Fleeting is the night when I am with you.
hours seem like minutes,
minutes seem like seconds,
seconds seem like moments.
A Hint Of Nostalgia
A swig of ale for the good old boys,
Who play non-stop with old men’s toys,
Stay up all night not to read or write,
But to woo the girls or scare up a fight.
Wretched and putrid, it made its way across the alley,
Straight into a pile of synthetic filth and human garbage,
And as I continued on my way
It popped its head out and stared directly into my eyes.
Numbers on the counter
In the gym,
On the scale,
On the box of cereal,
An orchid in a sewer of a night
Salvages the monotonous droning of the commonplace
A vodka shot of omnipotent white
A mischievous grin shot across the room to my face.
A Shy Wretch
How is it
That I am free
When I am alone,