i'm stressed, depressed, and under-dressed,
with sweats and sweets and what a mess.
a procrastinating pig-wallow of pity
and please not to mention i feel and look shitty.
It's that time in the Quarter when all seems now lost -
motivation, vacations, and all matching socks.
Went from 8 to a 4 with hair all askew
now I diet of ramen and flat Mountain Dew.
in past a clean room, clean desk, made-up bed
hair soft and done neatly on top of my head.
nails painted and primed and cared for and long
now ripped, chipped, and stripped and sadly all gone.
now hair a frizz ball tied tightly and pinned
and bed and desk cluttered with papers and bins.
dist
Peach in the blossoms
peach in the skies.
a sunste's compliment,
a fire's twinkle in you eyes.
rosy in your cheeks,
tangy sweet kiss
fruit, color, or taste,
sweet tea on your lips
If eyes are the windows to the soul,
then the lips, perhaps, its doors.
The ears, they hear, but do not listen.
So where of these are yours?
I hear the words as lies.
I see your soul burn cold and blue.
My ears, they hear as you don't listen
to your own sold wit and untruths.
At which perchieves a reality persists
to claim you use but one.
So if lips or sight are to precede
that leaves the ears undone.
And eyes as soul I see no light
and doors to soul breathe lies,
then ears, all left are useless
to interpret soul's demise.
And no one cares and no one sees
their souls I guess closed way.
And no inviting words they speak,
alone they le
Secrets of your hearts
tremble in a locked chest.
i have no key -
only lips.
to smile and kiss -
To ease open the lock,
to spurn your rusty
emotions
to open the cell to beat
once again
in the warm sunlight,
my love.
The rose cease wilts 'pon winter's chill
at sound of your fine name.
And blooms upon your slightest touch,
as does my heart of flame.
No bead of thy fine blood should pool
nor sweat escape your brow
should burden or sharp thorn to prick
upon my love, I vow.
But love you leave me wanting -
my feelings you neglect.
As rose you are, you bear your thorns
and know not their effect.
For all my promised pleasures,
for all my pleading stead,
thy thorns of sweetest treachery
are placed upon my head.
What love is this, of yours I thought,
that eyes light up in lies.
For never would a wolf have seen
a carcass in disguise.
For ner would I have thou
She hid her face, unjudged i know.
And yet they watched her cry.
The actress breaks, afraid, alone.
No one cares or moves or tries.
She speaks and they don't hear.
She moves and they don't see.
To them that do see she appears
she only is what she has to be.
An anger and a hollow wail
ignored or never heard at all.
A shadow that screams to no avail,
No one looks to shadows on a wall.
They are made to stay there after all.
So hide her in the wishing well,
to echo back reply.
Ignored the words she spoke to tell
so now why even try.
Let me hide here in my shell.
Reflection of what might have been.
The echo of the wishing well,
Nightmare of h
The lies are real to you,
to me.
I save them, believe them perfectly.
They aren't lies at all, you see,
somehow just dreamed untruths.
Words of mine I plant to grow,
words I mean to protect you.
We live and breath, and we survive.
We're happy we believe the lies.
I paint the scenes you see with white.
And promise the snowflakes last
til light.
But white lies can at times turn tar.
And my lies burn and tear and scar.
But they aren't lies, at all, you see.
Just bad happenings to you and me.
I can brush them away with more promised paint.
White lies as snow - of me don't hate!
For you, for me i promised, see?
And all's for the good of my love.
if i were but a human man
i'd strive to glimpse the sun again.
i'd revel in deplority-
scheme daily in duplicity.
if i were just an acting gem,
how quickly i'd see your face again
and dream of summer behind these eyes
and never of the artifice.
when all at last my emotions send
the thought of hoping once again
the body reminds with frailty
of human feeling's impossibility.
if i were but a human man
. . .
why, i'd never be myself again.
I am at a constant, distant from
Those melodious thoughts
That once plagued me.
That is to say –
I find myself daily at a loss,
Stuck,
In the waters between upstream
And a dam
For artist or even written inspiration.
The thoughts and words of one more
Lyrical than I
Escape me –
Words a thing so often unformed
At the tongue and thought.
The pen hovers aloft the snowy plain
Of its musing,
Frozen in the cold of
Mindless thoughts
No precipitation of ink can
Touch.
On most nights since this enraging
Mental stupor
I sit in candlelight
Staring questioningly at picture encased walls
That hear,
But do not answer.
And on such nights of
I love your sky bright eyes.
There's innocence within them.
An innocence I long to absorb.
There's a beauty in those light eyes.
An alluring sight of heaven so high,
Untouchable to the rest of us.
But those eyes, those dark ones-
They are dark as my sin,
and oh so appealing to me now.
You are both beautiful.
Two sides to one face i cannot know.
Intense, appealing and new to me.
I dream in black and white you know.
Yet your color bleeds through the mist.
It seeps into my unconsciousness.
Why are those eyes of an angels,
haunting me now with my guilt?
They cry sapphires at night into my dreams.
Those wild brown eyes are too da