poor boy

our conflicting days
the beginning of the end
small gestures towards
to hold it together

you saw a sliver open
presenting an opportunity
to plant a seed to grow
mend this new rift

your face brought a smile
with a boquet of flowers
but i offered confusion
with a specific reasoning

my own insecurities
latched on a gesture
to scour it for an answer
for it’s existence

i gave you thanks
it seemed insincere
but i couldn’t understand
why you thought of me

you left to begin
as i began to leave
we shared a kiss
but i heard you say

“what a poor boy”

rather intertwined

i don’t know what it is
that keeps you at my side
is it the way i smile
when you look me dead in the eye

do you have the time again
to tell me what you mean
is there a mystery between us
what is it you can’t conceive

i’ve got seventeen lines left
to tell you my life story
there’s another fight, right
to get past, though it’s boring

if you read my rights now
you can pick and choose
whichever fits better
is it up to just me or you

by the end of the day
you’ll be sick and sorry
wonder if it was worth it
for all the guts, how gory

but don’t see me like this
don’t give me like that
if you have an idea
well just run and fall flat

catch a cold quicker too
so stick together now
if the weather decides to hold
well that’s reason enough for me

to stand by your side

my disregarded life

what parts of you
have been put to the side
in this new landscape
where the river divides
the past years recessing
while the future grips ahead

has old news been repeated
to your long distant eyes
worn out from contagion
with your beaten lungs
drowning in seclusion
without the agony of surprise

catching your breath
on a bad days best smog
while relief from anxiety
has been eaten up from hope
replaced by bold bruises
dragging weeds up from sand

the sky cracks open rarely
to let the acid burn through
cleanse out all the mistaken
the lost can still lose more
until our bones are exposed
was god always so relentless

call to reaction

well i can see
your old notes
hidden underneath
those broken lines

a constant ramble
of mundane complaints
only to fall upon
rows of deaf ears

highlighted points
of intriguing tone
on scraps of paper
from closed laundromats

soon to be disregarded
with the rest of you
broken and belittled
in need of termination

like old transcripts
from post war hearts
will stop beating
once the horn sounds

southern belle

when you left
your heart was a mess
tied down to souls
with rusted hands
corroding with every
touch

then you flew
down to the sun
leaving most
with your true intentions
save for one
admirer

upon your return
companions confided
your secrets unto me
the mistakes you made
the tears you left
behind

to your true love
i spoke nothing of
your dishonesties
in weak moments
of drunken lust
sickened

now years gone by
i wonder do they know
the basis of your love
built on a covered well
echoing out to be heard by
no-one

as children play above
will the wood rot away
breaking under the weight
to reveal the past unknown
bringing it all tumbling
down