Writing, Ideas, & Stories
you taste like honey
in my memories you taste like honey
honey trust me i’ll be your pot
keep you safe
in all of our haste
everything we have faced
never stopped to put them in their place
it was all not a waste
attached at the waist
at your side i could never be erased
tell them all that i am that man
a lover a single dedicated brand
crowd pleaser one you always have to stan
i’ve been that man
this is the ground plan
i gave up being that madman
stressin’ over pennies
still in our twenties
problems i got many
i’m with you he got jenny
we came through i got plenty
yup
ring on my piece
everybody wanna lease
never settlin’ for peace
hidin’ in the crease
still losing to the police
the fear is just another reason
to smile a little bigger
dream a little higher
and do something worthwhile;
make a memory
to ward off the fear
even for a second
to make this home
a little less
scary
i don’t believe you
like i used to
words fall from heavy tongue
braiding my hair with twisted fingers
not like how you used to
memory of our night
carries me like a knight
off to the kingdom
sleeping
without a thought
of the fire outside
time
no no
the very second
i didn’t want to miss it
but it’s out of my control;
take what is given
accept that we are livin’
the ones that are driven
make the most of these hands
one at a time
for the one in the back
that never got their chance;
keep fighting,
the front is a mosh pit;
dirty, violent and savagery
your kind heart wasn’t meant for this world
waiting for your wings to grow
an angel watching us from above
sometimes, this is difficult
to beg for answers
everthing is truly a test
but this should have been open book
games being played
answers written on your hand
and i can’t even see the scantron;
laid it down
you, the one in the gown
pride of the hometown
strutting, wearin’ that crown
not ready for that showdown
but this is that countdown
wear it on my chest, i’m that proper noun
but i’m the one that looks like a fucking clown.
i collect memories
store ’em in a binder
under my bed
deep under past the monster
blow the dust away
they start early
half eaten by moths or accidents
birthdays and birthdays
a success photo shoot
that fucking kid billy that i hated
(take that one out real quick)
flip to the back to these empty pages
no dust no moths no sad endings- yet
a place i come often
a sweet reminder that the previous pages
don’t tell the end
moths will get to them just like the beginning
will put it back, with out guardian monster
take our books, pens and camera to the park
and look for butterflies
problem is
i always want to fix everything
things that don’t need fixing
instead of just caring
loving being more then a piece of tape
problem is
carrying weight that’s not my own
no one asked
carrying backpacks up mountains
nothing but a bottle and a tent
crashing down
broken arm
put tape on it
bound by flames;
captain hook and i share a club
missing hands and a fear of crocodiles
Saint's Muse 