What am I
To a million people
Whose names are numbers
Waiting to be counted?

What am I
Other than a mispronounced name
And a character of no value
Who often becomes forgotten?

What am I
Aside from being a drunken thought
Whose name you scream
And whose heart wrenches at your drunken sight?

What am I
When I become frustrated
At how much I love you
But can't find the right words to say?

What am I
To you
When all I've ever been used to being
Is nothing?

I don't think I'm up for having
Another conversation tonight,
I wont bother giving you a chance,
To explain again how you were right.

I would rush over to your house
and collapse into a heap on the floor,
But youve made it perfectly clear how you feel,
So that isnt an option anymore.

What do you think will happen now?
Will every problem disappear?
I'm not sorry for being who i am,
Just for the mistakes I've made this year.

I can't go back and relive the past,
I can't change the things I want to undo,
I can only hope i meet someone,
Who means as much to me as you.

The word I can’t find is gagging my pen
Gates slam shut when I knock on the door
The thunder clouds rumble and crash while
The sea nears it’s ebb and the seagulls all land
To scratch in the sand for what I have lost
Intellectual handcuffs chafe but hold firmly
To the cast-iron pipes of yesterday’s genius.
My pencil has a broken lead; the poison seeps
Into the veins that hold my life together.
Fist pounding breaks the thinner ice along the edge
But the navigation channel remains frozen
And thoughts ice skate away to music I can’t hear.
Like a hungry bird chick in a broken nest
Chirping with an open mouth for sustenance
From Mama lying dead below among the leaves.
I know the meal will not appear.
                           ljm

Down at the bottom of this hole
I worked so long and hard to dig
I can barely see the sunlight any more.

My feet are molding from the salty damp
That doesn’t come from rain
Or subterranean springs or rivers.

My shovel leans against the wall,
It’s wooden handle crimsoned
On the dirt that also isn’t paint.

Impossible for wind to reach me
Way down here, so what’s that howling
That I hear?  Could it possibly be me?
                ljm

I'm the oil in your purified water.
A waste in your pretty beach of broken seashells.
You're so so pretty with the natural organic lipstick of bulshit you wear.
What happened to us?
I want you away more than I want you close.
I was the green bubblegum under your shoes.
The forgotten toy you said you loved, but always lost.
I guess I'm just sick of it, but it always seems to be my fault.