Nothing tells a story like dust
Debris encased in concrete
Not like it’d ruin a thing
Unlike dirt under the carpet
Or sewage backing up the pipes
Not the leaves you kick: they fall under the tree
Ants in an ant mill, nescient of the breadcrumb trail
Ah, well
If I managed to get
a demon for me
I better be
one’a those O.P. protagonists
Be my guest
as I’m the host
Nevermind what I just said
Pay attention to what’s next
Nevermind today
It’ll make for a funny story someday
Nevermind me
I’m not the messenger
just the observer
I’m not exposing you
You know enough to pay me hush money
I know enough to know you don’t bluff
We know better than to open that box
Popcorn lies
Wink, soft-porn vibes
Front-row seats to the sickener
Sex sells
like your little tells
You might despise my stealth
You’re a voyeur yourself
Slowly but surely…
Holic but holly
Hopefully hectic
Faithfully at it
You’ve been working
your butt off
Now comes the payoff
Do me a favor
Own what you paid for
Their heart is now cold,
Icicle pointed at his.
His blood is warm;
Now coloring snow.
Their winter plays with
A different snowman.
Ten past ten
The clock on display
Sits still
Waits until
It can do the splits
Take it home
A quarter past nine
A stretch in the morning
Makes way for the night
Adult life sucks.
When you’d have the strength
to fight wrongdoers,
to keep your stance,
you’re just too busy
dealing with your traumas,
battling your demons,
feeling like the one to blame‒
every other day.
Any other day I’d write a wonder.
Not today.
—
There’s no use…
misused.
I could have used
a little help.
—
At times,
I can’t help but cry.
What could help but try?
—
A lot more to say;
This isn’t where I end‒
only where discretion starts.
—
[Verse]
I hate to fake it
But I have to make it
I hate to leave things unsaid
[Verse]
You have to fake it
We have to make it
We’ll fake it till we’re done with it
[Chorus]
We fake love so we will make love
We do what keeps us moving
Move on, let’s keep on grooving
We laugh, we lean, we shake it
We Fake it; make it; break it
[Bridge]
For once… for good
For all it’s worth: the things unsaid
[Outro]
We know what matters in the end
Out of the blue
The now-greyest skies
Torrential rain comes
And turns me outward
Reveries That I Call Poetry 