Expectation turns to trepidation
The prospect of presents
Doesn't excite either
The eyes squint to see more lines
Only to cause further furrows.
"Party!" I hear the screams
"NO!" I scream within
Petrified by not  the hangover
But the clock thats ticking by
Announcing my entry into the New Decade

There is a bard
Within me
I’m sure!
Struggling against
The bondage
Bound by the skeleton
Of the mind
Yearning to break free
Fighting against
The stupor
Induced by Prozac
Mortified by The fear
Of turning prosaic

The bard hears
His own songs
Reverberating through
The dark innards
In search of light
And release
I hear them too
In my sleep and dreams
There’s no trace
( Read more... )

If the company I keep
Could exercise its influence
I’d be a poet
A genius
A gambler
A substance addict
A father
A raving rant
A flaming bitch
A television serial
In short, anything
Anything I could turn into
Anything but me

(post-script)
I don't choose
I don't blend
I become a critic

I feel your warm breath
On my neck
Your arm around me
As I drift out of sleep
I hear your heartbeat
Your breasts
Caress my back
My ears redden
Goosebumps on the skin
I turn around
To hold you
And snuggle up to you
The icy, empty bed
Stares back

(My first ever attempt at writing poetry.  This just happened).