Yes, I know that
The sun is beating down,
Pounding your back with heat
As you're working.
You're working hard
Selling memories not to be forgotten.
You think you're grown now.
You are a man
It seems to you...
And it seems to you
Only fitting
That you do what you please.
Well, you think you're free now
Like you've never been free before.
You're just another boy on the bullivard.
But can you take it,
Ooh, the harshness of this lifestyle?
As you wait for them to come along
Will you come undone?
Your time,
Your time is running,
Running out.
What are you feeling now?
I split no hairs
About the little things.
I say only what is relevant.
I see
You need a warning.
You ride like the wind
Through the pages of your life.
They change like the faces in the night.
I know your lonely.
How could you not be?

No such thing as a past life...
Your past life is today. You woke up,
Went to your work, lived by your
Lot you sustain upon, and are then
Weary from your many partures this night.
Now to find rest and safe haven the green
Grasses await you, of your bed spread,
To rise again and greet life tomorrow,
The stumbling, the fogginess of waking
up once again awaits you, no longer dead.

This is a document that you will never save
The unspoken words between you and him
Apologies
Things that can now never be sent
You copy them over, once maybe twice
Afraid that if you completely delete them they are gone
They never existed
Just like the apologies you meant to say
They fell flat before even reaching your fingertips

Thinkin' bout you is all that I really do, my mind in a spiral.
Twistin' and turnin', every second I'm learning.
As my eyes get red I keep the blunt potent with your love.
Anyway you see me soaking I'm floating in these magical words that my ***** said, keepin life in balance is all the he really did.
Now he's dead, killing himself over the riches and wealth.
I wanna keep this poem on one topic, but my mind is flowing, its goin'.
Like the late Cap $**** said, "Who wouldn't want a girl with elegance, intelligence and a cute way of presentin' it?"

it seems to be a split whether a title is significant or not
while poems are written freely, a title requires much thought
a meaningful title which embodies the piece as a whole
or perhaps a non-intrusive title to present the work is the goal
to place trivial importance on an irrelevant aspect of presentation
but some may see a meaningful gesture that requires much contemplation
there are those who see titles as creative outlets that require an imagination unbridled
however that is a point that is tough to argue when so many poems are still called Untitled