Love stalks me through halls
And scratches at my door.
Love draws blood
And shits on my floor.
Love brings frustration
Eats the food it can’t afford. . .
But when the darkness sets in
numbing freezing conjured forth,
I find love already in my bed,
waiting and warm.
A quick something. Most of my poems have been just that recently. . .quick.
A fatal blow delivered in a painless(?) instant.
Seems the more I fuck with things the worse they get.
Also, I really have no crap filter concerning this blog.
It all goes. Good and bad. Nothing deleted, nothing changed.
(other than a quick occasional edit when I realize I've made a fatal flaw.)
So I guess I ought to apologize to all of you who have to deal with my
constant spamming wanderings of words and thoughts and more and all.
This has become something of an outlet, for my obsessive urge to write.
I'm surprised by all the likes, follows and feedback.
When I made my first few entries here I expected this to be
a lonely endeavor, yet public all the same. Like a sign on a fence post.
No one speaks to it, but it's there all the same.
Fuck if I know.