I've heard many people ponder on the power of words
But to me they only hold little strength
They're like tree roots that can't reach deep at all
Or a winged angel with no rank

Maybe they're powerful when other people write them
Maybe their word choice is more precise
But if so, then I don't believe words
Should have a certain chance of being strong, just a rolling of a dice

But this shouldn't bother me, it's my fault for choosing weak words
But I could never find a word that surely wouldn't make my mind melt
Oh, but if I wrote just a little bit better
You could truly feel what I've felt.

A to Z and all the letters caught between
that line themselves along the shelves
and rest between the bookends,
they don't have the words I need.

A to Z, and all the letters caught between
I can't fit them together anymore,
I can't make them sing,
curved lines and crescendos to ****** the ear
with honey soaked harmonies.

They fall from my lips and slip
under my meaning,
tired and worn,
crumpled in my hands.
Or is it my hands that are tired
of these frail words,
showing the ****** remnants of ambition?

I put them back until I need them again,
for something simple,
a conversation with a net.
Hellos and how dos,
the pitter patter
of banter
on my tongue
designed to hide the heart.

So I will let them rest
until they sing to me again,
or I find a new alphabet.

People who cause pain,
From the start
They are people
Whom I can trust
To not hurt me,
Because their words
Don't get me

But people
Who are like family
Whom I trust and love
And follow happily
Become the ones
Who hurt me
That's when the pain
Really gets me,
Badly

Don't say anything, just
                         enjoy
               being
       there.

You’ve got a city pass in City of Uncertain Love,
walked through the door,
didn’t so much as flinch,
even after all the plasma drawn from this love,
you walked away hissing,
bared sharp fangs, jaundiced from all the scathing words that flowed,
pale as a vampire,
it was you after all and not me you said.
Enamored with the sights and sound, the 360 degree dining experience with a view of the future, complemented with vocabularies to match your mood, aged like wine in the vineyard of pick-up lines,
while I’m left here in a curiosity shop of brokenness:
kisses spat back into the bottomless void of yesterday;
thoughts of once newly-minted strangers we were scrawling notes and now smeared by tear stains;
a heart with no discernible shape, slapped for dragging beats on the snare;
A corpse of a phone you have murdered taking it off life support when you eloped with my charger;
mismatched pillows you left, still possessed with the ghosts of restlessness nights haunting the halls of my mind with echoing arguments of what to eat for dinner;
a spare key—a wedding ring for a keychain.
I fell apart.
Ring!Ring!Ring!
“So, everything didn’t work out for you?”
—inaudible—
“Do you know what time is?”
—inaudible—
—you missed me?”
—inaudible—
“Uh-huh….
Sorry to hear, but there are no refunds for your freedom ticket. Bye!”
Click!