Monday, January 25, 2010


I once expected something and now I expect nothing
hoping something will change and I won't be running
This air I can't breathe, its too toxic for me
without those missing parts of you, I see
to do the same things, repeatedly, is the definition of insanity,
in hopes of a different outcome, sadly is my reality
With words of pure emotion, Chickasaw style of smoking
inhaling the leaves of trees, I stay choking
my mind races with the hope that it'll change
so I dial you again, and what happens? the same thangs...


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Okay, please tell me you're a musician, because I find myself making up little melody lines whenever I read your poems. There's always a nice rhythm going... Love the "Chickasaw style of smoking" - clever.


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