Times have been hard
We've been through too much...

Same first three stanzas of my poem 'A Boy and a...

She walks with one hand rested on her hip
She sways as she puts the bottle to her lips...

(funky rhyme sheme, do you get it?)
Sitting in front of the computer...

I'm living in isolation
Banned from negotiation...

Listening to Bob Dylan and Van Morrison
Singing love, love, love, crazy love...

There are words that need speaking
They rest on the tip of my tongue...

Paint my nails before I leave the open door
I pray that I will not see you anymore...

There she sits, my lover's wife
And I his concubine...

Sweet sarcasm rumbling through the halls
Of empty rooms with empty tapestries...

This empty chasm fills my lungs as I breathe
Conspicuous suffocation taking me...

Grey smoke billowing in the whispering breeze
Pine needles twittering in the great pine trees...