Make Believe

Make Believe

Alice.

Where did you go when you

crawled through that wooden door?

Please tell me, for I have to know;

I believe my world is in need of something more.

Something fresh or something new,

something that could lay me down to sleep.

A glimpse of hope or a glance at love,

that is all I really need.

So tell me,

where was your fairytale?

And why can I not make believe?

Where was your knight in shining armor?

Your reprieve?

Dorothy.

How did you feel when you

came home from the surreal?

And if given the chance,

would you wish against those heels?

Would you close your eyes and count to three?

Click your feet and from reality flee?

I know it sounds so tempting to be

deliberately lost and unintentionally free.

So tell me,

Where is your fairytale?

And why can I not make believe?

Where is your knight in shining armor?

Your reprieve?

Wendy.

You must come home from that land,

from that land of Never Ever.

Honey please, you can’t believe

that you’ll stay that young forever.

For while wishes and dreams

are here to stay,

your body and soul

must eventually fade.

 I’m telling you

There is no fairytale.

You simply cannot just make believe.

And there is no knight in shining armor,

There will be no reprieve.

That Girl in the Desk Next to Me

That Girl in the Desk Next to Me

She doesn't notice me.

I know that she doesn't notice me.

She just sits there, checking her phone

and twirling her hair.

With disdainful indifference

and not a care to spare,

she shuffles nonchalantly;

shifting in her chair.

Please don't think me odd,

Or even creepily fond.

Mostly I'm like a sad, pathetic fish

cowering in her pond.

I don't think of her in lust,

God knows I wouldn't dare.

But God damn the way she sits,

twirling her hair.

Then I start to worry 

that the worst will reach fruition.

What if she catches a glance?

Snags my lacking inhibitions?

But I know in my head that she'll never catch me,

she'll never interrupt my stare.

She'll just sit there indifferently,

twirling her fucking hair.

The Wall

The Wall

The darkness came, the ashes fell,

my sanity depleted.

I looked into her brooding eyes

and knew I was defeated.

Far from grace and further from her;

that is where I fell.

With lies and hate, my heart irate,

I wished her down to hell.

Would I really, truly wish her hell?

Good God no; a heathen I am not.

But what do they say, about what counts?

Oh yes! It was the thought.

So in my mind a plan unfolded:

a way to break my fall.

With goal in mind and tools at hand,

I began to build a wall.

Regrets and mistakes, desires and dreams,

my passions and my doubts;

I built a wall to be secure

and keep that bullshit out.

I worked and labored with sweat on my back

to raise that monstrosity to the skies.

Little to know with no foreshadow,

that wall would be my demise.

At long fuckin' last and to my relief,

the wall had been completed.

I sat myself upon it's top,

thinking it all I needed.

But a day soon came where I was made to see

the fool that I had been.

A girl in white, from head to toe,

was trying to get in.

How beautiful she was, amidst the sun,

hair flowing in the wind.

What was I thinking? Love, gone for good?

I had to let her in!

And then I saw what I had foolishly done,

what I hadn't thought of before.

With malice and hate I built that wall,

but forgot to build a door.

Black

Black

Step by step,
through the mush and the muck.
I grip my handle firmly,
but this just seems fucked.

A jet black coffin?
For you of all people?
Doesn't strike me as apt.
Hardly seems feasible.

It's just that you,
through all of your days,
never once emanated
morose or malaise.

And black just seems,
perhaps only to me,
suited for the bitter.
For the melancholy.

Your name was Rosella,
for Christ's sake.
They couldn't pick something jovial?
Or bare minimum, opaque?

Perhaps I'm overreacting,
but it doesn't seem fair
for your private place of peace to be colorless,
for it to be bare.

Had I been in charge,
had you just left it to me,
I promise I'd have done better.
Your burial, a sight to see.

Pearl white,
flowers adorned,
a pure-tempered temple
over which we could mourn.

As for the pallbearers,
myself included,
their march would be radiant.
Not darkly suited.

Red tie, white buttons,
flashy frays and loud lapels.
A suit for a funeral?
One could never tell.

Again I will say it,
if just to be fair,
maybe it is just I who hates black.
Perhaps only me who cares.

But I know that when I die,
I will not be buried in black.
Not that morbid, awful shade.
Anything but that.

Mixed Up

Mixed Up


Another night on town, I’ll find own my way home.
I tried so hard, so could why she never even care?
I guess it don’t matter, damn goddit where’s my phone?
I really shouldn’t use it but so what? I'm jus' impaired...
“Well ring-a-ding-a-ling, guess who’s here?
Yes, baby, I understand what time it is…
But I just gotta say something and…can you hear?
I just wanted know to if you even friggin’ miss…
No, baby, I’m not even drunk to close…
Yeah, well fuckin ‘bye’ to you too I guess…”
It’s that shit I hate the most.
She won’t even talk when I’m tryin’ my best.
Oh well, just another walk home.
Drunker than shit…damn goddit where’s my phone?