Tell me again,
why it is you stay,
when you know that she
can so easily walk away?
Tell me again,
why it is that you stray,
when you know that her bed
is the one that you made?
Tell me again,
why it is you stay,
when you know that she
can so easily walk away?
Tell me again,
why it is that you stray,
when you know that her bed
is the one that you made?
Those were the days,
when you called me yours
and love was like war;
we’d both served two tours.
The thing about war
is that no one ever wins
as casualties pile up
for some other sap’s sins.
Those were the days,
when I never called you mine
since I played the fool
and missed every sign.
The thing about love
is that no one ever wins
and just when you give up,
another love begins.
The sounds of nature
create a beautiful song.
Keep the music on.
You need to dust your plant
but at least your fruit won’t rot
and these books upon your shelves
haven’t got a page much less a plot.
The fancy car in your garage
is the rental for this week
and that’s not the only facade,
is that even your real cheek?
The art across your walls
was forged by only the best
and the fake boobs in your social circle
fit right in with the two upon your chest.
Waiting is the hardest thing to do
as each moment of anticipation
is spent in agony
with the results ending how they will.
But waiting for you
is something altogether new
since whatever shall be
is solely dependent upon me.
I just want peace and quiet,
is that too much to ask?
My tired eyes are heavy
and a nap is my only task.
I want nothing to do with you
and I’ve made that plan to see
so stop constant chatter
so that my ears are free.
Don’t tell me someone’s here
and don’t coax me with a fish,
I need some alone time;
this is my only wish.
Pester me some more
and soon you will find out
just want my paws can do
as your head receives a clout.
I’ve not run out of words,
just the means to convey
all the feelings I have
and intentions of good faith.
My pages are filled
and still I’m not done
but what can I do,
when the ink stops to run?
My hands I do not recognize,
my voice I do not know,
my skin feels so foreign,
and my legs move oh so slow.
My heart sounds an unknown beat
and my eyes see only dark
as my fingers fail to grasp
the only living spark.
If only I could write the words
that would change your life
as you sit with a blank page
and a sharpened knife.
Perhaps some odd construct
could put a meaning to it all
and brace your soul
for its eternal fall.
Swaying in the breeze,
the ocean beneath the trees,
sun is out to please.