Long time, no see
the things that i had left behind
things to which i once was kind
i surely miss them now more than ever
there were choices i had made back then
these choices i'd love to make again
so i may choose more wisely and avoid error
the people i knew and once held close
are far away and so remote
and now are forever lost to me
the places i had gone before
are closed to me evermore
and thus i am stuck in dire need
but there may be hope to those who suffer
who laugh in anguish or who cry with anger
for after all there is yet time left
in time put the past behind
and become more happy be more kind
and make our last moments our best
it’s funny how things work
It is funny how things work;
Beneath good things, bad things lurk.
There were so many dreams I had
Of future love and fun so mad.
Yet, I find myself quite unable
To do right and make things stable.
I still struggle to find the truth -
People confuse me in my dumb youth.
My lack of experience leaves me blind
What should I do in my new found time?
In truth, these questions are not so bold
But the correct answers no one holds
So, I sit here, building my tomb
Brick by brick, stone by stone.
Each stone I place is a mistake I made
And each of my faults is another stone laid.
My tomb is eye level now
With my inside, wondering how
I got it so wrong; I messed it all up -
Being all that is just so tough.
I was never good enough for any of you
I never knew what to say, or just what to do
I was awkward, and misplaced whenever we met
(Not the coolest thing to do), and I regret
Not being this fantastic man, this pillar of awe
Or someone you could talk with, or heckle and haw
With, or just someone to sit there and listen,
(Not that you would talk), or someone to confide in.
So after all these years, I’m sorry to say
We don’t really know each other in any other way
But the face we see and the sadness we get
When perchance one makes another upset.
And after all this time, what do I know
Except that I’ll miss you, and cry and gloat,
And smile and cheer, and jump and dance,
Cause you are to me twice what I am back,
And even though we said we were close,
We all know there’ll be no remorse.
And I’ll pass by your thoughts every once in a while,
You won’t really care I’m gone and smile,
Cause you still have so much left,
But I’ve lost you - I’ve lost everything yet.
not really poetry. prose.
isn't it weird how you never really appreciate something until it's gone? how you take for granted what you think is there, and the second it's missing you realize how much you want it back? it's uncanny how that is. the worst part about it is when you just stop looking. when you're almost afraid to find it again, because you now know how much it will hurt to lose it once more. well, there is once something i had, that i lost, and have spent a long time trying to find again. and now, i'm ready to give up searching. while i will miss it terribly, my only solace is that i'm better off now than if i were to lose it again.
you mock me
Yea, i see how you mock me.
What irony is the situation, no?
Your pathetic attempts at fraternizing with the eneme.
What idiocracy in it all.
I struggle, i do.
I struggle each day.
I am tied to a tree, attached by my neck,
And you kicked the stool out from under me.
Way to go. Way to fucking go.
In fact, You threw me in a well--
A giant pit of hell--
And every once in a while
You turn your little dial
And let some light through
(i struggle to climp up and find you).
And just as i reach the top,
Your cruel heart begins to talk;
You turn off the little light,
Which resumes my endless plight,
And i fall back down to crash
In my stupidty. And so i bash
My dumb self for believing
In a dream not worth revealing
And succumbing to the innocence
Of it all. Ah! The beligerence
With which i strove to complete
That cycle (i wish it to be obsolete)
And i strive for an end soon.
God, grant me that boon
That i may be able to think
For myself and finally blink
Myself shut and reopen it to recollect
The memories i do neglect.
I must learn from my mistakes
And not again partake
On this self-destructive path.
Only the will power, i think, i lack.
socks
Sad songs of past glory:
My car at night is not the most nostalgic thing,
but it is the simplest.
Such small things,
such Sad things.
They say it is the memories that count.
Memories come is pairs, though.
Like socks.
Some sad,
some happy.
Mostly in pairs.
It is painful to throw away old socks.
It will hurt more to throw away these.
In a way i have.
In a small way i already have.
Socks are not my only problem.
With the socks go the people.
One down,
many more to go.
Answers are what i need.
Where did i error?
Don't pretend, say it straight.
It's harder now that you're gone.
I won't mind, i promise.
There is no need for kindness.
I promise.
Tell it straight.
Because,
the little things were what made the difference.
A lean,
a walk,
a tug,
a talk.
Oh lord, what i wouldn't give for these.
Oh lord.
car window man
there is a guy who follows me around.
wherever i go, he's always there.
the reason i know he's there is because i can see him.
when i look into my car door window, or stare at someone's sunglass covered eyes, or look at my iPod when it's turned off, i see him.
sure, he's a stalker.
that's pretty obvious.
but stalkers themselves don't scare me too much.
as long as they leave me alone, i'm fine with that.
but, i don't like this car door window man. i don't like him at all.
for one, he scares the hell out of me.
i don't recognize him, and i don't like things i don't know.
i have no clue who he is, why he's here, or where he'll be going (in life).
he has no qualities i would want for myself -
he is ignorant, selfish, introverted, and suprisingly plain.
he has great motivation, but no resolve for action;
great ambition, but no will power to act upon it.
he has few people who know him well, and many more who know him wrong.
he has little talent, little achievement, little he can take pride in.
so, what does he want from me?
stalkers always want something.
they don't spend all that time following people around just for fun.
why does he follow me around?
what's his goal?
he bothers me, much the same way a wrong note played in band bothers me.
he sends shivers down my spine, and makes me twitch and itch.
he makes me mad.
car window man, why must you be such a nuisance?
you are taking over my life.
i worry about your existence,
your self-perpetuating annoyance,
your unstinting persistance
at being (close to) me all the time.
car window man, you consume me.
you are dwelving yourself into me much the same way someone who dwelvs does.
your self enters mine and makes me into you, and i hate you.
car window man, i don't like you.
go away.
Oh, if only poetry could help me with the women, Friday nights would be that much more fun.
Goddammit, i was so fruity.
things to which i once was kind
i surely miss them now more than ever
there were choices i had made back then
these choices i'd love to make again
so i may choose more wisely and avoid error
the people i knew and once held close
are far away and so remote
and now are forever lost to me
the places i had gone before
are closed to me evermore
and thus i am stuck in dire need
but there may be hope to those who suffer
who laugh in anguish or who cry with anger
for after all there is yet time left
in time put the past behind
and become more happy be more kind
and make our last moments our best
it’s funny how things work
It is funny how things work;
Beneath good things, bad things lurk.
There were so many dreams I had
Of future love and fun so mad.
Yet, I find myself quite unable
To do right and make things stable.
I still struggle to find the truth -
People confuse me in my dumb youth.
My lack of experience leaves me blind
What should I do in my new found time?
In truth, these questions are not so bold
But the correct answers no one holds
So, I sit here, building my tomb
Brick by brick, stone by stone.
Each stone I place is a mistake I made
And each of my faults is another stone laid.
My tomb is eye level now
With my inside, wondering how
I got it so wrong; I messed it all up -
Being all that is just so tough.
I was never good enough for any of you
I never knew what to say, or just what to do
I was awkward, and misplaced whenever we met
(Not the coolest thing to do), and I regret
Not being this fantastic man, this pillar of awe
Or someone you could talk with, or heckle and haw
With, or just someone to sit there and listen,
(Not that you would talk), or someone to confide in.
So after all these years, I’m sorry to say
We don’t really know each other in any other way
But the face we see and the sadness we get
When perchance one makes another upset.
And after all this time, what do I know
Except that I’ll miss you, and cry and gloat,
And smile and cheer, and jump and dance,
Cause you are to me twice what I am back,
And even though we said we were close,
We all know there’ll be no remorse.
And I’ll pass by your thoughts every once in a while,
You won’t really care I’m gone and smile,
Cause you still have so much left,
But I’ve lost you - I’ve lost everything yet.
not really poetry. prose.
isn't it weird how you never really appreciate something until it's gone? how you take for granted what you think is there, and the second it's missing you realize how much you want it back? it's uncanny how that is. the worst part about it is when you just stop looking. when you're almost afraid to find it again, because you now know how much it will hurt to lose it once more. well, there is once something i had, that i lost, and have spent a long time trying to find again. and now, i'm ready to give up searching. while i will miss it terribly, my only solace is that i'm better off now than if i were to lose it again.
you mock me
Yea, i see how you mock me.
What irony is the situation, no?
Your pathetic attempts at fraternizing with the eneme.
What idiocracy in it all.
I struggle, i do.
I struggle each day.
I am tied to a tree, attached by my neck,
And you kicked the stool out from under me.
Way to go. Way to fucking go.
In fact, You threw me in a well--
A giant pit of hell--
And every once in a while
You turn your little dial
And let some light through
(i struggle to climp up and find you).
And just as i reach the top,
Your cruel heart begins to talk;
You turn off the little light,
Which resumes my endless plight,
And i fall back down to crash
In my stupidty. And so i bash
My dumb self for believing
In a dream not worth revealing
And succumbing to the innocence
Of it all. Ah! The beligerence
With which i strove to complete
That cycle (i wish it to be obsolete)
And i strive for an end soon.
God, grant me that boon
That i may be able to think
For myself and finally blink
Myself shut and reopen it to recollect
The memories i do neglect.
I must learn from my mistakes
And not again partake
On this self-destructive path.
Only the will power, i think, i lack.
socks
Sad songs of past glory:
My car at night is not the most nostalgic thing,
but it is the simplest.
Such small things,
such Sad things.
They say it is the memories that count.
Memories come is pairs, though.
Like socks.
Some sad,
some happy.
Mostly in pairs.
It is painful to throw away old socks.
It will hurt more to throw away these.
In a way i have.
In a small way i already have.
Socks are not my only problem.
With the socks go the people.
One down,
many more to go.
Answers are what i need.
Where did i error?
Don't pretend, say it straight.
It's harder now that you're gone.
I won't mind, i promise.
There is no need for kindness.
I promise.
Tell it straight.
Because,
the little things were what made the difference.
A lean,
a walk,
a tug,
a talk.
Oh lord, what i wouldn't give for these.
Oh lord.
car window man
there is a guy who follows me around.
wherever i go, he's always there.
the reason i know he's there is because i can see him.
when i look into my car door window, or stare at someone's sunglass covered eyes, or look at my iPod when it's turned off, i see him.
sure, he's a stalker.
that's pretty obvious.
but stalkers themselves don't scare me too much.
as long as they leave me alone, i'm fine with that.
but, i don't like this car door window man. i don't like him at all.
for one, he scares the hell out of me.
i don't recognize him, and i don't like things i don't know.
i have no clue who he is, why he's here, or where he'll be going (in life).
he has no qualities i would want for myself -
he is ignorant, selfish, introverted, and suprisingly plain.
he has great motivation, but no resolve for action;
great ambition, but no will power to act upon it.
he has few people who know him well, and many more who know him wrong.
he has little talent, little achievement, little he can take pride in.
so, what does he want from me?
stalkers always want something.
they don't spend all that time following people around just for fun.
why does he follow me around?
what's his goal?
he bothers me, much the same way a wrong note played in band bothers me.
he sends shivers down my spine, and makes me twitch and itch.
he makes me mad.
car window man, why must you be such a nuisance?
you are taking over my life.
i worry about your existence,
your self-perpetuating annoyance,
your unstinting persistance
at being (close to) me all the time.
car window man, you consume me.
you are dwelving yourself into me much the same way someone who dwelvs does.
your self enters mine and makes me into you, and i hate you.
car window man, i don't like you.
go away.
Oh, if only poetry could help me with the women, Friday nights would be that much more fun.
Goddammit, i was so fruity.