no matter how many times I've told you it won't get you anywhere.

Comparing a relationship to a game of Russian Roulette, where you put one bullet in a revolver and spin the barrel, aiming it at your head and firing. The loser is the one that gets shot, of course. It's a short poem for a short game.

I am selfish, I am wrong...

I really need to tell you that everything's gonna be all right, but everyone else is in the way.

I wrote this poem almost two years ago. My grandfather had recently been hospitalized, and my mom was not handling it well. I wrote this as an expression of the pain I saw in her.

i don't know what to do now that you don't smell like the desert.

Numbers, mob, valentine.

in a way I suppose this could fall under verbal surrealism, partly anyway, its got symbolism definatly, I actually don't mind if you don't reveiw, I just hope that you can relate to it on some level and you get something out of it