It's just an excuse
beyond the words that
have become your
"I don't knows" and
"I'd wish you sees".
Foward, freefall
into a liar's pool
of wet dreams
flled with exhaultation.
Masterful artist, when
the pen runs out of ink
a pin-prick for
the real creative juice
to stain the pages.
It's harnessing the
energy of inegmatic
facination about the
simplest of life's lessons.
I wrote without you
today, in my heart,
the vile emptiness
blossoms lyrical musings.
And if you care to
inspire a word
or two, I can
hand you the knife
that bleeds creation.
If it's passion you crave
let me show you how
my body grinds against
powerful rhythms and rhymes.
Don't interpret what
you choose to see
as artistic expression
when mounds of
fanciers exclaim praise.
Just understand, that
in name alone
you hold the title
of revolution and
a birthright of
literal geinious.
