Icarus's blog: "Hope- by any other name."

You don't understand me.
Resulting in shoes on my feet
with more parts space than rubber.
Results in a love of piano music
and no understanding of notes on the sheet.

Who do you think you are?
My audience, my patron, or just another pedestrian?
Or just another discarded butt on a pool of dormant gasoline.
Odds man... you've gotta play em.
Odds, they'll catch you up eventually.

I had unprotected sex just around 1000 times.
I have no sons. I have no ambitions.
I traded my dreams for pornographic treasons.
No sinners. Just smiles after the blow by blow.
Just another discarded butt on the dormant pool of gasoline.
Impotent little keystrokes, playing too softly, too high
pleading with dawn's reaper for meaning.

I thought you knew me, as well as I can read you.
Case has not been such.
I'd gladly pay you today
for feeling next thursday.
The kind that doesn't come in glass
or behind a pin prick in my arm.

I'd gladly pay you tomorrow
for glorious
poetic ragnarok today.