Screams Of The City,

.the wets

I suck at rhymes but here it is...

I don't know when, but at a later date.

There won't be any more cookies to bake.

No love to make,

No earth to quake,

No hands to shake,

And no lives to take.

When that day comes, I hope to find.

A larger species of Clementine?

Or many more words without a rhyme?

Or climb-ier vines,

Or softer crimes,

Or smellier pines,

With straighter lines.

But until then it's up to you,

To find many more lines that rhyme with blue.

Find prettier views,

Find me lefty-er shoes,

And truer trues that speak just for vous.

Ah! But here I am taking all the

S P A C E,

And haven't left you a chance to grace,

This page with words you want to create.

Careful now it's not a race.

There isn't any first to place,

Only yummier taste,

Only bass-ier bass,

Only ever yourself,

No rules to place.

But before I do,

I realize-es,

I've gone and wrote this on

Electronic devices!

I hope this version

Lives to suffice-es!

Or will it be gone and sacrifices?!

I should have taken other advices!

Been nice-ier nices!

Tried creamier ices!

Tried dating girls with a little more spices!

I don't think our love was like any storybook,

We worked like cold, clinically drafted plans.

She told me exactly what she needed to build foundations, as I did for her.

And we both learned to be architects along the way.

We learned to read instructions written in two different languages, the hidden meaning of gestures.

Reenforcing weakness and learning failure points.

It may not be as exciting as any great book but I know what it will look like in the end.

.... because she comes with a troubleshooting section.

I will love you into oblivion

my little disco Death Star,

in our secret society built for two.

your serial thrills my moth cult kills

you grow into my deep dark places

like mold upon my bones

the gap in the tooth and crook of your nose

my pretty baby full of grace

dripping red drippy drops along the floor.

The Sun doesn't concern herself,

with the other stars in the sky.

She is too busy lighting up the world.

I went to see the palm reader today. She furrowed her brown, crinkled her nose and said, we all couldn't have been Joan of Arc. Sometimes it's our destiny to die in the dirt of the plague .

I once lived a very Eeyore-ian life. Now I am tickled pink at the absurdity of it all. The contradictions and hypocriticals of living an authentic life.

Matador State Beach.

We never had a song together, but we sure as hell had a life together.