Jun 22, 2025
Untitled 16
Photography by A. Lilia Smith
2012
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Untitled 16
Photography by A. Lilia Smith
2012
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A vagrant halfway across A bloody world.
He brushes red sand out of his hair, Contemplate what it would be like To be stuck on Mars with a rover For a companion.
He sees a ball of twine And plucks the strings; Hears a chord in tune to his laughs--
A side not quite manic, not burnt, Not yet beginning, not quite Done with him like he would like. Possibly medium rare.
His gaze drifts out to the sea Of grit and phantoms of yester; Sings them a proper song, One with a happy ending.
Untitled 16
The ink bleeds from my pen like the blood that should drip from these wounds But don’t Why, because I’m tough. Tough enough to hold back the blood or maybe just not recognize it. Tough enough not to cry when I know tears are needed Yeah, I am a real man. Except real men don’t lie in front of truth and do not deny the heart of its wants Real men don’t taunt life, they embrace it. And Right now I am afraid Afraid of a life I barely understand Hell, I’m afraid of getting laid or even getting paid Because then, then I have a choice A choice of saying I love you or a choice as simple as what to buy It means my voice matters; even when I am to feeble to say it does Right now, I stand on the edge of a cliff too afraid to jump or scream Even though the fall is only ten feet I can’t decide if its water or concrete below me All I know is it will hurt It’s the difference between a broken bone or a little sting ~Paul Ryan
