At the 206 bus stop I patiently wait
For the red bus that's always late.
I have now waited over an hour
And my mood is surely turning sour.

I crane my neck for the glimpse of that bus
Which, when moves makes ruckus.
I am excited by the noise of yonder thunder
Alas it turns out to be a school bus, oh what a blunder.

I'm tired, hungry and even ready for bed
Yet compelled to wait for the bus in red.
If only I had money for a three wheeler
Alas I can't afford it on my income meager.

My patience is put to a severe T-E-S-T
As I stoically wait for the B-E-S-T.
A serpentine queue has now formed
But come the bus its door will be stormed.

My hopes rise upon the sight of something red
Alas it's a bus of another route instead.
The hunger has traveled from stomach to mind
Can someone please a solution to this delay find?

At the 206 bus stop I patiently wait
For the red bus that's always late!

He looked at me
The way you look at
Stacked books
On a wooden shelf,
Carefully stroking my spine
After he's done it to
Three other stories
he'd gotten tired of.

Mr. Bookworm,
I am not a fictional option.
Yes, my cover is
Stained
And my last reader
Folded and tampered
With all my pages,
I only wish you'd
Treat this piece of literature
With respect.
You see, Mr. Bookworm,
I'm not a trilogy,
At least I'm not sure yet.
My Author isn't quite done with me. And I find it quite rude
That you stare at my papery insides,
Page after page,
Only to leave me
Back in the shelf,
Collecting dust.
Be patient with me, wandering reader.
Wait for my story
To reach it's ******.
Inhale my aging pages
Until you reach my resolution.
My apologies
For the times I've been
Rewritten.
But wait with me
Till you've reached my story's ending.
Because I swear upon my
Mismatched table of contents,
It will be a story worth telling.

And would that be it?
would that be how
it was with him?

And to think
it was as if
nothing was wrong

and that maybe
there would be
another day
to follow

and he'd
be there still
and rain would fall
and clear
and the sun
would come out
and shine
as it often did

and the people
on the ward
would be kinder
to each other
or not
as the case turned out

but I thought things
would be fine
and that he'd be
there all

sitting upright
and happy
and that I'd
bring him home

but it was not
that way at all
he sat there
kind of hunched over
catching his breath
puffed and bluey dark

and I asked
the questions
he said
and seemed so calm
and not uptight

as if it was
always like this
the hands and arms
the skin
the eyes looking
but not doing so

and looking back
there was lingering
unknown to us
over his shoulder maybe
pushing out
his breath
silently
that sinister
unseen
slippery death.

I'm coaching myself
To cry instead of
Berserking in anger.

It saves the walls;
Our things;
My knuckles;

It makes you
Feel
Bigger.

It gives room for you
To hold something
You need

To
Want to
Hold.

The balloons go up high
The birds skim around

Freedom is not pure gold
Nor jewellery of any metal

It is the air of the balloons
It is the wings of the birds

I thought of an odd personality facet I have earlier today in class
I grin, smile, beam, twinkle, simper, leer, smirk
my cheeks feel as if they were about to burst
like a balloon that when I'm around someone who breathes
the balloon slowly expands into a rubbery piece of rubber
and right when it's inflated fully...
it pops.
all of the air floats away and makes someone else's day
and I'm left cold and let's face it, sad.
this cycle repeats constantly
and I don't know if I should breathe
because if I do, someone else will be happy and it wont be me

I'll never forget her face.
Our eyes met; both had butterflies
In our stomachs that had
Butterflies in theirs.

Teenage features made
My eyes softer from
Touching them with vision.  
Smiling with every inch of

Herself; slightly protruding
Canines gave her a sense of
Wildness. An insanely
Beautiful wolf.

Mouth slightly open in
Centre at default.
Those lips that women botox
Themselves to achieve.  

Angelina Jolie's half-sister's face.
I became a slightly different man
Then.
Like after a near-death-experience.

After three and a half years together
She still blows my mind.
I can watch her from a distance, and
Contemplate the way her skin seems

So thin over her collar bone that
You wouldn't dare even kiss it
If you could. That, and how I rest my
Face there every evening and thank

Whomever it May Concern
For it all.
I am a man with hungry eyes and
Hands.

Beauty is my ******.
My own strengthening, inspiring,
Comforting -every-day-Heaven-
******.