You tell me that you love me,
but that’s not what this is.
It’s obsession.
It’s possession.
Time and time again.
You are toxic to my thoughts,
poison to my heart.
Oh how you love to build me up; to watch me fall apart.
With every passing day,
with each passing time
it breaks my heart to wonder
if you were ever really mine.
You told me I was beautiful with each intoxicated breath,
but never once did a sober thought reach me through your head.
I was your escape, but drugs were your demise.
Taking something beautiful
and dressing it in lies.
It’s killing me slowly that you’re still on my mind.
With ocean eyes and venomous lies how’d I make it out alive?

Through tortured hands,
And a tormented mind,
Rose a rhythm,
Nearly divine

A pianist I knew,
Par excellence,
Stroked keys with ease,
His fingers danced

With perfect balance,
Of black and white,
The baffled king played,
For the rapt knight

But the melody ended,
Before I knew,
Like waking from a dream,
I thought was true

While I was asleep last night
Someone's painted the whole world white
They've turned the raindrops into ice
Like pretty jewels they look so nice

Pretty patterns on my windowpane
Perhaps the fairies have been again
Icy flowers and ferns are there
Fairy foliage everywhere

The dormant garden sprang to life
A pretty picture overnight
See the trees and bushes all
Decked as for a fairy ball

Daddy says it isn't so
Fairies disappeared years ago
If they were ever here at all
It's just the harsh winter weather, that's all

Mummy says “They may have been”
But I shouldn't delve into things unseen
I'll be watching out for them all right
They may return in dead of night

Keith Wilson

All I'm feeling is sad,
All I want is you

I'm sorry if I resemble a sparrow
With a fear of flight
When I shield my abdomen
With apologetic arms.

As if my trembling elbows
Could avert your glances
Long enough to distract you
From your examination of
The inadequacy
That lay beneath.

I'm sorry if my fingers stumble
Upon yours when you
Glide them across
Skin that's already been
Rewarded in stripes
And metal kisses.

I only say sorry
Because If I could,
I'd place my regret
In a envelope
Addressed to your eyes,
Entitled the parts of me you
Dare not see.

The parts that make me
Me.

Hope someone has the generosity to dance on my grave

Many of the most profound pieces of poetry
May not have been dreamed and transferred
In particular manners professional,
And many of the most practiced writers
May not have been as noble nor indicative
As their readers would imagine and preach.
This concern thus produces a humorous conclusion
That through probability, possibility, and realism,
Many of the greatest and most inspiring words
Passed down to our misguided generation,
May have been conceived, scribbled, and explored
From the humble origins of atop a toilet.