That familiar dizzy
graces me again.

Tastes like a grimace.
The taste of fate again.

Twelve bucks
is cheap
to feel this
blessedness.
To feel this
sin.

That familiar fuzzy,
vision blurred again.

Tastes like forgetting,
the taste of home again.

After I save you my dear
let's run away, you hear?
And we could live
happily ever after.

were it a perfect world, I wouldn't be ******* writing this ****
were it a perfect world, I'd be insane, and wouldn't have to pretend
were it a perfect world, we'd mourn newborns and celebrate the dead
were it a perfect world, labels would be easier to peel off
were it a perfect world, cigarettes would be free
were it a perfect world, I'd have a tiny **** so my head wouldn't be so big
were it a perfect world, terms and conditions wouldn't apply
were it a perfect world, everyone would be grey and afraid
were it a perfect world, humanity would **** itself off
were it a perfect world, none of us would exist

I wish that my poems
would write themselves
into existence

The boardwalk itself did sheen with a collective sweat,
basking in the orange glow cast by the approaching sunset.
All remaining heat of the day was begging my body for night,
Through my shirt the sun burned, my skin cursed the light.

As the sun became a semi-circle and was concaved by the horizon,
I was on the dark piers utterly awestruck, whilst putting my eyes in.
We could see them down on the beach, each more painted in crimson
and, as the night progressed due East, all the people stood and listened.

And I glanced at the sun after it was far too late,
the rays had gone and my memories changed.

Leaving me staring at the back of my eyelids.

The full moon shines
through the canopy,
and she lets out a sigh
as the blue beams of light
wash everything under
the lost midnight sky.

A soft din in the forest
echoes with a chorus
of chirping crickets
and howling locusts
as she stretches out
atop fallen foliage.

Love flows as a river
through souls grown
ever thinner
and cleans us both
with liquid quicksilver,
in the forest tonight.

Sweet release
granted to me.

Ah, the glory.
The bittersweet,
the buttery, the savory.
The shallow pools
of syrupy glee.

Ahhh.
There he is.
The ******* me.

Over and over
again and again
for all of eternity.

Take a trudge through
the mud pit
where my mind used to be.

Track little pieces
of the old me.

Knee deep in thought
about absolutely
nothing.

A swamp of uncertainty.

I found her behind the counter
at my local diner,
I found her deserving
of my most sincere wishes.

She smiled with a radiance
that I so craved to smother.

Her supple skin
and lively eyebrows
were a beautiful canvas
for three ropes
of my ***.

So beautiful.

If we ever meet again
the only things I'll have
to show you are the
lighters from our memories,
and the vicious ways
that you've changed me.

"My future ex-wife,
are you still alive?"*

The thought hit me as I was out of cigarettes one Monday morning, when I remembered that the previous night I was only able to smoke half of my last one. I had put the shorted cigarette underneath of a spring doorstop, still in plastic and uninstalled, that lay resting on the brick pillars erected on the front porch of the house. For as long as I've lived there, that doorstop had been lying on those painted bricks just waiting for a half of a cigarette to protect from the wind and snow.
The filter, on that common Monday morning, was ice on my lips, and your frostbitten love was inside of my lungs.
As it smoldered and spewed twirling blue swirls,
I sat and recollected upon you.

Welcome to my home, oh won't you come in?
Allow me to show you around, would you care for a drink?
Tell me your poison, maybe a highball of gin?
I keep it in the kitchen with the coffeepot by the sink,

or maybe you'd prefer a tumbler of crown?
Whiskey is right in the foyer by the doorstop,
there's nothing like a nip right before I bounce.
And if it's wine you crave, it's in the living room atop

the tube television beside the VCR in it's place.
But if you've a tongue for peach schnapps
then make your way to the crawl space.

Whilst your up there I say, would you do me a fave?
Look in the attic for the bourbon, it's beside my baby pictures,
and bring it down for me. I'm sure that I saved
some from the last time I was up there alone with self-stricture.

Oh you don't care for bourbon, then maybe some brandy?
The cognac is somewhere down the basement,
but ignore the rope and the candies.

You're unsettled you say? Then ***'s how to spend
drinking the night away with me in the den.
OH! Just send a beer your way?! you should've just said!
A six-pack's in the bathroom, right next to the head.