Defacing city property,
to tell you about the whore,
who through away the nicest guy,
for about 800 more.
Stories true, and sometimes false,
not always described in words,
A sorrow tale across the wall,
of wishing they were birds.
A beautiful women, dressed in rags,
to tell you of the opression
Of those born under the upper class
faced with forced depression
There is a story inside of everyone,
just trying to find a way out
expressions flowing naturally,
which is what this is all about.
A spray paint can, a brush, a pen
pick your weapon true,
for when you put your heart on that wall
it won’t only be for you
I wanted to be small,
curling into the center of your hand,
But I wanted to be strong,
far ahead along rugged trails.
I wanted to carry on carelessly,
spontaneous and alive,
But I wanted to be organized,
prepared and responsible.
I wanted to be awoken,
to see the truth in all situations,
But I wanted to be happy
so I carried on with my day dreams.
I slipped quickly through your fingertips,
Or maybe you let me.
Either way, it’s been so long
since you were not a memory.
I longed to hear your voice,
for I am beginning to forget
it’s melodic tune.
I wish you the best,
but maybe not.
The space between your thighs,
your cheeks so hallow
like a graveyard,
The skin on your face is so malnourished,
Hair once so luscious,
now falls is thin greasy strands
along your weak face.
Do you feel pretty yet?
I want wet snowy pavement
and dark blue skies
bright stars and ice capped mountains,
I want run down gas stations
and chilly stops,
I want to feel this winter blow through me,
as I escape a different kind of cold
California cold will break your heart
Harden your bone marrow to rock
and slowly erode your soul
I would love you in the morning,
sleepy eyes wet with dew
the sunlight crept on your shoulders,
And I was crawling,
to be nearer to your skin,
you were beautiful.