When I stand before the mirror
to my horror
I find I have lost me

stares back at me
Sherlock

though I hate him
he warms up to me
takes me in his reins
morose eyes twinkly
gait sprightly

I become him
waken and in dream
memorizing his line
making his habits mine

like him I sprint
trails of footprint
and in all his fantasy

I'm no more me.

He scares
haunting in nightmares
one part
one heart
one role

He steals my soul.

I love poems with no titles.
So full of mystery and intrigue,
they're like Nosferatu walking up the stairs.
Shadows in a black and white movie.
I am lying.
Here is the truth about titles,
they're very important.
They lay the yellow brick road Dorothy.
How would you get to the Wicked Witches castle?
You wouldn't.
You can't even navigate a tornado.

I am waking up and
thinking about titles and poems.
Words on paper scare me,
what truths are seeping into this wide world.
I had a dream the other night.
I was walking through a crowd,
faces I have never met.
I was told once that if you do not know the faces in your dreams
they are the ghosts watching you.
It is comforting to know
that someone is watching over me.
Big brother is always watching.

This poem is a testament to my stupidity.
In this world full of words and swords,
choose the pen.
The sky is brighter when it is being shamed.
Try it.
The clouds are just moving through life,
hoping for rain.
They have something I need and
they won't give it up.
It must be taken by force.
The time has almost come.

I forgive myself all the time.
It helps me sleep at night.
Dreaming of titles and words,
forgetting that one day,
we will all fly.
The titles we work so *******,
spending countless hours fine tuning,
they will fade.
Then again,
we will never grow wings and this poem
will have a title.

Please stop rhyming in poems.
Start using Kung Fu.
What is going on?
This isn't my universe.

A wise man once told me,
"Son, a million dollars is worth
a million dollars. "
That was the last time I saw him.
It has been six years and
I still can seem to find enough money,
to make him proud.

Once I saw lightning strike a field.
It was magnificent.
I could have sworn the Earth stopped.
It didn't.
Life never stops.

Do you want to know a secret?
The wise man was a fool and
life does end.
Shocking revelations from the fool's student.

When does the student,
become the teacher?
When the fool becomes intelligent
the world will know peace
or
burn.

A wise man once told me,
"Son,
live your hours day by day."

I still hold on to the knowledge and
live my life day by hour.

What is going on in that beautiful mind?
Are you thinking of me
or iced tea?

Be mindful of the gap between
the stapler and tape dispenser.
That my boy,
is where evil breeds hate.

Bacteria waiting for the right moment.
A sickly blitzkrieg.

We are alive,
here in the office,
Looking for the next paid holiday.
One that will come too soon.

Forgive me for rambling,
it is what I do best.
Alone in my thoughts
and feeling like I am back home.
The road to ruin.

How can I help you today?
Oh,
I can't really do anything for you.
I do not care.

I respectfully request that you stop.
This poem will ruin your day.
I would feel bad.

Let's forget this ever happened and
get back to what we do best.
Staring into space and hoping it reverses.

You're mean.
You're nasty.
That's why God put me on this Earth.

You're full of hate.
How can you live with yourself?
A question I ask twice a week,
maybe three times.

When the sky opens up
and rays of sun blanket the homeless
sleeping on park benches.
I feel nothing.

Putting a sea shell to my ear and
listening for the tsunami to crash down.

Yep,
pessimism did **** the cat.
Curiosity was just a cover up.

I'd like to think that
I am mean,
nasty,
and full of hate.

Standing up to the sun and
shouting out clouds.
Tomorrow will forgive my sins
and give me false hope.

The world will spin backwards
and tonight I will lose myself.
The clock doesn't stop the child from crying
and neither will I.

In a world that is warm,
I am mean, nasty, and full of hate.