This poem is by a fellow writer from 3AM magazine. Her name is Gabby Gabby and I really relate to her poems. I guess it's selfish to say but we all seem to like writers who write the same sort of stuff on the same topics we tend to: Check her out at: http://www.3ammagazine.com/3am/three-poems-18/

How to live
On the edge of my bathtub I watch a girl
lick cum off of her face and smile.
I can cry while watching porn when it reminds me of sex
with someone that I loved who now loves somewhere else.
When the girl in the video kind of does something
that she thinks is sexy but the guy laughs instead of thinking it’s sexy.
When the sex is slow and it takes some time
to figure out how to change positions without pulling out.
My heart pushes up this heart stuff. I can feel it
when strangers that look like us are fucking.
We exist in there.
This poem isn’t going to teach you anything.
Look to porn to teach you about good living.

Dear Life

A psychic told me she’d read my palm On my lunch break
But I didn’t have time to know the future
I need it spelled out on my skin as I sleep
I need a lot of pain to know I am in trouble
A heart murmur and a bruise on the inside of my wrist I need you to reach for me and grip me tighter Maybe I need a bit of a dig Of your nail into my neck
A bright red bruise I need you to tattoo my name to the inside of your lip
So I can sit somewhere between your tongue and cheek
Or a little bit closer I need you for once to do what you say you’ll do
So you won’t be so god damn predictable
I can’t take your word on anything
All the phone calls that are intrinsic
All the nods that seem homage
To me but perhaps there was someone else there
That I didn’t know about Someone whose hair shines plasticine Perfect
Whose skin is pinched red and whose eyes gleam
Like candy cane Christmas Someone who sighs when you Touch her
Someone whose hormones don’t Control her life Someone who falls easy in to bed
Whose head rolls back when you fuck her In the mouth
Or in a stairwell Someone who doesn’t fall in love
But makes musical sighs Sounding somewhat like Beethoven
And a little bit indie rock maudlin. Maybe I am just holding onto you for dear life

Robin Hood

Give me one more day Sweet songs that sit at the back of my throat And refuse to budge Secrets that swim through the shell of me The highway which stretches all the way through this country Snakes through the dustbowl into this shithole town Drops you off and loses the keys Invites you for drinks and lovemaking Then slams the door on you when you are halfway in I don’t speak your language anymore Sometimes sign language can help But only in more benign situations You were sitting at my front porch waiting In the still frame of my daydream life You were moving to the subterranean crescendo Of deep blue longing Your hair was the deepest blue black And you got all my jokes Even the ones I never said If The highway is for gamblers the skyline is for everyone I breathe the dark soot of my cigarette Right down to its filter And you don’t care if I reek of smoke and lair du tempts the sun bleached stench of one who knows everything and nothing at the same time cover me be my backbone steady me against the imminent stretch of plate tectonics be my Robin Hood steal from the rich and give it to me

All the Things I feel for you