Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“Coloring in the spaces between the lines on my wrist, I have to admit, I’m a pretty shit artist.”

You were coloring in my lights,

Drenching a binary world

A pallet of contradictions.

Unbalanced, indiscriminate yellow,

Stoplights shaded evergreen,

And as your lips buzzed my name,

I felt the edges of a wave

That promised to dye

My timid October orange

Every variant of the red

Lurking in my veins.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“I wasted all of my good fortune on memories that could never last. I didn’t save anything, so of course I have nothing…” (part 5 of 5)

I want fortune to listen

As I struggle with my speech,

To flinch as the words reveal

Scar after scar.

My words resonate regret,

And as all moisture

Evaporates in my throat,

Every note is coated

In varying shades

Of a screeching rust.