He felt lost
and alone, though
ever so ordinary—
which scared him the most.
Ordinary
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In the Delaware of my mind.
I stand here blind
With tears in my eyes
Surrounded by the life
I’ve always dreamed
Thinking of you there
Alone and in fear
Knowing no one’s called in weeks
Except myself and another
Who I hope like I
Told you you’re loved
And have done no wrong
Like I’ve too
So often thought
Living year to year like a vagabond
Drifting through the mud of life
It’s hard but man it’ll be alright
Look West I’m here in the dead of night
Standing by this olive tree
In California I no longer dream
Living mine the best I can
Drinking with you
Hand in hand, walking I can see
The two of us, then cracking crabs
Pig Beaches on parade
Just two lost souls, now growing old
What’s left is yours to keep
For nothing lost is truly gone
Now Lady Garth I see her too
In the Delaware of my mind.
all prose burn in heaven
I get the soul’s impression
that all prose burn in heaven.
Each homeward bound confession
chased tales back and forth.
Bipolar dreams depression
that yearn for common ground,
a fingers length extension
too tame to make a sound.
If all dogs go to heaven
who’s there left to be found?
A mother’s womb that’s kickin
an unborn Ezra Pound.
It’s with this last expression
your love comes to me now.
Released to death’s progression
a compass pointing north.
Tell me a story
There’s a part of me
that see’s this all clearly
like a child standing in a crowd
there’s really only one way out.
What is it that you see
it’s fine to disagree
why if the world’s mine oyster please
forgive me for the lack of belief.
I had this faith in you
I thought you had it too
how many smiles does it take to show
the unhappiness we grew to know.
Do you take this hand
would you understand
lighting matches just to prove you could
did it ever do you any good?
Tell me a story, one without love, cause it’s taken me for granted so many times—enough.
There’s a part of you
engrained in me now
I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit
it’s a piece I won’t ever regret.
So what’s the point of these prose
and insecurity poems
like a fish needs water to breathe
I guess it really isn’t up to me.
If this is just a passing feeling
I’ll agree to disagree then
watch the sun rise and fall once more
a couple hours then I’ll start the chore.
You see I know my problems
it’s not up to you to solve them
if I go out the Hemingway
like Kerouac first I’ll have my say so
Tell me a story, one without love, cause I’ve taken you for granted so many times—c’mon.
Tell me a story, one without love, cause it’s taken me for granted so many times—enough.
sinking stones
He loved her still
she had to go.
For if she stayed
he’d never know.
Though deep down still
like sinking stones
there lie the words
lost long ago.
the times I’d lost my mind.
The only time
I was ever certain, were
the times I’d lost my mind.
But even then,
I never had a clue — I did.
As Mona Lisa smiles at her Rembrandt
She’s Mona Lisa
looking across the lobby
With her eyes
transfixed on his cold dead body
While the kids line up
single filed and obviously
Unaware that there’s any problem
It’s a warm fall day
colored leaves spin around
And there’s this tired old man
selling shaved ice proudly
Nice to meet you sir
can I help you out
As Mona Lisa
smiles at her Rembrandt now
He was an eye sore for her eyes
it hurt so much still she had to look twice.
And there was something in her smile
lips spread thin like she was in denial.
I didn’t mean to
bother you it’s a habit
I just noticed you
looking lost or sad
With this expression
drawn like a bloody bath
Please now excuse me
I’ve gotta be getting back
Hey wait a minute
won’t you just take a second
To admit that something
is wrong in your head
And if you’d like to
call me sometime and
Chat when you’re feeling
better I’d quite like that
She wrote her name down on his ticket
her area code and seven lovely digits.
Then he wrote in the palm of her hand
a little note that read I think I’d understand.
So Mona Lisa
held her hands calm and steady
Framed herself back
against the wall already
She now felt out of place
like in a fictional setting
While some students
drew her in lines quite badly
What’s the point of hanging around
when rarely any good comes to you in this town.
Thats when she placed her name tag on the floor
and made out for Leonardo exiting the door.
forgive me father for I have sinned
Everything is quiet now
in the middle of the day
where misery has settled down
like bricks on my chest lay
and although I can’t make a sound
my voice has gone astray
I will not settle underground
tomorrow I shall wake
to soft sounds of the morning
like loved ones I have lost
reminders that my mourning
is not in vain but just
and in the shadows of my mind
to where I now so lay
forgive me father for I have sinned
relieve me of this day.
rand0m th0ught #101
our most lost days
can be our most found,
it all just depends
what’s lost,
it all just depends
who’s in the bin
I’m still dealing with your ghost.
Please stop reading if you’ve heard this before.
It’s been 15 years since.
And I’m still holding onto a ghost.
15 god damn years.
And I’m still crying in a coffee shop.
I wasn’t even 15.
And you sure as hell weren’t a Boy Scout,
so who tied the noose?
I want to know what type of knot you used.
It’s been 15 years.
And I want answers.
Answers that I’ll never receive.
I want an apology.
You son-of-a-bitch.
How embarrassed you must have been.
I wasn’t even 15.
And they don’t even know the half of it.
And here I am again.
Wasting my energy on this endless sadness.
Because you couldn’t hack it.
Towards the end they say you were over medicated.
Well it’s been 15 years.
And it’s probably the reason I don’t even like to take aspirin.
It’s just that over 15 years it’s been hard to explain.
Like when you come right out and say it.
He. Committed. Suicide.
Kids used to awkwardly laugh at first and then realize I wasn’t lying.
And suddenly everyone’s sorry.
Suddenly I have to act sad.
Or act like it’s fine.
Nobody wants to see you break down in front of them.
Nobody wants to know your whole life story.
15 god damn years and I’m blubbering like a baby.
Screaming at the top of my lungs – drunk.
So if you’ve heard this before please stop reading.
Because I’m sure I’ve said it.
I’m as sure as I was 15 years ago.
Lost.
Because you don’t get custody after biting someone on the face.
And I don’t get answers.
I don’t get an apology.
Even after 15 years.
I’m still dealing with your ghost.
Words Of An Average White Male 