The Moral Conundrum Of Just Being Friends

I want to write a poem for you today
But if I did so it would just fall
onto deaf ears and sightless eyes

Your eyes, they see sight
but not for me

You're right in front of my face
but staring down at your computer
thinking about another man

It's what I get for trying to win your love
with a cup of apple chaider and some nice words

I feel like cursing right here, right now
but I can't
Not in front of your face

Not in front of those eyes and ears...
which do not acknowledge my existence anyway

So if I get the courage (or cowardice)
I'll ask you how your lover is
and hold my true feelings inside

I'll let them mangle up my insides
and puke out into screenplay format

Cuz if there's anything worse than writing a poem for you
it's writing a script about me
and my anguish towards irony of our situation

I've been a loner for 21 years
I'll be a loner for more

God, you give me hope in small fragments, followed by bouts of sadness. Why? Why do you string me along such a path?

Aesthetic

Neon light shadows penetrate the deep
A heavy-hearted boulder plunges through them
Milky blue bubbles dance around the stone
They nervously dash to the Great Surface
The aged rubble begins to crack, then multiplies
Ocean waves turn earth's rock into sea baring comets
Crustaceans gather around
embracing each other, embracing sudden impact
Dust shifts in all directions
moving through the blue hue at the speed of a lit fuse

Valor

Left for dead in the middle of the night behind enemy lines

Left at the alter on his wedding day for another woman

Left with two children and a house payment while working two minimum wage jobs

Left in a sticky situation involving two friends who no longer love each other

Ascend above circumstance

Forgive

Fight

Control

 Overcome

                      

Map of Bones

Underneath his concrete cave
the worm's darkest secrets rest

filth, mud, muck, and files
Files filled with fragments of former flames
and of fictional friends

Oh, how the phallic creature snuggles in them
Reliving thoughts faded by a foam he keeps
locked inside layers of lard that he lavished
since launching them out of the landfill

Lucid dream erect from such emotion
engulfing the animal's estate in
ernest earnings of earbud, elixirs,
enraged pheromones, end-times entities,
and erroneous exercises in juggling

(She's Got) That Alternative Look (To Her)

If a horse were to chew rainbows,
wear dresses, drink tea, and cease to smell,
then men would never be loved by women.

...unless that woman happened to be a tomboy.

Tomboys like to eat rainbows. Eat rainbows for breakfast.

And spit them at the faces of those punks.
Yah know, the one dimensional, plastic boob
covered bimbos who steal attention away from
men who don't know any better.

Let the bimbos have them.

You'll wait for something better.