It's not your dreamy scenery
or the kiss she stained you with.
It's not the words she addressed to me
or the sketch accompanying it.

It's the genuine sentiment you symbolize,
that I both hate and love.
It's the arguments and the picnics
that you remind me of.

It's not your fault
You represent her petty little game.
That I still hold her in my heart,
It's not you I blame.

I've tried to rip you, burn you, trash you,
Yet there you sit on my windowsill
Teasing the memories that despite the time,
are vivid in my mind, still.

It's behind her.
It's behind me.
It's over.
It's done.

You're all I have left.
Please don't weather or tear.
Now that she's gone
and I am still here.

A city is nothing but a menagerie
caging different shades of insanity
dusty streets, concrete tombs, lingerie
costumes shooting up profanity

Here I stand
no shade of dignity
*** of cash in hand
shaded with apathy

Things I do with these creatures
in the concealing night
a spoon and a woman, double feature
finished and feeling contrite

Cross the bridge to leave the zoo
back to my normal life
conscience I must subdue
while I lay down next to my wife

I am sorry
I just miss the thrill
I am sorry
I just miss the feel
I am sorry
I just miss the comforts of the landfill
and the parroting comatose safaris

The vision is so pure and so raw and so filled with need  
My stomach swollen with a love that being full isn't satisfactory, it's greed
It's a feeling of wanting more and more and not having enough of the fill that has your name
That makes me synonymous to greed; one and the same.
The feeling that accepts you as you
And expects nothing but truth
A feeling of jealousy so knee deep
It's hard to throw away & easier to keep

Happiness is filtered through a long silver pump,
where it is torn apart,
then crushed together in a lump.

Sadness is poured in a giant mixing bowl,
where it is strained out,
then dropped into the black dump hole.

Anger is stacked on top,
piled in pieces,
only to be lit by a flame the size of a drop.

Love is demolished on sight,
battered and bruised,
leaving a stench of bitterness out of  spite.

The emotional dump is a place where emotions go,
when they've been let loose -
out of control.

When they've grown outside the human heart,
and reaked havoc like an art.

It's a place where emotions die in a flash,
placed next to all the world's gunk and gloop and unwanted trash.

The Earth is hungry.

Down by the train tracks,
her smooth skin ripples and buckles
until her lips part.

She swallows the rusty railroad spikes.
She gobbles up the old rubber tire.
She devours the discarded work boot, ankle first.
She slurps up the dusty cheetah-print blanket like a limp noodle.
Something resembling a flashlight sinks into her gaping maw.
She drinks deeply of the shimmering oily water until her skin cracks.

We proudly call things “man-made.”
Yet we’re just borrowing them.

Despite our arrogant defiance,
they all return one day
to the Earth.