I remember the first time i saw you,
you had on a red dress, your eyes where blacker than they are now,
and your time for me was short, but your eyes gave time,
and your oil slick hair of dark nights to come,
since then you have thrown plates,
and tantrums,
but i still sit waiting,
for the day you reply,
and i shall respond,
why?
The devil of my own hell i am not,
as this would imply fearing god,
And i fear god no more than a devilled egg fears mayonnaise.
Oh my dear friend how you have misjudged me,
i am not frowning,
i have just turned happiness on its head.
Connect the dots with the lines of my face.
How all these scars are starting to link together to form an armour,
makes me wonder if i could even bleed anymore,
would you ask me too again,
will you watch me if i say yes,
can you let me?
Fragile steamroller over broken bottles of love.
The sky was the most beautiful grey last night as we drove home from Masson,
A light rain fell opaquely obscuring ever so faintly the roadside,
Such an heroic grey, with whispers of a British fall,
The landscape quiet, before nightfall, almost a photo, a backdrop for
a rolling cigarette to rap music and then home.
I have grown tired of painting other peoples pictures,
my words and my actions are my own,
and so forth should follow the hand to paint
as my soul through these words and poems has grown.
My castle is my studio,
my sword is my pen,
my smile is my charm,
and
my heart,
my heart is simply your toy.
A passive participant,
sits, listening and watching,
to laugh only to himself,
watching you burn, and then rise,
when you invite him he arrives, and when you ask him he replies,
but he shall not seek you out,
even when you hide,
as he cannot draw you out,
from behind your beautiful lies.
zebrasindenver 