Busy helping people pick up their shards
That I've even forgotten my pieces still
Linger on the floor, some too shattered
To be picked.
I'm busy trying to shine some light along their path
Forgetting the beam seldom gives as much light
To the person holding the torch of inspiration
I'm so caught up cleaning up other people's mess
That even when mine stinks I think It's just the remnant of theirs
I'm so ******* helping them deal with their demons
Probably because I fear facing my own monster
With a heavy log in my eye but I only see the specks in theirs
I'm the life guard of their swim across the ocean of despair
But my anchor is sinking me deeper and deeper
I'm teaching many the basics of combat in life
Yet life is the one battlefield I have failed to fight on
I guess I'm worse than them who seek for healing
For they are unlike me brave enough to realize they need a therapy

Bring out the silent poet's
The one's in the back of H.P;
I'll be happy to read their work
Let's make them famous as thou and me.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

In this extreme heat,
I am suspect of people,
who wear leather coats.

Almost one o'clock,

                      Insomnia doesn't rock

                         Tickety- toc- doc

Your skin, the blanket that keeps me warm
  your hair, a pillow to lay my weary head
     your heart
        thud ,thud, thud,
            my Soul song.