Skip to main content

Something Strange

Aint no eternal sunshine
aint no spotless mind
all these thoughts
race through my daydreams
all these memories
haunt my sleep
even though I've done
all I know to do
to forget
You invite me
then speak of
your unhappiness
you sit on the ground
I kneel before you
you kiss my lips
Heaven and Hell
exist at the same time
in the same space
because I know
this isn't you
this is only me
missing you still
after all this time
even the mention of your name
plays tricks on my brain
reveals the soreness
then the noise of reality
wakes me
leaving behind
the lingering image
of your lips
the shock of them
on mine again
this time I won't mention
I will keep this my secret
it's becoming a sickness


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The 5 People Who Make Life Heaven

They listen when you need to talk Talk when you need to listen They know your darkness Let you know theirs Without judgement and expectation You can talk to them about how you see things They don't get angry or anxious when you disagree Trust you enough to say what they really think Read tweets and novels Never make you beg or grovel Won't allow it Remind you that you're better than that Lay some of their burden on you Let you behind their wall Feel welcome behind yours You feel each other with heart and mind Even if you don't explain yourself  They get you You get them These are the ones that make life worth living Make you love to be alive Reflect you to you Teach and learn Some days the lead singer Some days the band These are the ones You can count on one hand (c) Ron Kennedy 

Poetry Tree

I saw no birds grieve No fallen leaves No branches on the ground None made a sound It wasn’t rotten It didn’t die in a storm Capitalism came In its progress form To take one of my last  Best refuges from me I may be the only one who noticed The death of my poetry tree.


Photo by  Gustavo Spindula  on  Unsplash Sometimes I check my neck to see if it’s still Half red, half dirty and half um Andrew, I’m still gonna need some Help with that Math We live in an era where Before you even speak an opinion You might be attacked For what you have Or don’t How you look What you might say How you act Who you love Where you live That you give a damn about facts That you empathize with those cast As villains in the common narrative Or even that you don’t naturally fall in line Being of your own mind Self-educated Self meditated Spiritually in moments sublime I lay on my back & count the stars listening to For Now Thinking on philosophies that rhyme Alone & feeling fine.