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I have a poor excuse

I trust too easy

And it's left me broken

I had to. These are your words

You had to hurt me

Before I hurt you

And now I'm left with hand prints

No one can see them

But you. And I. 

Amazing how you place the blame

Make assumptions

Over a girl you'll never know

You have done nothing but redeem my faith

That not everyone can love

Not everyone deserves to be loved

The world is full of ugly people

If you don't mind

I'd prefer to be alone

Orange Rind

I had a dream last night

That I wrote my suicide poem,

the words of which where unclear to me,

In black magic marker

On an orange.

I placed the orange in a green teacup,

Saucer and all,

Put it on an empty counter

And sat. Waiting. 

For someone to come along

And peel away my last words.

To devour my thoughts.

And let me die in peace.

The Western Tunnel

The western tunnel was closed today

People in cars had to find another way

I sat on the pike watching them pass

Wondering why they let their lives move so fast

I slow down time, staring at the piers

Watching the people, alone, with my fears

The rhythm of the highway doesn't match the passing tides

And the mountains seem a backdrop from yet another slide

Machines to make the city taller

Creating only unmasked squalor

Where seagulls perch to pick up trash

And homeless men sit and beg for cash

All this mixed with flowers and trees

Where the cityscape intertwines with the breeze

The ominous clouds are really mountains

The roads are filled with statues and fountains

The western tunnel was closed today

People in cars had to find another way

And as I sat on the pike watching them pass

I knew this feeling would never last