You can't read my mind.
You've no idea what it's
like being close to you.
I'm stunned by your beauty.
Your laugh infects me.
Your wild hair brings me
to my knees in adoration.
I cower in fear of my love.
I'm quiet. I'm distant. I dream
of you that night. I write this.

I was lost inside my speed
  drugged mind hoping for calm
  but all I got was lost in Oz,
  a shrink's chair with no exits.
  I jumped from mountains of lies
  and fell into the truth's grave.
  I settle for lesser compromise.
  I'm saved by a clock's loud tick
  death's second hand metronome
  keeping track of all our lives.

I've been staring into the sun
where our  pain is born again
where poet's souls learn to give
in a life spent chasing after sin
and never finding absolution
write our confessions on scraps
ignoring talk of evolution
embracing divine creation.
Drunk poets have always
known genius in Absinthe.

Ginsberg's Howl is full of
   people and places, food, music,
   suicides, ***, madness, drugs
   and unusual language. Earth.
   He landed here from the moon
   and cracked the poet's world in 2

   I write of *** madness drugs
   and reluctant blessings from
   those doomed to love me always
   Let us dance on the head of a pin
   and vanish in a puff of smoke
   while they all lose their minds.

There was an easy way into your heart.
There's no easy way out. You thought it
was forever but there's no such thing.
You don't need to hear it or even fear it.
We ****** goodbye in your dorm room.
I went to Boston and was reborn again.

One more shot and I die in my own arms
  full of holes from demon teeth and heaven's
  need to drag my soul across the finish line.
  I filled the syringe to my lucky number 7's.

He finally finished his last canvas.
  It satisfied his mad desire for love
  but left him wanting for his sanity.
  He shot himself and bled to death in
  the night he turned into day with the
  stars he painted into midnight suns.