Most People

Setting expectations low,
we're ten thousand words in
and I'm yet to feel the sting.
Your ambiguity is no stranger to me,
still trying to decipher
just what it is you mean.
Heads laid to rest,
dizzy and tested.
This coming week could be
my panacea or my
nightmare realized.
Lets stay instrumental tonight,
I can figure you out
in the morning.

Cooked

Derailed by a glance,
eyelashes and
the hammer's coming down
without a second thought:
death rattles, pt two.

Take it easy now. 

I can stay until the morning,
after that who knows.
Just give me the word
and I'll melt right beside you,
forever at your feet.

Is this what you wanted?

I don't think I
want to know
either way.

Cherry

Old wounds seep
into the ivory floor,
find the cracks
and make a home
to sprout new every year.

New wounds, so ripe
form hard, thorny pits
deep inside;
a seed to plant.

The bright lights of flashbacks
stain everything infected.
There is no future
without the past.
You cannot forget.

Eight wheels against the world,
and there's you,
the un-anointed princess
of a realm you refuse to claim.

But everything is so shiny
when you're around.
I can't look away,
the heartbreak.

Little Green Plate

I couldn't tell if
it was sand or
remnants of coke
matted in your beard
reminding me of another night
the sun found me too soon.

Our sloppy kisses
danced around your bristles,
rubbing my lips raw
as we remembered
(then forgot)
we were still strangers.

You didn't want to be touched
out of respect for your fresh ghost
but offered to devour me whole,
and I let you
without a second thought.
I loved the new boundaries imposed upon me.

We were filling each other's voids
for one night only,
a limited run of empty affection:
no one came.

And as the dawn found me
I put away that little green plate
and started my day
for the second time.

Inherent Vice

She wants me to stay
but stranger's beds
never stay warm long
and I've always loved the leaving
more.

All this unspoken misery is
beating me into submission
with every glance,
blissfully without bliss.
No hope.

And I'd love a bit more honesty
when every touch feels misleading,
but know that I'm a sucker
for her brand of anything.
She smells like heaven maybe
and my fingers long to explore
her terrain once more.

She's uncharted, untamed;
her every word lands right on the floor
for me to scavenge.
And I'm collecting memories.

Nowhere is home anymore,
nobody is anyone
and when everything fades to black
just mark me on her map.

Whatever, Maybe.

So wholly off base,
I'm listening to non-existent crickets
laughing in my ear.
Everything is fine enough, I guess
for this.
My nightly slumber is a gas
to more than just me
and I hope
you're tucked in so tight
you barely think of me,
but by all accounts you do.
Whatever.
See you fondly in my dreams maybe.
The full moon
has such a view
to see my failures.
I love you maybe.
Think of me
as the curtains close
so seamlessly.

The Door That Doesn't Open

The door that doesn't open,
why exist at all?

I want to know
how and why
you taunt me.

A beautiful scent wafting
from a world unknown
seeking to intrigue me.

The Lonely Cowboy

The lonely cowboy
feeling worthless
and self destructive
lives in the past;
the weakest of motivations.

Ride high
scared child
and saddle up,
it's just a little rain.

Neighbourly

muffled shouting through walls
remind me of childhood
pretending not to hear
stomping harder
she wants to make a point
he won't hear
she resorts to breaking his favourites
and he
resorts to the love his father taught him
while their petrified animals
cower in the corner

Commemorative Decimation

Still recovering from
absolute decimation,
my heart is in no state
to be presented to another.

In the meantime,
please take this
commemorative pen
as a token of what could've been
if the Universe
weren't such a fucking bitch.