Home » Posts tagged 'time' (Page 31)
At some point it
almost feels like
for such a long time
you’ve only been
imitating life, or
perhaps that
death would be better
than all this
wasted life you seem
to be faking.
But retrospect is
a double edged sword.
It all just depends on
which angle you’re taking
and whom
you’re gunning for
really I don’t know
so
whatever…
..
.
Learning now to live alone
The air is still, bitter, cold
As time tells which way to go
I’ll keep warm inside a poem
At the same time
everything is happy
everything is sad,
it’s where I’m at
and somehow
it isn’t all that bad.
Smile and a frown
features remain neutral
while cars pass down
Magnolia and “Córdoba,
Leyana y sola…”
my home
is just
an illusion
under cloud.
She’s
artificial berries
passing in the wind
smiling and joking
contemplating
sea salt
or vinegar
laughing with a friend
while she pretends
to listen I grin
because her
artificial smile
and posture a 10
in the long run
really
makes no difference.
Nobody
changes.
We just learn
to limit
who we allow
in our lives
according to
their anxiety
provoked.
Don’t get me wrong
people can change
but
nobody changes
the way
you want them to,
nor should they
unless…
Nah, nobody
changes.
The older I get
the more I appreciate
the friends I had
in my formative years
who were fun, jovial, excited
who were wild, eager, and never boring
who never gave a damn
whether or not
life was right or wrong
who just kept singing and
keep on singing
3,000 miles east and
even when I’m out of tune
I’m still fondly listening
to the chorus.
You can’t win
because it’s life
and there’s
nothing to win
just death
and then
whatever it is
you believe
will happen next.
For me I’ll be
reincarnated
to live
another life.
I just hope it’s
as strange
and weird
and cruel
and wonderfully
disastrous as
this one.
Maybe one
with less love
and more
true love.
Maybe not.
3:08
and I’m happy.
Not the smiling sort of
tell-all happy but
the breathing in the moonlight
kind of easiness,
just being, barely conscious
and willing to be free.
And
it’s 3:12 now
and shit,
you know how it goes.
flesh
against
flesh
against
flesh
against
flesh
against
sheets
pulled over
a clear blue
morning.
They had me at goodbye
as they always seemed to die
slow like a rose
one day jubilant and alive
then like sleep goes the week
and it’s noticed that the rose
has died. But see, I kept them there
all wilted and decayed
brown and crumpled I’d debate
taking them to the trash
throwing them away, though
a rose in its youth is beautiful
so too is a rose left to dry.
So I pressed them between pages
and drew a pretty picture
poured ink from my memory
so that even in death
they’d remain
alive.
Words Of An Average White Male 