An odd sort of Poetry · vice and all her ailments

I don’t have the time


Nobody has the time anymore
To live,
To be alive:
Nobody has the time.

I always wear my watch;
I paid good money for it
I still don’t have the time.

It’s no matter though
Very few ask for the time anyway
Which is good
-I suppose-
Like I said:
I just don’t have it

It is 10:22 in the evening
But I don’t have the time

An odd sort of Poetry · nature is important · vice and all her ailments

taste the sun


We all want to taste the sun
And kiss the stars
-until we actually do-
Once we do
We find out the truth of it all

The sun doesn’t taste too sweet.
It burnt my tongue and
Dissolved my taste buds.
Now nothing tastes too sweet

And the stars
We’ll I’ve kissed them.
They bit my lip and left me bruised,
Wishing I would have
Kept my distance
The stars are no longer beautiful to me

Yet still
I want to taste the sun
And kiss the stars
-because after awhile
I forget how bad they hurt me-

The vicious cycle never ends
And all the vicious people
Never learn.

An odd sort of Poetry · death is a good friend

Death to help me


I see Death

and I hear Death

I know Death.

we chat often,

and it seems we enjoy each other’s company

a bit too much.

it is a constant company

when everything else is not

when everyone else leaves.

sometimes Death takes them,

but I don’t hold it against him.

he’s never taken me.

he only picks and chooses

little pieces of my soul;

they wither up and die.

but not to worry,

Death is always here, by my side,

to help me

dig their graves.

An odd sort of Poetry · vice and all her ailments

not foolish enough

She told me that I should stop
As she wrote me another prescription
Another pill on top of
All the other
– No worries, she has a degree-

I told her that
I would work on it,
But I think we both knew that was a lie.

What does it matter if it’s legal
Or not?
From your pen or mine?
What does it matter,
The goal is the same

I only take what I need
I always only take what I need
But it is never enough
I always need more
Because I need too much to begin with.

I’m not foolish enough to see past my own faults,
But I’m not foolish enough to stop myself either.

An odd sort of Poetry · nature is important

every worried footprint

the ocean has no thoughts,

none of her own at least.

her mind is forever burdened

by all the words written in the sand,

and the racing narratives forced upon the shores

with every worried footprint.


the ocean has no thoughts.

she is too busy washing yours away.

every hurting remembrance,

all the times you fell too hard on the concrete.

now you only walk on padded floors,

instead, my friend,

sink into her sandy shores.



because your footsteps are heavy

too heavy;

with every broken heart weighing in…

every ‘I love you’ that wasn’t true,

everything you were never good enough to do.

every moment you can’t replace,

every moment the light did lack.

all that pain shows on your face.

all the time that you can’t get back.

you carry that.

the weight of lifetimes resting on your shoulders

burning your back.


fall into the ocean,

and let her crush you.

let the waves break your bones,

and feel the tide pull you in

and put you back together.

let her fix you.


the ocean has no thoughts

only every heartache written on her shores

washed away

over and over by the knowing waves

incessantly cleansing

the soul of the sea.


~the soul of you and me~


An odd sort of Poetry · I still miss you

memories of a stranger

I feel the memory of you slipping away:

I can still hear your raspy morning voice,

But your laugh has faded completely.

I can still see your curly hair,

But your pretty eyes have gone black;

I can hardly remember their color.


You’re only a stranger to me now.

A boy that I used to love.

I know that soon, someday,

Your memory will be gone.


And I can’t decide if I want that or not.