No

I doesn’t matter how nice you are.

How much you care about someone.

The time they owe you.

Anything you ever said.

How you changed them.

They’ll throw you anyway like yesterday’s news if it suits them.

VESPAS…

are amazing. I would trade every car in the world to have a vintage style vespa. Preferably in Candy Apple Red.

Like This..

That is one sexual piece of machinery. Mark my words, I will be cruising into school my first day of Senior Year on one of these babies. I’ll also probably get beat to death by some of the football kids. Whatever, it will be worth it.

AND THIS ONE IS JUST FUCKING AMAZING

the addict

i read this at the Slam Poetry club at my school to a grand audience of let’s say…hmmm three people maybe?

Morning falls achingly across the pavement

As the cruel autumn wind

Sighs through the city

Crawling silently across the withered flesh

Across the debris of a broken man

Haunting a narrow alleyway

Wearing the cringing posture of burnt paper

He mourns the embers

That once thrived inside his veins

Light trespasses

In the caverns of his sunken eyes

Creaking open with the cautious pace

Of a door to an unwelcome visitor

His gaze does not drift

To the wreckage, sparkling across his flesh

The wreckage, sleeping soundly on gaunt arms

Scattered keepsakes from his one true love

Photographs of desire

His grief echoes no simple words

No longing sonnets could sing his sorrow

His loss wraps him in fever

And burns retching in his throat

Memories grin behind his eyes

The taunting recollection of velvet touch

The beautiful sea in which he drowned

Followed by a faithful numb

Wearily, he stumbles

Stumbles from the scattered hours

Of yet another bitter slumber

To wander through yet another day