Monday, July 28, 2008


eyes opened to see your face
your lips so close to mine
t'is been a long time since they last met

just friends feels right
that's what you said
i agreed in face in heart i cried

is there something you want to say
something you wouldn't speak
when i'm awake

in the morning i know
i have questions of things within
but the answers will never satisfy

if i could
you know i would
i'd never have given you reason to let me go

i said it as much
i knew you were unhappy
just so sad that i was the one to show you

you know i love you
i still do
though it's been awhile it hurts me still

but i'll keep this silent
i'll bury it deep
to let you find the joy you seek

i'm your friend ever
my body is near
but my heart i'll keep in dark depths

in a way it's a touch sad
to think our last hello
meant our first goodbye

Tuesday, April 10, 2007


It's a big wish, to not be forgotten.

The way things were going, you'd think that it would be slightly more than your average day of tromping the domains of utter mediocrity that so often make themselves your home. A home where the sofas are not much more comfortable than Bloody Mary's iron maidens. A home where the hinges on the depressing age-blackened oak doors screech like oil-boiled inmates of the Salem witch hunts.

If it made sense, it really wouldn't anyway. Not when you expected that they'd at least remember how important it would be to you. That a little extravagance once in every so long a while is not too much to ask. Rather than, for instance, hop on by, stomp all over you, and then hop off. Like over-fed rabbits; grotesque, misshappen, furry things that have lost their cuteness and now a serious threat to your aesthetic sanity.

Slightly worse than all this was the idea that if their delusions of you alone was worse than in the company of those as lovable as an onion-and-bean infused skunk were maintained as just that: delusions. But they wouldn't let it go, and beat their mostly not unwelcome but definitely unneeded presence into a mocking pattern in your skull.

She didn't help it one bit. You'd think having a lover would make you happy, or at the very least, a sense of contentment. Obviously, you lost your wits somewhere in that hazy hormonal frenzy. She obviously didn't care much for your unspoken wants. Most of the time she spent chewing off your finely groomed patience, and then spitting out the remains all over your face. Then she'd smile sweetly to deflect your barbarian rage, and then start all over. She was expensive too.

In this chaos, one lone thing stood out in your otherwise darkened synaptic expanse: just go get cake.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

too short...

Life's too short
To worry about things
Like falling in love
Like staying above
The poverty line
Is too close to mine
The car is dry
My chips won't fry
No more oil in the well
My wallet's in hell
It's too much
To ask that this will be
Tomorrow is another pain
A hurt that cuts just worse
This pointless futile overbearing fruit
Finish it today

Goodbye to dreams
Goodbye to sleep
Goodbye to things I never had

Life's too short
To worry about living
To care about singing
Songs that make no sense
To the man with no pants
The fridge is bare
But Trump just don't care
Chequebook's ringing
And Macker's a-killing
What's to ask for a reprieve
From a nightmare awoken
To sit up and think it's all
Not real at all
This whole charade's a dream
Time to wake up
Somebody pinch me
Smack me awake

Goodbye to dreams
Goodbye to sleep
Goodbye to things I never had

i hate offices...

i hate offices
they are morose, depressing places
that cause you to misspell

if you need the life sucked out of you
but none of it is pleasurable

i hate offices
a box of inane wastage
if ever there was one
like right now

Sunday, August 27, 2006


I do not think I give a damn.
I do not think I like this, damned-I-am.
I do not want to dance all night.
I do not like to shout and fight.
I do not wish to sing the blues.
I do just wish they'd get a clue.
I want to sleep all through the day.
I want to sleep my life away.
I want to never make a sound.
I want to lay me in the ground.
I don't want to answer the stupid questions.
I don't want to give in to stupid passions.
I don't want it to ever rain.
I don't want to not feel pain.
I don't think I'm making sense.
Maybe I should think more in present tense.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

sea of unshed tears...

night time
i can barely see the shoreline
i hear the silent washing sounds
and it's all welling up inside
no well holds so deep
no cup holds so bitter
no sea holds so salty
no heart holds so many

dawn and dusk
it will lap unendingly
as long as the rain falls and the seas dry
i know there will be more tears for me to cry

but i refuse to drown
tempest driven frozen rain
but i refuse to yield
storm lifted water walls
but i refuse to cry
dream spawned love horrors

i sit quietly at the beach this night
gazing across the bay
out into the dark cold sea
knowing at least tonight
it will not touch me
i know that tonight i need not fear
my own sea of unshed tears

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

tell him...

It's a bloody irony. It was only so long ago. And now you're faced with the same problem again.

You did promise yourself that much, at least? Of course you did. Of course, knowing what an efficient liar you are, you didn't even realize how well you just lied to yourself. Isn't that just fantastic? Such an advanced level of deceit, you should be proud. Or embarassed that you didn't notice it. Either way.

You can probably guess he knows. And he's just waiting for you to bite. The trap has been baited, and you cleverly walked right into it. What a joke. You think after how it shattered the last time, you'd be keeping your glassware far away from such dangerous places. That glowing red heart has finally cooled into that large igneous chunk. Your scars are those dark streaks of obsidian staining the otherwise flawless crystal. It's no longer innocent, and you'd think the price of those black strokes would have bought you some knowledge. Apparently they haven't.

Like the master glassblower, he toys with that hunk of cheap transparency. What was cold and black, he's heating up again. He melts your heart, doesn't he? In and out, he pulls it out of the furnace, and drops it into ice cold water. Smelting process as it is, he shapes it by his fancy. Of course, a by product is that it makes the glass very hard. Harder than rock. And it cracks. Uneven heating and fast cooling destroys the otherwise perfect molecule. More streaks appear. They weep molten glass. Like how your heart cries at your allowing it such suffering.

Even angels fall. You were never an angel. And you've fallen far deeper than you can hope to get out of. And hell, you don't even have wings. Damnation.

Does he or does he not want you? Or is he simply playing with the glass till it breaks? Is this practice? If it is, he's making a large mess of it, don't you think? Maybe you should take it back, and break it yourself. At least you would keep the pieces in one box.

Saturday, June 17, 2006

haiku in three parts...

you'll never be seen
if you hide under the bed
because they don't care

you choose this dead path
stupidity is just you
laugh at your own tears

wave goodbye tonight
last chance for this setting sun
to a love unknown