Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Life in it's Tidbits

I often find myself rushed, day to day
Wondering when I'll find time to collect my thoughts
To sit down and write out something
Pound out a few notes on the piano
Rekindle with friends I've ebbed from.
Is this the time now to do such things?
Has my schedule allowed it
Or am I procrastinating?
If it's a moment free my hands wander
Lust themselves touching this cellphone
Searching for more and more.
Lost are my days of huddled reflection
They are as far away as my childhood 
And only flowing further.
To wish for something, anything, would be a waste
And time, we know, is never to be wasted. 
Time is money
And money is life. 
Years ago I'd sit here, starving for blank paper. 
Now I struggle to sputter a dot,
Fat with the day, too full to bother. 
It's a shame, really, 
It used to be waiting for time to pass
Now it's wanting it to slow. 

To say my life is full, is a ghastly over-exaggeration
I just can't keep track of where my feet are going.
Somewhere, something is happening, and I
Me, I need to see it.
Everything stops if I'm not there
I fear it stopping. 

I haven't sat on a rock, dancing with the sun
In so long it seems like a dream. 
Some unattainable nostalgic feeling
Of sitting in a room, laughing at jokes I would today dismiss. 
Coloring my way into emotion,
Feeling out peoples feelings,
Bragging of terrific stunts, 
Being so scared sleep never comes.

It's not unhappiness, this plague. 
Something else, more dreadful, fills my lungs.
Some realization that dreams are only attainable when sleeping. 

Wednesday, March 7, 2012


if i were half the man sober
as i am drunk
I'd think the world might be a bit

Thursday, February 16, 2012

The Queen of Terror

Words are pouring from me
I hate them already.
It's not in me, spreading hate
But fuck I want to
I fucking need to!
Where did it go
When did it go?
How could I have let it go?
This beast of an emotion
Tears my brain apart
Bleeds my lungs dry.
I'm a caterpillar.
I'm a spider.
I want to bite and fuck
And destroy everything I own.
I want to move to the mountain tops
and scream and punch trees,
I want to lose my self in something
Why can't I?
Have you taken it from me?!
Did you let me taste it?
I can't fucking remember
I can't type anything
I keep erasing and rewriting
I'm a fucking cliche of someone who knows absolutely nothing.

But then again I could be wrong...

It could be you
Seducing me.
Making me lay out my soul
For you to drive a hammer through it.
Let me get close, then sting me.
Drive me fucking crazy,
Call me fucking crazy,
then like a cat, lay in my lap.
Your wrath has no equal
Your mind is firm
You are you.
I took you on that premise only
Only to realize the magnitude later.
I guess there's always someone better
But why?!
I laid down my sword,
Picked you a flower,
You took it,
We made love.
But all the while
Kept concealed, a knife
For with my armor off
You could easily lay into me
cutting away pieces of flesh
And I let you do it!
I withered, you fed me
I was thirsty, you got me drunk
God I've never been so drunk.
I don't think I can ever be so again.
Is it that you were lazy,
You just couldnt muster the strength to
move these stones that had fallen
You let them build up.
We let them build up.
We were drunk and no one cared,
Fucking like goats,
Away in a swirl of self induced ecstasy.
We stumbled up mountains,
We crashed into ourselves,
I couldn't hold on.
You were living 100 years in the future
You a queen of terror
I a folk legend.
Your hands, calloused with anger,
Absorbing all of me.

I shoveled the coal in this train;
You drove it off a cliff

I can't help but to think,
That's what i do best,
you know that
I thought you did,
Maybe not.
I think about every detail
As minute as it can be remembered
Trying to determine the tipping point
Where we both began to drown.
I'm a lightweight
You held me up, puking and laughing.
I don't think you ever
really cared.

Sunday, February 12, 2012


I roll over
You're not there
A heavy sigh
My feet hit the floor
hand to the door
Looking back
nothing more
I've got more time now
I don't have to return
No until later kiss
No smirk

Saturday, February 4, 2012

This Be The Verse by Philip Larkin

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.   
    They may not mean to, but they do.   
They fill you with the faults they had
    And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
    By fools in old-style hats and coats,   
Who half the time were soppy-stern
    And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
    It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
    And don’t have any kids yourself.

Friday, February 3, 2012

The City by C.P. Cavafy

You said: “I’ll go to another country, go to another shore,
find another city better than this one.
Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong
and my heart lies buried like something dead.
How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?
Wherever I turn, wherever I look,
I see the black ruins of my life, here,
where I’ve spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally.”

You won’t find a new country, won’t find another shore.
This city will always pursue you.
You’ll walk the same streets, grow old
in the same neighborhoods, turn gray in these same houses.
You’ll always end up in this city. Don’t hope for things elsewhere:
there’s no ship for you, there’s no road.
Now that you’ve wasted your life here, in this small corner,
you’ve destroyed it everywhere in the world.

Thursday, February 2, 2012


Before my stomach gurgles up
Before my tongue goes swelling up
Before my hands begin to drip
Before my stupid quivering lip
Before the shaky nerves set in
Before the world begins to spin
I'll try to say "I like you."

Tuesday, January 31, 2012


I don't like this medium
It corrects my posture.
Posture is everything.
Juliet looks up
Dante travels down
Thoreau slouches over beans
And here I sit
Erect and miserable.

Monday, January 30, 2012


If I wrote down anything
It'd be a letter to you
for everything you've done.

It'd scream of my insignificance
compared to your beauty
It'd weep in song for your touch
Everything good would pour out

We'd be raindrops clinging together on a windowsill
Or pages in a book holding tight to one another
We'd sail with masts full of wind
Our smiles breaking the sea
The day would seem as living nostalgia
The reds deeper, the greens lusher,
Our lips fuller, our mouths closer.


It's not that I'm busy
It's not that I've done anything
It's that I'm lazy
It's here
It's reheatable
It's leftovers


She rolled over and whispered 
"I don't love you."
Winter had taken all but one red leaf from the tree outside
I had delivered the rest to their plastic tombs
The branches were dry and fragile
Ready to pummel the cars below 
The air sat in your lung 
Maybe I expected it
I laid there faking a thought
She waited for my reply.