Faithless

I could not be a trusting Sampson.
I knew you to well, Delilah.
I graced you with myself,
I fought your battles,
I surrendered to your whims.
But one night as I lay
Upon our shared bed
I found the Golden Shears
Beneath your pillow.
And when you tumbled
Into my waiting arms
I buried your Golden Shears
In your flawless breast.

I Hate You

I love the way you drink your coffee
I love the way you tie your shoes
I love the way you still ignore me
When I’m trying to kiss you.

I love the way that you laugh at me
I love the way you don’t deny
I love the way that you say “Trust me”
I even love the way you lie.

I love the way you trash my things
I love the way that you say “Just friends”
I love the way you hate it when I sing
I love your face when you see him.

I love the way you make excuses
I love every pen tattoo
I love all of your abuses
I love the way that I can’t hate you,
No matter how I try.

Southern Cities

We are a City, not a Town.
Because a Town is
camaraderie barbecue a white sheet
Smaller than we are.

We are a sprawling pseudo-metropolis.
Our City is
tradition isolation a thrown rock
Filled with People.

We are tens of thousands among billions.
The People are
masked enraged filled with rot and maggots
Polite and Hospitable.