"rationalizations" poems
i could not hold on anymore
to the desperate plea of the futile ones
who live off another wallet
so i set out that night for the south
to find the great parking lots
where i might find a space and place to rest my weary head
where i might find a place to be safely reckless
with her potions and instruments
but the violin she played spun a queer note
and i knew that if i did not go on with
whatever she wanted she would be the end of me
the end of poor poor me
gather my slim riches in my carpetbaggers coat
and picked up the threadbare bag
that had all the steam-pipes and tools
for making a new titanic
lets sink it right this time
we ended up just east of Pensacola
in a fairytale land of flea markets
trying to barter our yesterdays
for a bowl of thin soup today
gather my threadbare deadlock hippie chick companion
and counseled her against talking too loud
against the tourqouse monsters
and she told me i was just nervouse
and stripped away the rationalizations
to show that the fat man is only selling tickets
to the free show
so i follow her
having made up my mind that she sees the reality
of this sandy soil wasteland
we ended up leaving Pensacola
and with a quick prayer
we were on the the boat to the Bahama
with our lives intact
maybe next time we will escape
maybe next time you will come back with another woman stead of me
and i said that's a possibility
that wouldn't make either of us happy but
that's the way it should be sometimes
life doesn't always make sense
well most of the time it dont
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 6:15 AM UTC
We live for the fat free vanilla cream coffee cups on mornings when we wake before the sun is up, and nights when the silence is trickling icy though. We live for Life. Such a small word, yet remains vague and unanswerable to many people.
A word which concurrently brings upon curiosity and fear inside a simple mind that continuously runs wild with questions. A word who’s meaning can only be defined as a never ending cliffhanger, leaving you with the gut aching suspense of a never resolved story.
We are all blinded by the light paved into the road we created ourselves. Some people look at what a flower has brought into their lives and cherish it, while others hide around a dark corner with harsh opinions and rationalizations. Around that corner a cold reality is approaching, causing a cherished life to be cut short.
That life though, it never dies. For before it shriveled up, it did something amazing. After that flower blossomed, a gust of determination carried it’s knowledge throughout the world to be seen as inspiration. Inspiration, and to once again ambitiously sprout.
We live for the little things that make life worth living. The people. The places. The words. The temporary confidence in knowing what comes next. The cliffhanger. The unwritten ending you’re so eager to place punctuation.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
i dreamt
i moved into a apartment
with an old brick wall
and its decaying face
the old light hanging from a thread
swings on the open breeze
from the window
time seems to slow down to a crawl
so i can see each and every flaw
so i can feel each and every thing she wanted me to feel
so i can know each and everything she saw
and so i see the the moment captured in ink
on her sketch pad
a drawing of the wind in the trees
a image of the smell of the fresh cut grass
the thoughts of the passer-by
who looked with such stark wonder
at this open display of what we have all taken
for granted we could never achieve
the old brick wall
leaned into the wind
and held
for one more day
kept safe the world she held so dear
safe for one more stormy night
the old brick wall
with its spray painted messages
like how joe loves daisy
and how we should make love not war
the old brick wall
holds back the world
from coming into her quiet soul
into the paper flowers and lace curtains of her life
the old brick wall
was once the west most piece of
the boxers rebellion
he was sad all his life
torn from his violent profession
and forced to retire
and his fists lay idle
with objections written on them like scars
but after years he came to terms
with the reasons great and small
with the rationalizations made up and real
and found peace
he found his fists could be hands
and hands can pet a cat
hands can paint a masterpiece
write a love poem
hands can touch another person without hurting them
and he suddenly he didn't want to hurt anyone ever again
because he loved having hands
and all the beautiful things they could do
he would never have fists again
and that change in him
was so profound that it became magical and
part of the old brick wall
so it will endure past its years
to protect her little scavenged world
her delicate life
her frail thoughts
because beauty isn't always
what the world thinks it is
a boxer can tell you that
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 2:47 PM UTC
filled with shades of yesterday
the river road's thick air labors
in my chest
as the intangable wall of
blind rage
strikes again and again in thoughts
too powerful for wishfull thinking to deny
fists clenched slamming down
on the ungiving pavement gives only
voice to the uselessness of this rage
it has neither reason or goal
it simplly bleeds thru awake mind
it simply breeds like a disease
an infection of the moral soul
with shades of rationalizations
they printed a book
and built a church to their
god of lies
and the misguided truths others hold as
a path of reason
*scape goat to their inadequacy
lambs to the slaughter the fresh recruits
stare in wide eyed wonder at the drawn blades
dont it look like nirvana when what your leaving behind
didnt wear such a sweet smile
some things will never change
they learned that in the great war
they learned that in the feilds of cambodia
the monsters feed and their
lips red with blood
...smile...
death is never frightened
its allways has a smile*
the river road far behind
but its taint lingers
as all evil men will
long after their due date
rotting in plain sight
but nobody can afford to strike the tent
and bury the corpse
after all he was a celebrated smile
he was a devil to dish the news
and loved to lend a helping hand
but only if that hand held a blade
*if i had only closed my eyes
if i had only turned my back
i would not be here today
wither that be a good thing or nay
waits in the wings*
get me out of here
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 3:58 PM UTC
Nightmares don't scare me.
Confrontation slays all the thoughts,
That plague me,
That make me anxious,
That shrink to nothing.
So I wage a war everyday
On my insecurities and the reality
That all hate is based in some miniscule truth.
On my side are rationalizations
And obvious evidence against my stupid fears.
But some day
I won't be able fight them off
And my own thoughts will end me
Now that's scary.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 3:46 PM UTC
Life. Such a small word, yet remains vague and unanswerable to many people. A word which concurrently breeds curiosity and fear inside a simple mind that continuously runs wild with questions. A word who’s meaning can only be defined as a never ending cliffhanger, leaving you with the gut aching suspense of a never resolved story. Controlling our lives like a marionette puppet with the strings being attached to the four characters L, I, F, and E. But alas, we are all blinded by the light paved into the road we created ourselves. A cracked road filled with the seeds of our generation, aided in growth from our blinded light with ambitions of reaching the sun. We give our seeds a warm reality, which sparks the blossom it’s wanted to expose to the world, the reason it was given a chance as a seed to begin with. Some people look at what that flower has to brought into their lives and cherish it, while others hide around a dark corner with harsh opinions and rationalizations. Around that corner a cold reality is approaching, causing a cherished life to be cut short. That life though, it never dies. For before it shriveled up, it did something amazing. After that flower blossomed, a gust of determination carried the seeds of it’s knowledge throughout the world to be seen as inspiration. Inspiration, and to once again ambitiously sprout from the crack in the road we’ve so blindly created.
Aug 1, 2013
Aug 1, 2013 at 8:30 PM UTC
They fear for their children,
Their things when our black men come near.
But do they forget that it was the pale faces who were the cruel ones?
They shipped and trapped our brown for sugar, molasses...
For things.
They inspected
Destructed
Degraded
Detained
Stripped naked our black men for money.
They stole much more than our black men today.
Beat, broke, and chained our black men
Only to incriminate the black body
Only to create fear of skin that has been kissed by something not man made.
So forgive me if I say **** you" to the police in their attempts at racial profiling rationalizations.
Have you no education?
Have you no intellect?
Have you forgotten OUR history?
You cannot cancel violence by enacting violence.
You cannot stop a cycle that you have began if you cannot even look at yourself .
LOOK AT YOURSELF.
It must be hard being so **** stupid.
Being so detached
And having the good graces to ignore and not to teach OUR history.
The black body isn't what you should lock your doors from at night.
Are you scared you wont be able to see it?
Are you?
It is the ignorance of our society of the simple fact
That what starts here
Ends here.
And we are doomed to continue
This cycle of shedding the blood of each other
If you refuse to educate on where the violence
the cruelty
the ownership
the belittling
of the human body began.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
Paradise lost
I wonder sometimes
What sin really is
If it is
Or if it is simply the only way
To explain the unexplainable.
Our humanity courses through veins that sing questions
That bleed questions
That pound questions into our temples when we try to sleep at night
*Why?
Why?
Why?
Why?*
And eventually
We find our answers
Or we die.
But is sin?
Is it?
Or did somebody just need
A reason
For the cruelty
Of a lover?
Here is my
Religion
Here is my
Self medication
Here
Is the apology I will never get
And so eventually
I apologize
Just
So that somebody has:
Paradise lost
And somebody
Needs to be sorry
Right?
See,
Those of us who love
Like we're at prayer
Those of us who lie with
Angels
Who reach up with our mortal fingers
And trace the features
Of sculpted, velvet faces
Those of us who covet
Gods
And who are thrown from
Heaven
Ours is not to question their reasons.
They have no reasons.
Gods need none.
Humans need excuses, need why's and rationalizations
Gods
Do what they please
And they do not have reasons.
When you love a god
Your task is to survive her choices
Not question them.
I have learned-
Gods do not explain.
Gods do not listen.
Gods decide
Blindly
Permanently
Instantly
And offer no justification.
Gods decide
Alone.
And gods
Are never wrong.
I have learned
It is not for us
To challenge choices
That torture us with their suddenness.
It is not for us
To yearn for paradise
Just because we cannot understand
Why it is over.
It is not for us
To ask
Why did you leave?
Of a god who says
She never lies
Who says she loves you
And casts you out
As if the two can both
Be truths.
You can tear the universe to shreds
Trying to make sense of the truths they whisper
And shout.
The words they build you up
And demolish you with.
I could rip a hole
In all of reality
And still the love and hatred of
My own personal
Broken god
Would not fit into
One world.
You can drive yourself mad
Trying to divine the reasons
Of deities.
But
Having gained and lost paradise
So many times
I have finally learned that
The end game is this:
They are gods
Because we love them.
They are gods
Because we worship
And
They can do
Whatever they want.
There is no wrong
There is no right
There is only
Them
And they
Make both
And they change both
With the direction of the wind.
If you love someone
In a sacred way
In a pure way
In a transcendent way
What it means is that
They own you
They control your reality
And you
Must live in whatever world
They decide you deserve.
And they will
Decide.
And you will
Kneel.
It is not pretty.
It is not fair.
It leaves little room for pride
But
That
Is how it goes
When you love
A god.
And whether it seems wrong or right
The hard truth is
If you spend your life
Asking why...
*That life will not continue
For very much longer.*
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
We make up our stories
Our logic and rationalizations
For what happened
That shouldn't have
And
For what didn't happen
That should have
We say
God is benevelont
The universe is your friend
Don't worry
All is well and always has been
Yes, these are good stories
And maybe they are true
But what can i tell my tears?
The arise from a deep well
within
my heart
The well of tears
They cry as they wait
For the moment and day
When this friendly universe
Makes up its own mind
To bless my clouded eyes
with the vision
of Thine Feet
Blue Feet, Bamboo flute
My life, my love
My refuge eternal
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC
When were mislead
from our conscience
Who's to blame
Our heart or mind
Is our decisions made
from our past or what's to be
Decisions,
contemplations, rationalizations
Good vs bad the pro's and con's
So many way's to decide
Do you pray
Do you cry
Do you ask someone
All I can say is its your decision
If your not sure, it's easy
Just put it in God's hands
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 11:21 PM UTC
knowledge awaits is the ticket
they sell you as you pass through
the pearly gates of higher learning
with textbook in hand you pray
that the dream you have isn't as much of
a work of fiction as the history they teach
with your college bound girl
her vanity lay in her turtle frame glasses
she hides behind the foggy lenses of her
casual drugs and meaningful ****** episodes
she grasps the back of your letterman jacket
hoping that you are as surefooted as your propaganda speaks
as you follow the blinding path
of confusions principal and you think to yourself repeatedly
that the truth in the simplest explanation is the actually the most complex
because you make it that with
realizations and rationalizations
through the day to day whittling away
of what you really are
through lying to yourself that
if you stick it out with this false life
one more day it will all be better
that the relationship you are trapped in
will work with you
instead of making every day
an uphill battle to be heard
and loved without tears
sometimes look into her eyes and
see the endless road of escaping her past
and i think that i just want to stop running away
settle down
and be
just simply be
a father, a husband, a lover
happy
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 12:09 PM UTC
to the victor
belongs the
narrative
Visigoths
of the
Info Age
spin golden
zeitgeists
on looms of
obfuscation
tongues of fire
breathe rationalizations
sear acceptance
of a conquerors
sweet dominion
onto pliant minds
Edvard Grieg
In the Hall of the Mountain Kings
10/24/14
Oakland
jbm
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 3:27 PM UTC
The Wall I have built
Around my Heart
Is neither Tall
Nor very Wide
But it is Sturdy
Propped up by my Doubts
And Insecurities
And Strengthened
By my Rationalizations
Of why No One
Would ever Love me
*someone, anyone,
Break It Down!*
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 3:06 PM UTC
his barren field mind
a dust mote adrift in the vast ocean of
humanity's ever changing face
buoyancy of his heart can keep him afloat another day
for he is sure that as a good man
he can come to no harm
but in the haste of folly
is the seeds of what awaits him
his rough face looks out into distance
and knows no fear
or perchance just shows none
for every man has that kernel deep in his soul
that awaits him each night as he folds himself into his bed
that he dreads to
look at
i borrowed from the silence
i stole from the darkness
i leaned on the morning
and broke pieces off the sky
but sooner or later you have to pay the price
the words came harder to come by
the phrases that used to roll of my fingers
like sweet rain
now bleed like a cake of agony
eat it slow
relish each mouthful
like moms apple pie
presence
feel it
know its sad dark face
bleed with its sinister thought
so sure was i
but desire uncovers beasts inside of us
and her face may be fair
but its bitter bread
dry and harsh
diseased and barren
that one gags at you force yourself to feed on its flesh
bleed on her
as she looks up at you with trues loves gift
in her still innocent eye
touch her clean surface
taste her fresh sheets
knowing all the time inside
that from this moment it will never be the same
stolen the thing within
within the within
and you know it aint right
fourty years ago
and i could have known
did i know
was i warned
why am here
it was a nuance of the moment
that made him look to her for more
than just a fleeting release
more than some casual words meant to placate
she never asked him to build an empire
she only asked that he survive night
she had no dreams of riches
no aspirations of greed
he says to himself
to her
forgive me
far into the night
far into the depths of the soul
far into the realizations and rationalizations
that makes up a man
day to day
but distance will not restrain
the hand hand hoping to cease that fatal flaw
only reality can accomplish that
it is held hostage to the idea
that the soil of any soul
can be a home for the seeds of a future
born of such a presence
of such barren hope
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
a supplicant at the celebration
the tattooed man is frozen in the
posture of flinging the dog meat of his soul into the river below
hoping to drown his sorrows and
with tepid conviction he swears his loyalty to the
gods of a lesser horde hoping to void the cost of saving his soul
such a narrow way to tread
such a dangerous thing to think
to dream casting away the meat curtails the rot
the poisoned fruit of the garden of eden
is strewn about his feet
as he sneaks through the backwater shopping mall of
his narrow existence
but its only an image
and the reality smells much different
its a much harsher drop in the bucket
it goes deep
far into the night
deep into the depths of the soul
far into the realizations and rationalizations
that makes up a man
day to day
held hostage to the ideal
that the vanity of self realization is a saving grace
mitigating responsibility for your actions
you can deliver the sermon but can you wear its shoes
its easy to see the other mans face
in the things we know are wrong
its easy to place another in the path of destruction
let them pay our price
but at the top of your last hour
its just you and whatever created you'
can you say that you were more than
dog meat feeding dog meat to the dog meat masses
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 2:45 PM UTC
Oh, this foul currency!
fevered up from the stewing *** of pride
for what I longed, betwix the empty spaces
the finish line now the gunshot
and what of the exchange rate?
how many angers is love worth?
when a passion-plays transfered to selfindulgence
there is some overlap, and a chopping block is needed
and the sharpness may pierce the skin and stain, your ingrain
when did that ever bother me anyway?
love for art or love of art?
it is a ****** that works the teller booth, with smooth words and clean rationalizations
minty
gross
a little too much of a bad thing that tastes good
can't get the taste outa my mouth...i think i cut my tongue
and now other flavors are flavorless, bland, unessential
if it comes from within and the insides are but a void
then what can come out?
and the perpetual turned shoulder fears a quick glance, but desires that knowing stare and smile
badgers, fierce and fluffy.
moose, strong and moosey.
the common line was in that connection
everything else is superfluous
hindsight is, eh, 20/20
foresight..well **** i knew what it was
the dark hand extended with warm vibes and false face
you could find it in anyone's hand
is there a case being plead? perhaps.. or it's just the void talking
it was a redness, angry, tender, vile, beautiful, servile, dominating. perfect.
maybe it's on the road..a squirrel being struck by ****** drivers
maybe it is the road, long and thoughtful
maybe it's a bad poem
this one?
yes.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 2:03 AM UTC
Adding moon and sunlight to the entire composition of something grandiose
Bigger than its old self
Failing to a find a light in myself
Is like finding fault in God’s work
And considering it completely void
Never believing in the all-powerful song-laced universe that within itself
Has meaning
Believing that everything has to be explained
Everything justified
Nothing mysterious, even less beautiful
Something we can rationalize
Something we can think rather than feel
And that I believe is the beginning and end of everything
One’s heart, one’s soul, one feelings
Thought is the habit of the discontent
Scrutiny is the hobby of pessimists
Love is the thought that doesn’t exist
Hope and acceptance
The feelings of the sax roaring through the night
Streetlights the guardians that lead me home
Meaning is meaningless
It steals beauty as if it ever really owned it in the first place
As if beauty was something that one could own
That one could ruin with a simple statement
A simple sentence
The interpretation that is no longer subjective or opinion but fact
The end all
But there is no end all
In my opinion
There is only begin-all
There is no end of time
There is no time
If zero existed I wouldn’t be here
All there is
Is infinity
If something exists
It can’t not exist
It can only exist
There’s no need to keep track of what doesn’t exist
Only of what does exist
And what does exist
Needs no explanation
Explanation is only a reason
A reason not to enjoy everything
That not necessarily consumes or surrounds
But forms a part of the composition
That flows like a bee from a hive to a flower
Forming a beautiful painting
Poem
Novel
Essay
Expression
And at the same time
Giving everything meaning
And explaining that there is nothing to explain
There are no rational rationalizations
No understandable understandings
Understanding is overrated
The only thing I need to understand is that
Beauty is beautiful
Only is only
Many are many
Nothing is nothing
It doesn’t exist
The only thing with the right to exist
Is me running mad through the city streets
Screaming with joy
Straight to the forest
With lights burning
And bouncing off me
As hit the speed of flight
And learn to explode
Burning across the skies
Learning to walk on the sun
And listen as the trees and the rivers teach me the true meaning of music
As everything as is
Listens
Never waiting for it’s turn to speak
To kiss me
The guy with the big smile on his face
Jun 30, 2012
Jun 30, 2012 at 3:41 AM UTC
I'm a dead man walking
dead man talking
dead man running to his grave.
I would have stayed if I wasn't so afraid
adding and subtracting
all the mistakes I have made.
I never could have stayed
it never would have worked out that way.
In the end was that last smile
and saying,
"I'll see you down the road after a while."
I'm a dead man walking
a dead man talking
a dead man running towards my grave.
My crimes
they have been small
mostly involving
self harm
The self-inflicted wounds
are stings that last the longest time.
I'm a dead man walking
a dead man laughing
a dead man running towards my grave.
I have always tried my best
to be as loving as I can
little acts of kindness
now and then
Even have submerged myself
in others
talking their pain
I'm a dead man walking
a dead man falling
a dead man running to my grave.
Many small crimes
many petty misdeameanors
never meant to hurt you
only wanted to touch you
but all these judgments
all this self-incrimination
can't be undone
Too many
justifications, rationalizations,
too many words to say
too much water? the bridge has washed away
I don't think I could ever explain
Even for a dead man running
let's just say
"one touch on the hand
and
I'll be on my way."
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:18 PM UTC
There is someone i miss
I miss them very much
I miss the thoughts,
the ideas.
I miss being alone with this person
I miss the quiet evenings I have shared
filled with silent thought.
I miss the cloudy introversion
and I miss those bright rays of inspiration
I miss the frantic writing
The scribbling, in the notebook,
racing the thoughts,
trying to catch up,
always hoping for a tie,
always losing.
All those thoughts missed.
I miss the conversations.
The whimsical fantasy filled ones
about bright and laughing futures,
and the dreary depressing ones.
I miss the problems.
I miss the solutions.
I miss the countless air guitar solos shared.
the dancing to the music only we can hear.
I miss the attempts at creating music,
I miss the frustration at not being able to.
I miss the ridiculous rationalizations,
also the pragmatic emotions.
I miss most, though,
the silence,
the blankness,
the idleness,
the serenity,
the aloneness,
the isolation,
(the feeling that nothing else exists)
I miss it,
I miss-
me
May 31, 2011
May 31, 2011 at 2:48 PM UTC
I believe in magic
That is, what it stands for
That life goes beyond simple logic
Having the hope to believe
Searching the impossible
For something to still achieve
I don't believe in polyjuice potions
Or spell casting wands
But I do believe in notions
The notion to never quit
To maintain optimism and faith
That there's a way to make it
The moment might be hard to see
When through your efforts
Fate changes its decree
But you don't need wizardry
To change your situation
Just a belief in choice, in liberty
Because your choices can go beyond
Mentally processed rationalizations
If you let the hope of possibility respond
For even if the change is just within
That my friends
Can be where the magic begins
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 12:02 AM UTC
musing on pondering,
cogitating on ruminating,
postulating on speculating,
considering multiple theories,
deeming the discrepancies deniable
positing the petty presumptions,
theorizing multiple condsiderations,
apraising the mediations,
digesting the deliberations,
allowing for freefall meditation,
envisioning the expectations,
presuming the pontifications,
anticipating the asumptions,
comprehending the conclusion,
accrediting the rationalizations,
concluding the comprehesion,
spinning synaptic wheels,
hypothesizing the conjecture,
recollecting of the reminiscence,
adumbrating the prognostigcation,
concocting of the subliminate,
masticating on the cereberal machinations,
of the ocillations, in the agitatation,
apparent,
in an insomniac's maniacal brain,
reckoning not,
on the simple summation,
of the night's wayward,
mental arbitratration,
there is... just too much time,
to think....
and far too little time to write....
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
You'd love to learn my secret
And I would tell you what it is
But to make and admission I would regret
Would require me to emit it exists
It's not that I don't want to tell you
I'm desperate to drop the facade
But it has less gravity than the potential ridicule
So please continue to think me odd
I'm worried about the rationalizations
That I'll be told I'm confused and it's just a phase
And since I've not confirmed these realizations
Hidden I have stayed
Truth or Dare is a ***** to play
When you can't tell friends from foes
It's even worse, having to guard what you say
Concealing the agro
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 12:03 AM UTC
An aching agonizing anguish
Breathlessly breaks bonds
Coldly constantly cracks
Dread's distant deathlike deeds
Eerily everlastingly endlessly
Float flying frostily
Growing greedy
Hauntingly horrific
Immensely insane
Just joylessly jailed
Killing kindlessness
Lying lovelessly losing life
Missing my misfit mourning mind
Now nowhere near new naturality
Over old objects or obsessions
Priceless piercing pain
Quiet quarrels
Rusting rage restless reaped rationalizations
Silent scary severed soul's sorrowful secrets sink sadly sighing softly
Tasteless tears torn trust
Unknown unloved unforgiving
Veiled vying vacant vengeance
Worse wild wordless wispy white worried winding whispers
Xenomorphic
Yesterdays
Zero zoetic zest
Please comment I love to read other people's interpretations of my work :)
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 3:58 AM UTC
Frightened, you looked at me
your prize, your student
a good study and agreeable, too
making good progress
Now pushed aside
From across the interstate of your desk
You stared, impotent
A decision from above, no choice
for me
or for you
Your mood slides down the slope
You panic: you must not feel bad
The brain must save itself from hurt
You say things, rationalizations
zoom through your brain and spurt
straight from your mouth
no censorship for my tender feelings
The next day
you are slumped in your power chair
glasses dripping off your nose
eyes stare vaguely at nothing
The pulsing electric screen
forgotten
The next day
your head in your hands
oblivious to your surroundings
Should I check your pulse?
I didn't want to offend
I was wrong
It wasn't cruelty
It was just a scared man
trying to save his own feelings
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 1:59 PM UTC