The forgotten book—
a dusty shelf, tucked away,
had so much to say.

We both had enough of the poison Springtime
So you picked me up, and you started driving.
               The street's Westbound,
                rain and wipers pound.
We can be reborn if we can just depart
                             our town.

Race away--
                  --like we'd set fire to Bon-Ton
Lose a day...
                   ...take 84 past the county line.
               Let the rain keep time on the sunroof
                                  'til we're fine.

                              Do they ever feel it?
                                --Someone does!
                          The grinding. Rewinding,
                                hit play to repeat
                                          and then
                                          get paid.

                                        The payoff?
                                      You'll stave off
                          14 lies from their dead end eyes
                                     for one fortnight.

                                        Be forthright.
                                        Am I blind?
                                   Or do I detect that
                               our headaches kind of rhyme?

Make us reborn this time; phoenix down and back upright.
Continued the drive and the world we're righting.
                                 We killed our time
                               and came back to life
Just in time to return to our twinkling
                                         town lights.

When we have our fill of the pissant Summer,
let me pick you up and we'll head out driving.
                   past the Cannery
                until Rouse turns free
our zipped up obits that we can't speak
                          cleanly.

Race away--
                  --like we'd set fire to Bon-Ton
Lose a day...
                   ...take 84 past the county line.
               Let the rain keep time on the sunroof
                                  'til we're fine.

                                Let the rain keep time
                                    on the sunroof.

                               You'll be fine...

Sew my ******* eyes open
and never let me sleep.
Watch until my blues run red
               and you've
          shown me what's
                     to see.

Tell the story of your golden crown,
you platinum-plated ****.
Let me know how brazen trumpets sound
               when filling up
                     with spit.

It's not enough to hate you.
And it's not enough to cry.
Crying havoc through your perfect teeth:
      it's much worse than a lie.

                          So lay me down on
                        5th street train tracks
                     where the old bums go to
                                       die.
                  Then roll out on your cart of
                                golden coin
                         and break some toys.

Play the game of pampered princes
      painted like paupers and ******.
Zip that costume up and hit the alleys.
                Catch a fix.
     Or a "swift one off the wrist."

Tug my bruising eyeballs out
and lay me down to bed.
Awake until the red turns black
               and your
           mouth starts spit-
               -ting lead.

Tell the story of your paper crown,
you hollow-hearted ****.
Let you know how hunting hounds do howl
      when crawling in
             the muck.

                       "You ain't nothin' but an *******,"
                     and "I don't believe in nothin' you're
                                  trying to prove." (The Falcon)

Though the world may rage,
like gilded nightingales caught in a cage,
our souls can still sing softly.

The earth may crack with no footfall to faucet,
the fault doesn't always fall with the wind,
sometimes, the storm begins within.

This is why the search begins,
beneath the surface, where the silence knows our name,
where the echoes go to live.

the mirrorless child sits alone
wondering which truth is their own
for they were not taught of twists and plots
or shown visions of their own worth
comfort zones aren't made of heroes
who you become is not your reflection
which holds the truth
but the devil has his own house of mirrors
and I wouldn't dare to enter

Never a better day shall there be!
My book has been published.... finally!
By Choice Publishing just so you know,
It's called "Out of My Head" by...Damo.

A "Somewhat Haphazard Collection
of Original Rhyming Verse".... on
Life, Motivation, Relationships,
Mental Health, Mindfulness and friendships.

There are Rhyming Verses, sonnets too,
Limericks, Acrostics, Senryu, Haiku....
My thoughts, ideas and reflections  
For each readers consideration.

I'm so happy my book is out there,
Hopefully you can find it somewhere
And should you choose my book to buy
I sincerely hope that you enjoy!

My thanks to all at Hello Poetry
For all the support you have given me.
It is very much appreciated....
Y'all helped to create "Out of My Head"