NothingI can't believe
You believed me
When I told you nothing.
Because, if nothing were true,
Then it wouldn't truly be nothing.
It would be a vacuum,
Which is a vacuum, not nothing.
To me, nothing means something.
It always means something.
But everything also means nothing,
As does something.
And nothing means everything
(I whisper such promises,
Into my trusting ears).
So, something means nothing,
And everything means nothing,
But nothing means everything.
And something, all at once.
This poem is nothing,
So please blow it off!
But remember that,
Though it means nothing,
It absolutely means something
And everything all at once.
Burning PoliciesI write long to-do lists
Only to tear them up.
I make plans for the day
Only to flush them down the drain.
I make important decisions
To remain utterly indecisive.
I devise my strategy
Only to forget it in practice.
I outline my intentions
Only to act unintentionally different.
I propose my daily procedure
Only to panic at the thought of living.
I write out my program
Only to ruin it.
Because you certainly had a great time
Planning and trashing our futures in one night.
So why can't I?
Have you stripped me not only to strip me,
But to strip me of my fun?
ProgrammingI am not programmed to love you,
I am not programmed to fight.
I am programmed to see only
What's in front of me - fake light.
I am programmed to ignore
Each word in which you speak.
Because after I spent the night with him,
I deemed your words "obsolete".
But I must remember,
Though it's difficult to admit,
That it was he who asked me "can I?"
And it's you I wouldn't permit.
The difference here is shocking,
And the Program begins to whirl.
But it settles before I grasp it,
And it's unable to unfurl.
So you progress with your wing-woman;
Progress it what programming does best!
As I attempt to suppress
This unsettling unrest.
Society has programmed me
As it has everyone it could,
But that keeps me no longer from saying:
If I could love you, then I would.
DamnedIn nearly the words of dear Scott,
The beautiful are absolutely damned!
Though I know nothing of beauty,
Or talent, for that matter,
I do know the curse of sensuality,
And I do know, in possessing such cursing "beauty",
Nature has damned the possessor upon the creation.
I am cursed by femininity,
And harmed by voluptuous nature,
I am followed by the hulking desire
And the shapes of my own shadow.
I am stalked in the night
By the night that craves an impossibility.
And, for this, I live horribly haunted.
ListeningThe ADDITION consumes me,
And I am alone in a room full of chatter.
I refuse to "love" like her,
And I am myself, but never Me.
The rain cries on your shirt,
Yet you're sure the tears fall from Her!
(A feat of which
A blind man couldn't even dream!)
You come to me with beer-filled veins,
And assume that your veins pulse with love.
But how might you hold anything
(let alone me)
When they're shaking?
I've given my time for you;
This poem is to you dedicated.
I've given more than you know,
And, thus, owe you nothing
(Especially an explanation!
Don't let it consume you
As you consumed it.
The shaking! The shaking!
All back and forth.
Please trust me to hold you steady,
And My, My! Be quiet!
The chatter won't leave me alone.
"I want you to, too" is my (untrue?) response.
But, dearest My, I still don't owe you shit!
I go deeper
(Deeper than you ever did)
And consider the "my" that was never part of me,
But was always part of You.
But the chatter leaves!
And the silence com
A Conscience and a SnakeI have a conscience.
I swear I do.
But in order to get to me,
You have to know I don't.
Have a conscience, that is.
Before you even reach my lips,
It will inevitably reach them.
My lips, I mean.
So you need to be ready
For the tainted mouth you'll kiss,
And know that It happened first.
Because I'd feel more guilt
If you didn't know.
But the guilt I feel
For letting it escape!
It slips through my teeth
Like an ugly snake,
And pokes it's head out
Oh, every so often
Just to remind you it's there.
But, to tell or not to tell the details?
Should I just flick the snakes tongue
Or let it burst from my lips?
If I let it burst forth,
It will inject venom into you.
But as it continues to linger
Behind my graying lips,
It feeds on my blood.
NumbersI was so sure about you,
And thus so sure about me
Because when we were one,
We were molded together in the Pile of Numbers.
And numbers mean certainty,
Or so I've been told.
I was given addresses to the homes
In which once surely lived lovely unicorns and dragons.
So given my naivety and hopes for a Fantasy,
I swallowed the Numbers (and other things too).
But, quite recently, I discovered:
The Unicorns are dead!
And they skewered the Dragons
With their horny horns.
So what do I do with the numbers?
I'll skewer them too
With the horns the Unicorns left,
And stuff them down in the dirt.
Perhaps they will then learn
How to properly mold,
And not to disrupt the Nature.
Slowly Moving at the Speed of LightWith the speed that you add
To this growing... thing?
I'm unsure whether
I'm moving forwards or backwards.
You move so slowly
For moving at the speed of light,
But I'm still not sure,
And I'll never be positive.
HandsI think of your hands,
So soft yet rough from the sea.
The grains of your palm
Were so lovely in caress.
Your knuckles had the potential
To break down a thousand walls,
But you're so gentle with me,
And I feel impressed rather than afraid.
My hands are so little,
And can not hold but a pound.
They're soft yet quite brittle,
But are so sure when they pick up the phone
Until they see the torn phone line...