the only synonym
for love i know of
is heartbreak

loose lips
tinged with
alcohol,
and
questionable
morals fill the
spaces left
unoccupied
by my
ever-working
brain. shall
i fall off the
bandwagon
filled with
future scholars
and high class
aristocrats?
will i let myself
astray into the
void of heavy
masked, and
dark-clothed
mischief makers
that take up
residence in
abandoned
buildings
drinking
the bad
times away?
i can't decide
if i wanna
tighten the classy
business casual
tie around
my neck
as a noose,
or take a
walk on
the wild
side and
instead get
crushed by
the emotions
that accompany
free *** and
large alcohol
consumptions.

if choosing the path to freedom is your choice,
than freedom truly is a double-edged sword.

their eyes were the
shattered kind,
flecks of pain
and happiness
mixed together
as one. sort-of like
a paint by numbers,
yet way more
complicated with
multiple hidden points
of depth, of history,
the stories begging
against the steel
lining of their minds,                
almost like prisoners
waiting for freedom.
no stories come out though,
because if the stories,
the memories, the pain,
if it were allowed to
come out, then everything
would fall apart. the
very weak bond holding
the gates to their agony,
would burst into
small, disorientated, fragments
of years trying to forget
what happened, and all
that perished long ago
would rush furiously to
the forefront of their mind
like a riptide. all the torturous
thoughts they've worked
so hard to repress
would come back to haunt
them in the worst
of ways...

he would start
to love her again, and
she would start to drown.

it's funny how
all those years
of blowing away
eye lashes, and
dandelions, and
blowing out
birthday candles,
never really works.

doing what you want,
and what everyone
else wants is never
the same thing.

vendors shouting prices for the goods they can't afford,
birds singing painful tunes in tribute to the sun,
mothers yelling at their restless children,
still tired from fighting with dad last night,
steam blowing from cracks in the old brick buildings,
stoners taking hits and sharing pipes with kicks,
shooting poison in their veins
and killing their chances of waking up in the morning,
food sizzling and boiling, grilling, cooking , and even broiling,
smells from old shoes, garbage, day-old chinese take out,
dwelling helplessly in the dark abyss also known as the alleyway,
high class women walking proudly in heels,
with cellphones to their ears,
partygoers stumbling in huddles down the street,
reminiscing about last nights rave,
alcohol still in their veins
the sun hasn't yet come up,
but the city never sleeps,
and neither should we

it wasn't meant to end up like this,
but i was sad,
and he was lonely,
and alcohol is nice
for sad and lonely people