"valet" poems
I want to take your attention
and send in a direction
that takes you away
and changes you mindset
for the rest of the day
the thoughts alone
leaving you in disarray
getting you hot
your ***** simmer
the longer the thoughts saute
looking at the clock
as the seconds slowly tick away
imagining my fingers
as they slowly strip away
the folds of your clothes
right down to your lingerie
slowly I impose, as I take the long way
watching you implode, got me thinking you want to play
fingers linger up your thighs as they park valet
triggers trigger your insides, and your body will obey
these thoughts I portray, in a portrait way
got your body speaking languages, how ever they may convey
I read every single word elaborately; until you are my favorite essay
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 3:00 PM UTC
I have been going to the track for so
long that
all the employees know
me,
and now with winter here
it's dark before the last
race.
as I walk to the parking lot
the valet recognizes my
slouching gait
and before I reach him
my car is waiting for me,
lights on, engine warm.
the other patrons
(still waiting)
ask,
"who the hell is that
guy?"
I slip the valet a
tip, the size depending upon the
luck of the
day (and my luck has been amazingly
good lately)
and I then am in the machine and out on
the street
as the horses break
from the gate.
I drive east down Century Blvd.
turning on the radio to get the result of that
last race.
at first the announcer is concerned only with
bad weather and poor freeway
conditions.
we are old friends: I have listened to his
voice for decades but,
of course, the time will finally come
when neither one of us will need to
clip our toenails or
heed the complaints of our
women any longer.
meanwhile, there is a certain rhythm
to the essentials that now need
attending to.
I light my cigarette
check the dashboard
adjust the seat and
weave between a Volks and a Fiat.
as flecks of rain spatter the
windshield
I decide not to die just
yet:
this good life just smells too
sweet.
9k
Fred Gorgeous works as a Valet
at a reputable tall hotel
with pools
with marble bathrooms
and those marble bathrooms have marbled ********
marbled sinks where the elderly pinch out blood from their lungs
Fred Gorgeous is balding
he wears glasses
Fred Gorgeous isn't gorgeous at all
Fred Gorgeous listens to love songs in spanish alone
Fred Gorgeous has a Dog
his dog barks at nothing
his dog never sleeps
his dog is ugly too
his dog has brown black eyes and a blue collar
Fred Gorgeous has eyes too
his eyes are green
Fred Gorgeous lives in an apartment downtown
Police sirens quake through the city atmosphere like World War 1 **** chemical war fare
Fred Gorgeous submerges himself underwater in his un-marble bath tub
Fred Gorgeous can still hear the Police Sirens
they have tainted the water too
Fred Gorgeous was in love once
many times
but mostly once
Fred Gorgeous smokes cigarettes
Fred Gorgeous listens to Spanish music in the afternoon
while the city is at work
while the kids are at school
while the drunks are drunk in drunk encouraging residents
Fred Gorgeous buys cheap wine
3 dollars a bottle
Fred Gorgeous isn't gorgeous at all
Fred Gorgeous is 34 years old
He is bored
He is not tired
He has 3 pairs of shoes
All of them leather
Fred Gorgeous gets drunk and lays in his closet
the size of a Coffin
and smells his shoes
Fred Gorgeous enjoys the smell of leather and shoe polish
Fred Gorgeous isn't special
Fred Gorgeous isn't great
Fred Gorgeous isn't brave
or a hero
Fred Gorgeous isn't anything at all
Fred Gorgeous has a painting of a tornado on his wall.
Mar 24, 2013
Mar 24, 2013 at 3:51 PM UTC
Standing alone outside the Mirage,
I felt like the only gambler in Las Vegas.
The parlay ticket in my pocket guarded,
like a Top Secret document,
loss would do me
"grave and serious damage".
But don't we all thrive on taking chances?
Some of us simply lack the courage to admit so.
I saw her legs first, emerging
from the limo in nyloned perfection.
Now a valet opening the casino door,
words gathered, a stone in my throat,
"Would the lady care for company?"
I made myself a dog at odds of 8-1,
yet, a crooked finger beckoned me follow.
I felt like the only gambler in Las Vegas.
Feb 24, 2012
Feb 24, 2012 at 9:14 AM UTC
Science…
a handmaiden of knowledge
The upstairs maid
in a mansion of discovery
Chauffeuring itself
along roads it has built
A quantitative valet
—in the closet of the unknown
(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2019)
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 10:32 AM UTC
O, come a little closer - hear what I have to say,
I know that one piece of writing can be interpreted in so many different ways.
O, but do pay attention to my word-play,
To the picture I’m trying to portray.
O, I hope by the end of this you will understand the image I am trying to convey,
But do not get me wrong, the end of this is something I am attempting to delay.
O, it is saddening to know that sooner or later my rhymes will fade away
So I will replay, replay, replay.
O, how I pray that what we have will not decay.
Like all the flowers & bouquets that I watched wither/die a bit more every day.
O, but how pretty were they?
Sad to know that each & every single one was thrown out like the contents of an ashtray.
O, how you must have noticed the repetition of O’s - I think they are here to stay,
Unlike my pathetic, childish rhymes that I am struggling to hold at bay.
O, do not get me wrong - the rules to rhyme are so easy to obey,
They are so easy to slay.
O, like tray, cafe, puree,
For god sake, even JFK.
O, please tell me - do you see the problem on display?
Do you see what I am trying to say, what is coming my way?
O, it feels like a betrayal
No, no, no that’s not a rhyme.
I need to rhyme, I need us to be okay.
Ray, clay, Bombay.
Tray, fray, mae.
Ray, clay, Bombay.
Tray, fray, mae.
O, please stay
I need us to be okay.
O, I know repetition of words is not a rhyme,
Nothing more than copy & paste.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
O, please I don't want us to stray
I hate how we went from white to grey.
O, please I don’t us to end this way,
I know I am barely rhyming but I will try my best, okay?
Look - ballet, allay, hooray,
Hay, weigh, olay.
Look - ballet, allay, hooray,
Hay, weigh, olay.
O, please stay
I need us to be okay.
O, I know repetition of words is not a rhyme,
Nothing more than copy & paste.
I’ll come up with more,
Dismay, replay, is-lay.
Tray, cafe, valet,
Delray, Alleyway, Chevrolet.
It is not that I don’t know how to rhyme,
I just need something to rhyme for.
Rhyming is synchronisation, it is compatibility
I just need to know we are.
Please, stay, stay, stay,
Don't go away, don't go away, don't go away.
Please, stay, stay, stay,
Don't go away, don't go away, don't go away.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
I know I am barely rhyming, but I will do my best okay?
Please stay,
Don’t go away.
Jul 28, 2022
Jul 28, 2022 at 2:11 PM UTC
I'm looking for terrorists
In jeans, clean-shaven,
But with a bulging mid-riff.
Will he have a back-pack,
Carry a brown paper lunch
With a portmanteau.
I just gave the valet my keys,
And I didn't check his shoes
And certainly not his under-armour.
I live ten thousand miles away,
Just down the street;
So why hurt me.
We cheer for the Bo-Sox
Side by side,
He's familiar to my eyes.
I believe he was changing my oil
When I saw the sideways glance,
But I can't be sure,
When I don't know
What to look for.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
~
as she poses
for the boys
her irony is
on display.
the naked truth
not easily deduced,
it’s not just they
that's being seduced.
her looks they’ve bought,
no heart nor touch,
a stage, a pole,
for them disrobed;
“just leave your
money please!”
mum says, *“ladies
don't act that way!”*
but mum ain't seen
hard times like these;
*“com’on mum,
let’s get along...
you gotta know,
its juxtaposition!”*
behind bars,
for driving cars;
stolen sweets
were such a treat;
*“com’on Judge,
rich guys got
more cars than sense,
what the difference?
if i take just one,
for just a spin,
the only joy
i'll ever ride...
and besides, he
left his keys inside
my valet shack.
those miles and dents,
that i put on, surely
ain't deserving this.
sweet fruit was
hanging far too low
for my resistance.
not my fault, you know;
it’s juxtaposition!”*
he sits high atop
a silver tower,
set beside the ocean fair;
existence storied for
he climbed every floor.
they call them shares,
it's what he sells,
but this brand of
sharing ain’t
what his mamma told.
it's a shell game by
a different name;
for it's more his soul
that he has sold.
you could say,
*“for a song his soul
sells short sales
down by the seashore.”*
or, you could say
just what he says,
“it's juxtaposition!”
~
*post script.
what prompted this? the city in which i live has the dubious and insidious distinction of having the greatest number of strip clubs per capita in these United States; not exactly something to be proud of. and yet i realize there are many ways to sell one's soul.
truth doesn't have many sides; if something does, then we can't call it truth; for truth, like gravity can be called many things, but under any name we still fall...
and come up short!
but then... that's just-my-position!*
Feb 11, 2017
Feb 11, 2017 at 1:45 PM UTC
I'd like to eat a mango
As I glide through a Tango
My bubbles would pop
While doin’ Hiphop
I’d soothe my soul
Swingin’ Rock and Roll
No time for slumber
While doing the Rhumba
My blood would pulse
To a Viennese Waltz
Dizzy’s how I’d feel
Skipping a Scots Reel
I’d dance Ballet
With my valet
I’d cut a rug
Doing jitterbug
I’d be happy as
Improvising Jazz
I'd like to swing a Fire Poi
In exotic far away Hanoi
I’d fly to San Francisco
To indulge in Disco
I’d as soon not talk
Sliding through a Moonwalk
I’d wear a yarmulke
While doing the Polka
I’d get the gist
Of doing the Twist
I could unwind
With a Bump and a Grind
I’d take off my wig
For a fast Irish Jig
I'd be a hot Mama
Performing the Cha cha
My heart would sing
To a Highland Fling
I’d step up the tempo
To stamp a Flamenco
I'd feel alive
Just doin’ the Jive
Now the ending’s your choice
For better or woice!
One is glad One is sad
Pick one and it’s done-
I’m off to France It’s the witching hour
For a chance to dance And I’m a wall flower.
Tricia Lambert
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
Skyscrapers and green fields
The opposite of what I had pictured it to be
No dry grass or cactuses
But suddenly a tornado struck Dallas
And we were stuck at the hotel
We were like "oh well!"
No complains, just smiles
Didn't tip the valet guys
Sorry fellas, we're not used to your system yet
The next time we won't forget!
Stopped at Dairy Queen for a banana split
It's too late anyway to try to stay fit
They played the Banjo song from Deliverance
and some gentlemen with Cowboy hats started to dance
Finally I got to see the stereotypes
in the land with the stars and stripes
We missed our turkey but saw some coyotes instead
On every road armadillos lay dead
Waved good bye at the border of New Mexico
Hated to see us leave but loved to watch us go
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 7:38 AM UTC
trunks filled with junk and the crunk juice flows
flunked out pill popping junkies with no cash go
drunkenly to the shrunken head show
knowing they stunk.
The monks dunked funky mumps victims
on bunk beds and licked them
instead of fixing lunk-headed situations
with linkin-log technologic advances
drinking dogs retrofitted with dance moves
groove on the wooden floor while ****** bore
the Moors with tales of divorce and random ***********
on all fours in doorways
during bad plays on the interstate…
demonstrators, unregulated, on roller skates
wait at the gates of the ingrates filled with hate
and throw pie plates with fated accuracy
and the belated bureaucratic picnic
nitwits in knickers knuckle bump
and plump debutants snicker
the wicker croquet mallets
perform ballet in the chalet
and I have to valet the cars –
Oct 26, 2015
Oct 26, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
I get up in the morning, get dressed
Where’s my valet?
Downstairs to my dining room
What’s new at the buffet?
The cutlery gleams, my bacon steams
I love the sound of the coffee machine
I really shouldn’t eat so much
I need to look good when I go to the club.
Well, it’s off to work now
Or should I do tennis first
No, it’s too hot
I’ll suffer too much thirst.
Where’s James with the car? Oh, there you are!
Hurry up, mate – you know I can’t wait.
What shall I watch during the ride?
I really don’t want to look outside -
We have to go past that awful slum
Why do they have to look so glum?
~~~~~
I get up in the morning, it’s so cold -
Just getting dressed makes me feel old.
I look on the shelf for something to eat
I wish I had a way to apply some heat.
I need to eat more – I should look better in this shirt.
I’d love some coffee – I wish my kettle would work.
I must get going - I’ll have to walk.
I used my bus fare to buy power for lights.
I don’t mind the dark – not at all
But I must be able to study at night.
I need to do something to get out of this slum
So I can walk to work not looking so glum.
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 6:25 AM UTC
I sit
Like a valet parked car
Engine off
Time to split
Afar,
And smoke a Davidoff!
One two-three
Life is never
Suspended
Feel free
To enter a new endeavor
Embracing the unexpected.
So far so good
Miss Life!
I applaud
Your hood
I-five
Life is no fraud.
The choice is clear
Either you marry
Society rules
Which promotes fear,
Or you live happy
Singing sum' good blues.
Taking off! 2-5-2016
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 8:02 PM UTC
You are just a prop in her life, Cody.
You are there to help her work through things.
That's great; one problem.
I am not a dishrag.
I do not serve as a free form of therapy.
I am not just a service to help girls learn about themselves.
I have feelings.
I get attached.
I want reciprocation.
I want affection.
Sometimes I'm the one who needs help.
Sometimes I am not just satisfied with knowing I helped.
I am not your valet.
I am not your counselor.
I am not your validation on demand.
I cannot even fathom why you think can just take.
It's because I can't give, Cody.
If you can't give, why do you think it's ok to take?
I will not always be ok.
I won't always get over it.
I won't just understand why you can't be there for me.
I am not just a rock to be your stability.
I am not just a blanket to give you comfort.
I am not a flipping dishrag.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
We ate eggs
And layed in bed
And ******
Whilst looking
At the view
Nothing to do
Other than stare
And care
Captured
And fulfilled
Within each others eyes.
Oysters
And bomb-diving
Seagulls
And Scissor for hands
Without any sound.
Kodak moments
And dressups
Like cowboy
Dapper dan’s
And pomenade.
Coffee and Belgium beer bars
And pirates with patches for eyes.
Silver trayed room service
And a mat for our feet at the side
Of our bed.
And daddy’s boy
With a cammo ****
Underneath
A Cheshire grin
And for five
Short hours
We walked
And talked
And were kept
Enthralled
By the allure
Of retail
Therapy
We accessorised
As if fashion
Were to cease tomorrow
Silver and tins
And etchings in time.
Then tie pins and scarves
And hats with wide brims.
We were lost
In a city of
Bright lights
And street art
And didgeredo’s
And bag ladies with more
Luggage
Than Sydney international terminal.
Bell boys
And valet
And privacy lights
Respite and
2 nights
of enjoying each day
from the
25th floor
Feb 9, 2010
Feb 9, 2010 at 2:50 AM UTC
5 am driving through the hood fearlessly
Because sitting in my passenger is a huge black man up to no good
Newports in my hair
Graffitti around these parts looks better
Than Wynwood
As the sun rises
Hitting all the homeless in the face
Sleeping on the sidewalks
I see a man stretching his arms,
As he unravels his cuccoon
Ready to fly through another day
Newport man points at a woman walking past,
Her grey baggy pants sloping
Her legs crisscrossing like shes cutting something up as she walks
But really she's just on crack
He told me that he knew her when she was fat
She looks towards a man down the road
And waves a flirty hand
He follows her home
Earlier in the night i see a skinny white girl
Walking around the club
I thought she was brave
For being down here alone
A couple of hours later i see her again
Waving an SUV down
They drove past and i saw her face crumple
The way gravel does
The car stops at a light
on the way towards her money
Newport man flags her down
She begs for a cigarette
But all she got was distraction
"Where are you from?"
Boston.
Her sweatshirt said so
I have a customer waiting for me,
I have to go
Newport man asks "what are you selling?"
She turns away and goes.
Another crackhead rolls up next to
The club parking
With a bike he stole from south beach
I know this because Newport man knows
Shirtless underneath a neon flimsy vest
That he stole from a valet stand
Smiling through gums at the drunk *****
Rolling past
Attempting to pretend
That he is the parking pass
Anything for some spare change
Anything for crack
And last but not least but not first is me
I just wanted some ****
Newport man said if i gave him a lap
Dance he would buy me some green
Instead the ***** gets skimped for a ten piece
When he paid twenty
And because my lap dance
Didnt have enough grinding
He didnt give it to me
And this is the general tone
Of Overtown.....
Addictions arent selective
by race, religion, creed.
All those people i met are just like me.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 1:11 PM UTC
O’ bewailed seeker of the seeker
Wandering in the corridor of tenet
Yet opening doors as a blind valet
To the master of secular need
That materialistic greed
On your slumping soul it feeds
Won’t you lift the veil from your heart?
For the doors are new yet all the same
To the rooms of silken gold of shame
O’ lamented!
To annihilate this lust and moist your lips
Don’t cup your hand, nor take the sip
“To quench this thirst, be the sea”
Your heart is vessel so sail THIS ship
Cruise the waters; sail wide and strive
Dig the hole deep, drown and rise
O’ grieving self
Now you conserve the flame of “fikr”
You are the sea yet how good is
When contained in self, veiling the bliss?
“To quench your thirst, be the rain”
Sprinkle the leaves and be that trail
Of lush green ivy once livid and pale
Undone the knots and unlock the chains,
For the dust, for the smoke and the fading lights
Aren’t those ones who have most right?
“But to be the rain, must be that vapor”
That gazes at “shams” and let it burn
The glistening surface of its being
Surrenders its berth of cradling sea
And submits its sole to the Highest being
A sage once said Fire and Rain
Are in unison; are one name
Immortality!
Oct 10, 2015
Oct 10, 2015 at 8:36 AM UTC
Date night Saturday with my wife. Forgot how to act.
Two years in with a sweet baby boy saw to that.
Going to Sia at the Bowl. Refill my soul.
Sitter and valet are my goals.
Taking control of our lives
'till we rise from the sleep he just stole.
On Sunday we're knocked back down to size
and realize we just cheated our roles
for only one date. That's all right, we can do it again...
when he's 8.
- - Marc Jackson 2016
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 7:10 PM UTC
You call and say I'm aberrant
You don't wanna be stuck indoors deviating
I don't like your storms
I miss your floodwaters
I need an affectional sleet
I miss your earthquakes
Then you came with all your quaking
You must think I'm an aftershock
You must think I'm abnormal
Now I can't find the volcanism without you
Volcanism without you
Queer and two
Like the ingenue over slew
Subthalamic and cuckoo
And I'm dancing because you're undue
Twisters ain't nothing when I'm betraying with ya
Gay
Do you mind if I steal a permafrost?
I miss your downdrafts
Calamities are not safe
I don't like your cataclysms
And every homosexuality is failsafe
Then you came with all your frothing
You must think I'm a calvinism
It's time we had some infernos
Will you hold me tight and not go flaming
You don't wanna be stuck indoors backtracking
When I'm shaming with ya
Shaming with ya
When I'm with you, all I have is inappropriate thoughts
It's time we had some embarrassments
I'm rebuking 'til dawn
Na na na na gay
Na na gay
Like the tray over buffet
Na na na na gay
Like the valet over heyday
Transgender and ok
Got more halfway
May 8, 2019
May 8, 2019 at 5:59 PM UTC
Wake up to the pounding in your head,
Whiskey and regrets make for a mean hangover.
Three Advil's, a smoothie and 45 minutes throwing weights won't fix the evil inside,
But it will allow for yet one more day,
Of this sad blemish you call life.
Suited up, don't you look nice?
You hide your weakening smile behind your Starbucks tall half sweet nonfat double shot wake the **** up latte.
Strut your stuff,
Male model martini,
Sell another lie,
Buy yourself time,
Swipe another credit card.
Don't look that homeless vagabond in the eye,
Lest you see the need there,
And feel your own, answer in kind.
Rather make a crass remark,
Throw the keys for your overpriced sports utility vehicle to the valet,
And ***** about the mayor cleaning up the streets.
You pay your taxes,
You give to charity,
You've done your part to end world poverty,
These little lines go through your soul as fast as the ******* you've snorted,
But with less effect.
Your empty voice barks all the louder to be heard,
It joins the chorus of the lost as you sidle up to the bar.
You know the keeper, you tip him so that he greets you by name,
All so you can impress the charade around you,
Master of ceremonies for a freak show that not one of you,
The cast,
Can truly see.
Now you wake beside a beautiful stranger.
Rip off her skin and peer within
The ugly you see is the demon you share,
Drown it's harpy song with more devil water,
Pierce your skin and let it ride the needle ***** high beside you,
Into your own special hell.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
The valet I pleasure today
Oblivious to the frigid weather,
His warm fingertips
Ran through my bare back,
My body rippled with pleasure
Holding his gaze
I felt his manhood
Against my sensitized skin
His touch was sensuous
His voice was seductive,
Demanding
Like the rest of him
Lifting up my hips wider
To make way for him
He let out a moan
As he buried himself deep,
His length filling me
Plunging,
Thrusting in me,
Deeper, harder and deeper
Stretching me,
More delicious than I fantasized
Lost in the colorful sounds
Of smell of pure bonk,
Bang and more bonk
He moves in long,
Sure strokes.
Deep.
Controlled
He conjures in acidic marsh
I groan as my body vibrates
When he sleeks and slides..
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC
Two men, both having recently used “Just for Men Touch of Grey”,
Stood waiting for their valet-parked cars,
Making idle conversation,
When a boy- no, he was a man I suppose,
Floated by
Like a cracked brown leaf
Buffeted on cold wind
Down the sidewalk and around the corner,
His brow crumpled and knotted
Dull eyed and rattling.
A blue wool coat, only just barely too big
Hung on his shoulders.
“What do you make of that man,
Well fed and dressed,
Looking like a kicked dog?”
Asked the first man
“Why don't you ask him yourself?”
Replied the second,
Both checking their watches
And quickly searching the lot for
Their oncoming cars,
Fishing in their pockets for
An extra little something
To give the valets.
Nov 2, 2013
Nov 2, 2013 at 12:58 AM UTC
I do not know how I end up here
Tangled in your arms
Your legs
But all I know it is the warmth I have always wanted.
I remember that night
Where we spent the whole day to ourselves
It started out with a good morning kiss,
A breakfast in bed,
A long cuddle session,
Lunch,
Window shopping,
A walk in the park,
A drive to somewhere we did not have a clue where we are heading,
And when we took a stroll at night,
You started with a silly ballet dance
And said "valet parking"
Ugh how I have hated your lame jokes
But it does makes me laugh
And we end up tangled between each other again that night.
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 3:43 PM UTC
I peer through this window,
Looking through life’s magnifying glass
Examining and questioning meaning in one’s life.
When I thought all hope was lost, I found you
Your freckles were dusted on your face like sands of Michigan
As your light blue eyes peer into a crowded room
And people seemed not to notice you,
As the group’s ego, eagerly overpowers you and makes you stay in silence.
But I notice
I noticed your quirky laugh, warm smile, and blue eyes staring at me
And I don't know why but I can't stop staring,
The outside noise ceases to exist, and I just get lost.
Lost like a rock star without a guitar or a poet without words
And it feels like a valet is taking off my coat. The Coat I often wear called stress.
Your smile warms a room like fresh baked cookies on a cold winter night.
When I'm with other people,
I start to think about what you are doing or what you are up to because you run in my mind all Night like reruns on Nick At Nite.
And for once in my life I didn't hear screaming in my head.
An old wise man once told me that if its too good to be true then it probably is,
And you know what.
He was right
Because now I peer through this window
Staring down at you, yet you never look back.
No matter how many times I tell you that you're beautiful,
you never say thank you.
Instead you took it for granted and moved on to someone else.
Someone who lacks respect or doesn't see the beautiful women you are,
And you simply flush me out. Flushed like T.P down a toilet as I call out like ET so I can phone You, but you just ignore me and flush away my existence.
You ripped out my soul, dragging around the town for everyone can see what hopeless soul you Have captured this time.
You make me feel empty.
Empty like a politician's words or empty like a newborn’s mind.
Now when I see your freckles or your Innocent eyes and
When I get lost, all I feel is pain.
I escape to my mind trying to figure out what is wrong with me?
Is it my beliefs, my lack of muscle or smarts?
And when you ask me how I’m doing, I would lie and say that I am fine and that you are not on My mind, and you running in my mind like that TV shows that haunts my nights.
What rips me apart the most is that you are fine with your slab of meat.
So now I look down through this window,
All I see is white mist called dreams haunting my wounded heart night after night,
Dreaming that one day, I can hold you into my arms,
I can feel your lips touch mine, I can waste my time with you,
And call you mine,
But a dream is just a dream.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 9:44 PM UTC