chances are
you’ll forget;
the long nights
the honest hours
the weakness;
and remember our last fight.
Writing, Ideas, & Stories
chances are
you’ll forget;
the long nights
the honest hours
the weakness;
and remember our last fight.
your warmth, was taken for granted
applied for a loan, yet you passed it.
the falling isn’t the worst part
it’s the moment right before
you land;
it’s here in a blink
while the other eye
is idle
chances of a revival;
last night you came into my dream
last night you were a dream,
to bring a few words
chances of a revival:
the second coming
your rebirth is here.
awaken
looked out the window
the peep hole
nothing
just stay an extra night
will waive the fee
the loose change
free of charge round trip flight
docile disguises
drifting in the clouds;
some days i’ll rest this pen,
like eyeballs on a pillow,
n’ let the words come
from writing on a wall
subconscious love
existing on an edge made of paper planes
flying(
i didn’t believe;
the wind would come
whisper in italics
just to follow the whispering scent-
to follow —
to follow —
to follow ——-
to let the wind carry you
without the worry
dream chasing;
not to be confused by having-
the purity of the air
is the difference between the chase,
the stamp of this art,
the corner carved on this medium
to last, to make a tiny smile – last.
the closer to the earth
the field is littered with bodies
looking for a scrap of metal
the same metal
ambition of bones
stealing a penny from lenny
never for the many
just to save a twenty
take a minute and relax
was it that serious
she spilled a drink on you;
flares burst like the fourth of July
she’ll never forget this night,
four seasons passed
n as she woke from her bed at the four seasons
from her comfort nightmare
shape up or she’ll be gone
listen up, if you were a man
you’d know what’s going on at home
“your” home- nothing but a coward
nothing is what roams these halls
calls to you in the night
reads to you in the dark-
it’s frosty in this bed
our bed
the one we share
just never at the same time