the mystery of you and I

haunts me,

on city nights

when the mist shrouds

the towers

one, two three
don't forget to breathe
count to ten
slowly, slowly, before you can speak

that foul mouth
is better off dead
if you don't heed the warnings
you will carry the burden for all the words you've said

your heart needs to be silenced
crush it up, with hands of violence

My girl is a cigarette

She’s a Lucky Strike
She won’t last me through the night

No matter how hard I draw on the conversation
I can’t spark her imagination

There’s nothing I can say
To make her a **** in my ashtray

She makes small talk feel like a TED talk
She makes me feel like I know nothing at all
She’s too smart for me
I stumble when I speak
I’m drunk driving through this conversation
She is an agnostic angel
I’m a whiskey priest
But I only wanna get drunk off what she can teach
And I don’t know if she cares about how I preach
A lesson in pseudoscience in her backseat
Leaves us in an afterglow of creative problem solving

We agree to disagree

I have said all that's to be said,
And you have listened,
And I have listened,
To the end, gaining what?
Our words are co-absurd,
Inexpressive turds of information,
Dung heap of nonsense,
Good will with perfect enunciation,
But crawling with itch, twitch and head-nod,
In place of mutual understanding,
A babelmist of manners and small talk,
In which we are umbrella-less,
Soggy with positivity,
But it's for the best, I guess,
Have a good day, till tomorrow then?
Finally! Until, tomorrow, we say it all over again.