How could you know how much I love YOU?
Occasionally I sit here,
Thinking for hours and hours what on earth I can write that is…
I sit and I wait for inspiration,
And I think, what’s wrong with the world so much that I can see it?
And in one uncomfortable instant,
I realize that I have watched Pacific Rim well over six times.
I wait only for the moment in which the universe realizes the true horror of self, that when that moment of truth comes, we may all hear the sound of children crying and broken men.
We’re finally talking
Are you listening now?
It’s the Fourth of July, which to me simply means stupid kids are out drunk too late with little bombs
Too big for their mouths.
But to some it means the world, independence or freedom or superiority.
To the smart ones it’s just another day.
Finally finding the edge
The corridor’s bound
The stairway’s stoop
Lapping the shore of the map’s endless ocean
The corner of the world.
Some days are good
This is being burnt to a crisp,
This is being destroyed,
And then extinguished.
This is being drowned in the sink,
This is being defiled,
And then flushed down the drain.
This is being cut to pieces,
This is being dehumanized,
And then forgotten.
One second while I catch my breath to deliver my elegant speech!
(I must look nervous in my skin!)
Dear you, to whom I write.
Dear you, for whom I sing and cry.
You know I’m here.
You know I’m here, why.
And now I know why.
Notebooks are fine
For little bits and lines
Of things you won’t remember
Till the day you find
Find your fine little notebook,
Find your little savior-thine!