The month in which
beauty subtly resides.
In drunken nights,
and recovered love.
Such years prior provided countless means of experience,
Provided it to be, a month
the muttering calls an end
to the ballads and the sideway tens
nights filled with hopes and squandered dreams
life’s ruined by missed opportunities, and misappropriated leans
This mutter turns towards different sights,
towards labouring night’s
and wanderers tales, dangling lost souls.
For I no longer feel this, text empty with passion, except I do question how
every waking hour rings me out, to a dryness resembling scorched soil,
every sleepless night a torturous temptation into ditching the world order,
abundance of escapes thwarted by the bitter burn of ethanol and cigarette oil
the girl tells me touching tales about the men who cause trauma to her.
My nose feels heighted to the burn,
A burn I no longer smell in her presence.
The thought of such a girl, oh how I fucking yearn
to simply affect, or play a part in what fills her essence.
She overshadows all
with her cathartic screeching,
and crooked smile; knots my gut into a ball.
It fades, and it recedes
The heart of a romantic
And whom it deems.
I may constantly be in love,
But always without it,
Surrounded by an abundance of mules—
Oh so besotted.
If my eyes could leave trails,
It would be
for the distant dreams
and glee that lie within fantasy.
Pucker up asshole, chug another down the hatch;
all those girls you’ve been with, boy aren’t they a catch.
Oh so subtly, I yearn
to pick up the hussies and dive deeper than moans,
to itch at an impulse that resides deeper than an influence from kin-
with your heart
toss it to the dogs,
Leave you with your teeth digging into soil.
and with each passing day you mutter, when shall the next come to moan
and scratch at your heart, leaving only grooves of scars.
A cascading glimpse
Is all I wish for
In the nights renounced of winks.
Abstained of chills, and butterflies called on by
Is my heart forsaken,
designed for this?
We all think we’re above it.
Experiencing what all experience.
Drinking what the rest consume.
We all think we’re better.
Simply step away, and you’ll realise.
You’re a fucking mess
Just a member
Just like the rest.
The absentee, and flash of red, sends the end of my month
Wishes for more,
wishes for others.
Subtle constants, tipping over the edge,
simply by those who do not embrace the drunk.
Sing him along, pass him another, give him a smoke, slap his ass and call him the mule,
allow his idiocy to become a mockery.
evoking of the heart.
A dance of words,
covering hopes of intentions that lie
further behind those bellowing eyes.
Perhaps its purposeful,
Inconceivable pain, hollowing of the gut, and below of the heart.
Perhaps I just wish to fall delicately into those hands,
logic and chance deceives my heart, faith wavers.
Faith is fleeting topic of my sense,
a blinding distinguisher between those who are born romantic
and those who simply ordain.
And those surrounding my shroud of boozing smiles, and smoky grins,
function in the sense of commonness.
And only when they feel as I do daily, they weep,
but the only tears I shed are that of a bottle,
so poignantly wedged between my lips.
When your eyes shift the way they do,
I am captured.
By your gaze, empty of emotion,
the damnation of unrequited,
but your eyes speak wonders.
I don’t believe in your lies,
for women of your likes are never untouched,
and with you comes an air of innocence, purified by insecurity,
yet wrecked by the words you speak, and the looks you serve.
Will your swell meet mine?
at the time we spend, stuck with each others company at quarter to 2,
or perhaps when I am tipped by those who have left my heart like brail,
When liquor takes me to your home (and begs me to call for your lips).
For this state, we partake and endorse, leaves me questioning,
Questioning of your heart, of your smile and what lies.
It’s all bullshit honey,
the title of friendship when one can tune another’s soul.
I’ll be damned by unrequited gifts if I allow it.
Drowned by indulgence
Overseen by dwarves;
Tortured by temptresses;
Ready your senses,
Parry your ear.
Hold your tongue my darlings
enter a sanctum where death
draws near. Stop the quiver of lip.
At half my lifetime, my heart shall
swell to a close,
A throbbing stop
of smoke and other means.
Ghouls souled with red hair, and beaming eyes
touch my mind
a blissful sorrow.
And the boys,
they frolic along
with their pills and other means of discharge.
And The men they smile down,
filling my deemed eyes with pity and luck.
Pen is standstill.
You cannot edit a blank page,
the fuckers moan out;
blank sure is a fair expression.
unprepared by fate and for a heart
of dumb dreams, filled with incompetency.
A lens of blue calls out to you, allowing my,
somewhat of a petty expression to shine through.
The drink will come.
It shall call the bill due.
And smoke will follow,
Cause why the fuck not right?