Four letter word
My heart won't allow it
I don't think I'm ready.
Ready for L-O-V-E ?
I wish it didn't hurt so
Much
I wish I could erase
All traces of him
From my history
So he'd remain
A mystery
But LOVE is
Always ready
For another round
Love is like HONEY
Once you dip an dip
You can Neva get
Enough of a
Taste so sweet
It's a very much
Needed necessity
A weakness of humanity
To know love nd be loved
One of the closest thing
Too being in heaven
On earth
Never Did Sleep Well
It's 4am again and this doesn't even phase me anymore because I've never been one to let Lady Sleep call me to bed at a reasonable hour because there's something that I crave when the night wraps its somnolent arms around my section of the planet that keeps my eyes open and I've never found it during the day and I doubt I ever will because I'm getting older and my hair is falling out and the world under the sun has fewer and fewer things that I care to envelop myself in beyond the bare necessities of life because I'm well aware that to wander the world like some sort of ghost isn't going to end well for anyone involved but those people drift farther and farther away and don't you dare tell me that we're not alone because that phone I pay too much for hasn't rung in months.
It bothers me to think that some people aren't in photographs in much the same way that I actively avoid them with my bloated, bug-flesh complexion and form because in a world where people take selfies by the hundred to show off the events of their lives it makes these secret people harder to relate to and much harder to market to because we're a little less than human and our stories will be gone after the moment passes because we didn't try to leave something behind and that's the sort of thing we smile at in our sad little ways with dead, empty eyes and make a joking remark about how it wasn't much of a story anyway and that is perhaps the greatest tragedy to ever be thought of because it's not love lost that breaks my heart but the idea that we aren't worthy of being a part of the human race so we stand on the sidelines because even then we just want to see what it looks like to be alive for only a moment.
I've watched the world and it's something I've enjoyed because if I don't stop to notice the too violet plants and the flowers I'll wonder to myself if the world is as grey and empty as I think it is most of the time in my cynical mind that spends too much time wondering if my senses are fading or if it was all just a dream and my memory gets faulty and I forget what it felt like to be taken into a stranger's family for a weekend or to be the only person walking through the open air market blocks long after the only company I have are the snow flakes and the lamp posts and my thoughts and the music that drove the demons out of my head because those creatures were old and my music was just too loud for their comfort and now I live so very far away from all of those things and I start to wonder if this is really all there is to life and if, perhaps, it is the only thing that truly does exist because I'm no longer there to feel them and I become so self important that the world collapses away leaving only myself and the tiny little box that I navigate in my broken, sleepless cycles.
I eventually give up because my mind starts to splinter and the nagging thought that if I just went to bed I'd never walk over the rough, uneven path that magically appears out of history between buildings and it'd be so much easier but I know that I'd miss that sizzle of magic that I should have let go of a long time ago when I realized there was no happy ending but it drives me to leave crumbs that no one will ever see so that maybe, just maybe, a hundred years from now when I'm long since dead and scattered to the winds there will be another person who finds my bones and thinks my thoughts and doesn't feel quite so alone even if in their hands they carry bits of broken threads and a phone that never rings and a thousand other reminders that not everyone turns out to be the hero or the villain of their lives.
Sometimes it's enough to watch them run by. Sometimes it's just enough to have witnessed it.
Fear Of
I'm that awkward friend who doesn't say much during group conversations
I'm a wallflower camouflaged into the dull paint job
Not wanting to bloom
Not wanting to be myself
I have a fear
Fear of getting close to people
I can't get close emotionally
It takes a lot for me to open up
To be who I am
When others aren't around
The progression can come off as a regression
At times.
And that's just the way I function
So if you've gotten to know me as I truly am
Don't take that shit for granted
I am the way I am to a select few
Because it'll tear me up if I lost one of you
If one of you
Ever say...
"I don't want you in my life anymore."
Brooklyn
White washed asphalt
with a game of hopscotch
scrawled on it.
Canvas shoes attack the pavement
with the tenacity
of an army
and a basketball leads the charge.
Somebody popped
a fire hydrant for the kids
and they use it to water
a flower sprouting on the sidewalk.
The Scottish shop keep
sweeps
his doorstep
before moving aside
to let a pregnant woman
use his store's restroom.
Music flows from a street musician's trumpet
and echoes down the streets and alleys
like Gabriel
and the tired old men
listen and play poker on their porches
and preach wisdom to the young ones
passing by.
They sing Happy Days.
Tock
A fickle and feeble
frightened old man
used to make watches,
wound Times' hands
bound them behind
the glass of the clocks.
Tick Tick Tock
the seconds fade off
and the feeble man
spends his
lunging at them
but they all get away,
trying
to capture every moment
with his watches
he fails to see
that his time is soon to run out.
Death
by grandfather clock.
Thunderstorms
Mourning thunder booms
Thru my eardrums shaking
My bed nd I arise wit
A hunger for some milk chocolate
Mixing with my peanut butta skin
Lightening crackles like thousands
Of little whips lashing across
My bare skin as it danced
Amongst the nite sky igniting
My whole bodily currents
Setting my inner core on fire
Sending nymphomania appetites
Of pure pleasure nd pain up nd
Down, up nd down my spine
Once more your very hot wetted
Salacious kisses soothes me as your
Tongue traipse on my BBW curves
Then filtering my inner sanctum
Wit incoherent whispers fueling
Flames of heat that's stroking,
Throbbing nd pulsating like waves
In my hot watery tunnel begging
To be licked ,sucked ,fingered nd
Fucked all at the same time
While prying eyes watched
Mmmmmmm fuck.
I don't think you know quite
Yet what that booming & roaring
Sounds does to me so early
In the mourning it's my
Weakness the aphrodisiac
To my system
Damnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!