WindYou're definitely blonde and yetI'm looking at you,as if I understand what you're going through.Your smiles are melting the pupils of my eyes,until they're like liquid coal that's just been mined.(Rest assured, they'll harden after time).Yours are bright,and with a story hidden behind.You speak, and smile, and gesture -Like you have all the answers -and I just keep repeating the same could-be lies,a sullen mantrathat never satisfies.I hear you say to me,in some old Lakeside manor,That Heis like the wind.You cannot showYou cannot teachBut when you feel, you know it's true.---------------------------------------------------Every day I hold my hand to the breeze,I ceremoniously watch the trees.I pray while I feel the cold air:but I don't know if you're there.The birds fly free, and the trees sway slow,and now the river's currentis strongerthan we will ever know.
RatioYou can flirt, smile,Or even steal a glance,But there's no such thingAs real romance,When I know that allyou have in sight,is a waist-hip ratiothat fits just right.Don't try to arguethat you won't put in placea symmetrical girlwith a symmetrical face.A blemish-free homeand a perfect lifewith super little kidsfrom your super little wife.You can decorate it allas much as you like,but fathers are createdfrom drinks being spiked.Take a step back and seeWhat we truly are;just a bunch of lonely animalsdrinking courage from the bar.Just one primitive mating gamethat never grows to be dull,Ruling out superior feelings,and making all faiths null.But in the end I know,our humanity always wins;because when the animalism stops -The poetry begins.
The SecondThis is the second.Sometimes, you have to change the datebecause timingis everything.When there are no games,there are no rules;so I'm just making this upas we run the laps.There are much more important racestaking place in my own head.When things meet theirnatural end -I will run back to you.After all unsaidis screamed onto a parchment pagethrough tears of stark confusionWill you still be able to hear them?When the lights go outthis timewill we again get upand leave?There are no answersin the darkness.just a repeating,pleading voice.'Please, don't...Make this mistake'But it is not my choice.
FragilityThe highs and lowsThey are what they areand nothing less.It feels like hospital wards,and half baked crisps -the kind that are just 98 calories a packThis isnt about health,Its about the Fear.And being like everyone elseensures safety in numbers.But with people all around you,Do you turn left or right?What kind of impolite illnessrears its headin the middle of the night?Mediocre messages and gossipfrom the night before,makes it very easy to forgetthe world collapsing, just next door.When concentration is unlikely,can you really come to acceptthat although things seem hard right now,Life isnt finished with you, yet?As if it actually matters what he said,or what she said,or even what you said.Perhaps the most important thingis what you never got to say.
Every prayer, A dream.It is at this point that the soft June light fails to console whatever is left of me. A combination of old pieces of plywood, and lone pen lids without counterparts rest stationary beside Fitzgeralds words. Oh, the Great Pretender, how finely your attempts of deceit were destroyed.The sky is blue and open, like it always is I suppose, but with more vitality this evening. The air beckons for recognition amongst the other beautiful elements, and so becomes heavy with mystery and romance. It is a battle of the gods; so far Aphrodite and Apollo are drawing with each other. A short moment, and naturally she has broken down his defenses he is falling in love with her. The two combine, and a swift sunset follows tinged with love and other strange important emotions that men have grown to forget.But I, although a child of the universe as much as anyone else, refuse to forget. It is impossible to forget, yet difficult to remember. Apollo takes his leave; night has come. He has so
Dustland FairytaleYou once told me,I was as beautiful as CinderellaEven in a nightgown.We walked through yellow shining corridorsWhere paintings fell from the wallsIn protest of our childhood.When middle age arrivedWith the prospect of something new and bitterOur reactions were distinct-I threw away some childish dreamsAnd you threw a party.I told you I couldnt go.I couldnt give you a reason.Instead I lightly kissed you,And held you close to me for the first timeIn what seemed like years.I said that if I am indeedCinderella, at Midnight my dress willTurn to rags. My carriage? A pumpkin.I was hoping for an undeserved reassurance.'Midnight will not be an issue.I'll bring you away to some silent placebeside a warm river and we can watch the moonand see what share of the heavens is ours.'or even'You'd still be beautiful'would have sufficed.But you shook your headand sighed'Fairytales aren't real',you said.'No', I whispered,I guess not.
Near Midnight MoonNear midnight.Tears burn through lace and intricate silk patterns from the last night.Or perhaps the night beforeWhich one was he again?Sheets lay crumpled on the floor.Suddenly there is an aching hole that cannot be filledby loose, unthoughtful emotions.Dreaming of Werewolves and Castles?The impossible, responsible, old fashioned.Unwanted, outsider... varied and vast. He's still here though.Even when it feels like He isn't.He is?The Green light burns eyes that sparkle blue.Peering softly into woven promises entangled with love.Wake up Princess! They've stolen your crown!Is He strong enough to take it back?
My desiderataDont waste time stretching your arms across the water for what can never be, what you can never achieve;the light will burn out. Question your own incentivesbut never those of others. Do not choose your enemiesand when choosing your friends, make two listsand dont hesitate with the placement.Short-term, long-term they both will impact somehow.Learn quickly that you cannot change others, and thatothers will never be able to change you. You cannot change who you are: You are better a first rate versionof yourself, than a second rate version of someone else.Feel Gods presence in your life, or the presence ofsomething greater. Know that it lives, breaths, and restsin everything you know. Attempt not to underestimatethe extreme importance of those who have no namein this world. Many names, when uttered, place fear into the souls of humans, yet the Unknown Soldier gives people hope. Your name may change once or twice, or not at all, but just remember who
Female TrimalchioI am struggling to remember what my life was likebefore you entered. Before you conscriptedeveryone I knew into your army of auspiciousness;your way of being.Before you consumed hearts and souls, andput a mountain between us. When for the veryfirst time in my entire life, I was not right something was awkwardand you made me uptight.Between him and I, and our loving fixture
How can I be his best friendwhen youre in the picture?How can I compete withfemale Trimalchioswhen I am dictating poemsand they are dancing prose?What can I say? I can tell you that the dried tearson my pillow are there due to you. Will that do?Does that satisfy your masochistic power?I tell you, I never prayed as hard, as whenyou stepped on the scene. I determined yourpurpose was obscene; youre not worth the pricethey paid.--------------------------------------------------------------I am just so very afraid.Terrified that it may not be your fault. That all along