versebyverse

the last time I saw you was soaked in summer and sweat: four-square and hop-scotch abandoned on the blacktop. we wearied too quickly of childhood games. your good-bye was drenched in distraction and heat, a long drawn-out lullaby withering on unsteady wings. I tried to say it simply, but my poetry got in the way. I tried to evolve into the dust between your eyelashes, so that maybe a part of you would come to be encased within my ribs. I never could let go. your smile faltered into the most beautiful decay I have ever known. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry and now that summer has faded into an elegiac autumn, I still cannot

When I get lost in wandering, I know the best direction to put your chips in is always up because that's where you get that view and can finally see the road you lost however long ago But just one  time I reached the top, and for all I could see, there was nothing. From that point of earth I had thousands of miles of land spreading out around me like spilled milk, but all I could see was empty space. It was all there, but it was all elsewhere simultaneously. And it was quiet I mean the purest, absolute quiet. Something I had honestly forgotten about, usually feeling compelled to fill it up with sounds that exist only to avoid insta

Let me begin by being frank- you will not like me. You don't like me now, and I can guarantee by the time we're done, you won't like me a great deal more. The thieves are envious and the ladies repelled, they do not like me. I do not blame them though, do you know who I am? For those of you who have not guessed why my hands are entwined with this metal, I think you'll find it quite pleasurable in knowing that I am, in fact, a murderer. I confess what I did, it's no secret, and I'm quite proud of the fact that I'm here and minutes from my release. I wasn't always like this you know, I used to be a poet. I had a life of my own, wit

I want to be the one, Who is cradled in your arms. I want to be the one, Who speaks into your ear. I want to be the one, You spend the night with. I want to be the one, You think about constantly. I want to be the one, You try to impress. and I want to be the one, You kiss and do not forget.

There's a tapping at my window as I stare at the ceiling, and although I know it's just the old oak tree, I get the feeling like someone, or perhaps something, is there with jaws dripping in anticipation of biting into my neck. The sound of flesh ripping from bone fills my head. I am scared. I wonder if this demon knows who I am, if I was chosen specifically to die by the Baron von Lichtenstein or Lord Canterbury, or the ever-obviously named Count Death. I resist temptation to hide, knowing the beast can't be tamed by simply pulling the covers over my head. The minutes slip by, each feeling like an hour in its own right. My throat is

Time just seems to hang whenever you are in my arms And yet it also flows double-fast and the precious moments do not last long enough I find myself longing to see you moments after we've said good-bye as if five minutes is an eternity and no amount of time with you is long enough I would give anything to make these        moments                last                    forever For these moments are perfection.

A sighing cry, Escaping the lips of a child, A ferocious wail, Creates a sound of the wild, A deceiving whimper, An internal battle never to be found, Your last moment, Hurt. Gashed. Profound.

My forced smile speaks softly of desperation, breaks concentration, and tears down the walls of my silent condemnation. -Brian Shuffett August 8th, 2010

Broken bloody fingers, swollen hot from bites that won't heal; My face is hidden--for my protection, so they say. Not a sound in the room, except the wheezings from my wracked lungs. Dizzying days pass by so slowly in here; Will they never let me out? My friends--or should I say, my EX-friends-- Set me up.  Said I was out of control.  Out of my mind.  Dangerous. It's too bad that I can't see them anymore, or anything else for that matter. The healing is slow, and I wish time were a person; Could such a thing be allowed? Hands are feeling better, though maybe I only feel them less. It's terrible being o