I Give Up On Poetry, It's Frustrating.

Having a voice's worth more than a soul, when you've sold that off for love and rock&roll.

It doesn't matter, let it be. Today there's nothing wrong with me.

And when they come and when they lay, we'll wait for sleep and get away.

These words that flow straight from my lips, they'll jump on paper like vivid ticks.

And when this stops making sense turn it over to side B, this is how I get you to fall in love with me.

I hate poetry, all the rhyme.

It's all too planned, no freedom aligned.

It seems to happen, I think I can

Put a smile on your lips, and a quarter in this can.

With all the talk about "the flow", if I got this skill I just don't know.

I think finally my sky has found a star.

In between the silly smiles and the planned nerd, food, paint wars.

Still got some skills i'm yet to hone.

But I can safely say, where you are is where i'll call home.

And fuck, I can't find anything that goes with "I love you".

I give up on poetry, it's frustrating.

Cityfolk and The Lost

God i'd sure hate having an awkward wake-up call.
Waking up next to someone you don't know pretending they love you when all they really want is for you to be romantic for the next few hours until you both go to work and never see eachothers faces again. A poet sailed away from his home and doesn't think he'll be seen ever again, got caught up in a storm and will be lucky if he makes it out of this one alive.
Cretins the whole lot of them, trying to impress me thinking i'm that easy. I'll be taken in dead before I set foot on that kind of soil anytime soon.
Sunny days that turn into stormy sailing for the poet, he drifts off for a few seconds in hopes of regaining his faith in his memories. Looks behind his shoulder and see's a giant wave heaving over him.

By the night I wanna get your calls to tell me how many lines you've gone through, maybe i'll get turned on enough to stand the wet coke and sweat dripping on my sheets again. It wasn't meant to happen considering you came to my home at 3 in the morning shaking and obviously in need of comforting, it's the only use for me these days.
Our hero awakes in a daze with sand in his mouth and a rubbery hair from being in seawater for so long, spots some natives who have a mischeviously inviting smile on their faces.
Not too long from now you'll see me walking by and call me out from the crowd, but i'll try my best to ignore it. Not that I don't like you, I just don't bother with this kind of thing anymore.
Now our friend has been captured by natives but has found a loophole in the chiefs daughters heart. Good luck, dear one.