what do you find yourself with time for.
parts of life we choose to ignore.
the things you spend hours looking for,
left on the inside of the locked door.

living tortuously through each day.
searching for an available soul to sway.
take your pick, then trick them to stay.
keep them a safe distance away.

done in such a brutal fashion.
lead in a furious rage of passion.
nothing left for us but a lethal extraction.
shedding of sadness you don't dare imagine.

My mother had a thing about locking me in the bathroom. She’d force an audience out of me to her bearing all to pat benatar through her tears. I buried my ears so deep into that karaoke machine because I swore I could hear her secrets. My ears would bleed so I could feel her pain. As if that could help any. It would keep her sane. In those years I learned it’s not ladylike to look someone in the eyes while they cry.

My mother never told me about emo boys. The kinds that would draw me in by bearing all in screams and strumming strings. I buried my ears so deep into the voices of these, telling secrets I’d again make my ears bleed to feel his pain. As if that could help any. I’d still try. It was a good thing I learned  it wasn’t ladylike to look someone in the eyes while you cry.

I couldn’t explain the ways I love, or begin to count the reasons why.

I loved you before I laid eyes on you, so they say that love is blind.

I love you without limits, recklessly, without a sense of time.

I love that I am eternally yours, and you forever mine.

swallowing sorrow, drowning in sadness,

wondrous words, brought on by madness.

feels frail, no wonder this happened.

idolizing ideas, crazy contraption.

tripped up torn, lust like magic.

loyal lover, follows his passion.

lust like magic, no wonder this happened.

I watched him pace the hard wood floor. It’s too early not to have another beer.  Preceding towards the bar He looks like a character whose disposition had faded. I would chalk it of to the sea of college kids living off meat and potatoes “‘cause the state pays for that”.  His slow crossing circuit reminds me of the first time I was picked up by the wrong the bus. Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer was making the journey from the drivers speakers to my ears. Either the driver or fate had some kind of taste.

He returns pale beer in hand, and a forced smile manifest upon his face. With deceit in his eyes, he raves to his friends about the taste amidst the lies of his life. We both know that beer doesn’t really grow on you and neither will this lackluster lifestyle.

driven by the medium of exchange.
dare remember from where it is you came.
dance in the smoke that once brought moths to flame.
incandescent, and full of shame.
buried in books to keep you insane.
hoping happy people do the same.
must you keep her emotions tame
wrong way in a one way lane.