I wanted silence
sleep and sex.
I wanted all the customers to shut the fuck up!
I wanted to read poetry until my eyes fucking bleed,
I wanted to spill my stupid fucking heart out in front of a crowd
with words pouring out of me
so someone would see half of what I feel!
I wanted a fucking friend,
I wanted a night of drinking pint after pint of beer
just to go home and write without sleeping for a fucking week!
I wanted so much
that I may have never stopped long enough to fucking give.
maybe I wanted a beautiful woman to put love in a shotgun and shoot me in the chest;
and over until I got the fucking point?
maybe I need to quit working 7 goddamn days a week before i loose my mind?
do I Love you, yes.
do you hate me, probably?
and yet I still wake up every goddamned day and think of love,
and a thousand more fucking words keep pouring out
at a rate that i’m not even able to type at.