Those Matchbox Fantasies

Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric on Pexels.com

Those matchbox fantasies
Gunmetal grey panties with soft pink polka dots
She placed a stiletto on her wooden leg
Character assassination plots go all for naught
Unassuming by way of distraction
She’s hiding a switchblade under that dress
She’s dangerous down to her core
A beautiful woman – you don’t want to mess
Beware of their corrosive accolades
There’s no exoneration in the line of fire
She’s insolent about your theoretical love
In the end, she’s killed you with her underwire

Trying To Conjure The Ghost

Photo by mohamed abdelghaffar on Pexels.com

She said I was, “trying to conjure the ghost of Bukowski”
I told her there was better writers to admire
I’m not in college anymore
Drinking & degrading women won’t light my fire


I’m looking for inspiration to ignite my soul
A need to be revolutionized from the daily grind
Normalcy & the mundane will kill my spirit
I’m pushing forward to nurture & excite this weary mind

Dressed To Instantly Kill

Photo by Odin Reyna on Pexels.com

Dressed to instantly kill
No use for a Wonderbra
The sass in your hips
You’re clearly bourgeois

Dancing beside the bar
Telling me some dirty jokes
A subtle, seductive attitude
Smiling between the sly tokes

The band is still playing
Accustomed to rooms so plush
Focusing on my quiet charm
Your attention makes me blush

I’m trying to keep up
But I’ve only been with local girls
You lead me by the hand
& soon only wearing those pearls

Offering Up A Minimalism

Photo by Min An on Pexels.com

Offering up a minimalism
Finding cool without effort
Not weak enough to share
Tough; never going to revert
A mental state removed
Not allowing for them to kill
My soul still beating today
The essence won’t be distilled
Try as you forever might
I won’t be boiled down to a word
No single thought or character
All my expressions slowly heard