sort of person who deserves love most,
It isn't real if being good for
The "in-crowd" is what you boast.

I'm walk
with my dog
each every day
at morning
dog speaks
others with sounds
I'm also speaking
with my dog
but...
my dog so silence
to speak me
sounds of walk

what can I do?
I'm not walk
with my dog now

my dog was
taking to walk
for me...

I

I put the devil in my angel
and in all of her innocence,
she accepted the fact that I had sent her to a burning eternity.
I may of put the devil in my angel,
but god has she never looked better.
With a gun pointed to my head,
and her lovely sweet smile,
I wouldn't mind burning such a masterpiece
if it smelled as sweet as her.

II

The venom is sinking in
and I don't think she'll last much longer than spring.
A simple burn from the candle down the hall left her in such agony
I have to ask myself if I'm to blame.

III

The flowers are here
and still is she
but the gun rests like an old friend upon her nightstand
only making me ask the question
was it m y f a u l t
or
was it h e r s

IV

The first rain came,
and just like the raindrop that fell down my window
it fell down my cheek
her body on the floor
and yet I didn't
s t o p h e r.
I didn't tell her
n o t t o d o i t.

V

When I visited her grave
she surprised me
if she was alive or dead
I didn't mind to see the smile on her face,
and painted or not
she never made death look better.

She made me want to d i e.