I can't be anyone but myself, as you can see everyone else is taken.
How many times had I gone to clubs
The trashier the better
Wheeling,spinning, going anywhere
Flirting with Bella The Kid
Hanging up against the wall
Free-flowing my craft
Stopwatch in hand
Give up, go all the way
Escalating, living on the fringes
I am the nightlife
I’ll attract you and pull you in
You know, all I want is a vision of YOU.
To who is it I
Am guilty of this incursion?
I do not seek to ask
Or take to task
Any of the needful things;
You think I ask.
What is your love, but lust
Hidden under elegantly toned, dross coats
A bit of the rannygazoo
Quite undeserving of.
A canny fish of a different sort
One that feels no net
Not a philosopher, but the act.
Magistral, a ‘tich fantastical
To suppose such heroic deeds
Whence they come, a tad myogenic?
You think me simple, perhaps sport?
The ending, the writhing
All things I know more than enough about
But to be subjugated to them?
I am a mythoclast
Pleased to meet you
But, I do not swoon at the well crafted verse
Centuries have sought to claim me
So best be, I leave you writing and wishing
Every mourns the day you take your life and die, but what about the squadrons of days just before?
Robin, In this world of…
What Dreams May Come
How is your slice…
Your peak at the afterbirth
Of an Afterlife?
This after-death adulation,
Obscured mourning, is for the living
Your trap was seemingly too tight
I hope where you are
Is better than the place you left
Puling in breath, after aching breath
The dull thud of my heart
heavy Brass clapper in my breast
Why Hello, Sinister Poe
Can it be that you’re gone
Ever, ever were you ever here?
Heart says yes
Tacit tears, somewhat agree
Times~ glib memories
Your voice resounds in my head
I was elated, so happy
for a moment.
Potential love lost
or is it…
The key to my heart is in your hand
For now, that key that is as permanent as the Sahara’s shifting sands
Come back into me…
A simple critique
(but I should have known)
Everything spun on a dime
(waking up from the grips of the unknown)
(commencing count-down, engines on)
The scent unique
(Huston, we have a problem)
Months before swept under
(I’ve created a silent cyclone)
A head full of dripping moonbeams
An alibi, so it seems, for self
(terse, trite, becoming absurd)
So she screams of running into the forest
(your reality dictates action)
Leaving not a trace
(Gretel has not forgotten her bread crumbs)
Walls, defenses crumbling
(meaninglessness <> absurdity=normal)
The trolls advancing
(words, just fucking WORDS)
Sorry, Kiddo, this is the “Human Race.
#buckup #Lordgivemestrength #breakthroughs #Messy