Saturday, December 18, 2010

'Sorrow found me when I was young / Sorrow waited, Sorrow won'

'm not sure why I'm posting here. I doubt it'll get read.
I guess I'm just in a mood.


I sometimes feel /
Like, like, like /
I'm not good /
For you /
Like, like /
Not right /
For you /
Sometimes, I /
Feel like /
Like, like /
I'm getting to /
A point /
Where I'm no fun /
Anymore /
Sometimes, I /
Feel like /
Like, like /
My dreams are /
Too broken /
For you /
Like, like /
Only forty /
Hours and getting /
'Free' are my /
Dreams anymore /
And you /
You're my only /
Real /
Dream any /
More, you /
And this stupid /
Black, stringed /
Beast /
A month's rent /
Forgotten for /
A dream /
I used to dream /
I could write /
Now /
Now, all my /
Line /
Breaks /
Seem ran /
Dumb /
And it all seems so /
What? /
So what? /
So cliche. /
So. /
So, I'm still /
Writing /
Still /
Fighting /
Still dreaming of /
You /
And if my dreams /
Are broken /
Well /
Your dreams /
Are broken /
Too /
And I can /
Not /
Fix them without /
You /
And you /
Cannot /
Fix them without /
Me /
So me /
And you /
I guess we're stuck /
Together /
As long as /
You /
Want me /
I want you /

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Shitty Poetry

The birth of a new day
New pen on a new page
New work with no new wage
A new stage
For the same old actors
The same factors
Plowing us over like over-grown tractors
Poverty, lack-of-plenty
Selling for ten when
It's worth twenty
Because you need the ten
And you'd take a penny
When there's so many
Like you
Broken down
Beat down
To the ground
Bark like dogs
In a third-rate pound
Your in the lost
And found
'cause your money was
And never found
So turn around
Turn things around
Do your best
Don't make a mess
Before you hit the ground


Corner to
Corner, we
each spot
own, like
chess pieces -
Queen, King,
Queen -
Check, Checkmate
my heart


New England highways fly by
-your hand in mine
Your firework eyes
-strike the iron in my mind
-and set off sparks in my heart

Sunday, January 24, 2010

I Wanted To Write Something Here

I wanted to write something here
But realized, sorrowful, that I had
Nothing to write, nothing to say

And no one to read it.

I feel so strange tonight.

Thursday, January 7, 2010


It's absolutely absurd how frightened I get when I remember you. It scares me how I look for me in the reflections of your writing; I always find shards of what could be myself. I then find the obvious disconnect; the place where the could-have-been-me isn't me. It's horrifying how my heart races when I hear from you, or I see some silly little thing that reminds me of you. It's maddening how angry I get when I pass down Thayer street and remember it's one of your favorite places and wish I could've walked down it with you; hand-in-hand, natch. It's terrifying how I continue to pine for you in spite of obvious flaws; namely, that there's a damn red line of how much I'll ever mean to you. It's chilling how I know I'll never forget kissing you; my first, and the only one that's meant a damn thing to me so far (that shitty little bitch couldn't be as good as you on your worst day).

It makes my hairs stand on end when I remember you saying no one writes about you; because I did. And I do.

I'm not over you yet, and that scares me. But, in time, I will be.
And even when I'm over you, I'll still love you.

Azaleas, miss, and best wishes.


It's bizarre how cookies have fault-lines; chocolate-chip California and macadamias hidden beneath dough like undersea rifts. You bite into them, but where you bite isn't where they break; and it falls apart, leaving a trail of crumbles like the wake of some great destruction.

And that, friends, is how the cookie crumbles.