Home ate my heart out

I find symbolism in the moments
living in train cars and taxicabs
Between here, home and where my heart is
with a night cap, cloak and dagger stabbed
straight into my open chest
paint pictures when I remenisce
of times where all my female friends were angels
now all their wings are clipped
it’s funny how I’m still alone
still holding on to better songs
and better words in better poems
when you used to mouth along.
I’ve been a ghost this year
and my parent’s say come visit
my little brother hates me
’cause he knows I do not miss it
all the shouting in the living room
and holes in corridor walls
that house is black and blue
and it has liquor on it’s breath
it was the death of my childhood
and stands as memorial of dreams
but the best thing to ever come out of it
was me,
still holding on to better songs
and better words in better poems
when you used to mouth along

All is flair in Tolstoy and Exhibition

I broke my own eyesight with St. Patricks closed fist
in a bar fight with the boyfriend of my first Kiss Me I’m Irish
I might have layed on the accent a little
Talked with more than a little flair
But In love and war and drunk girls on Exhibition street
All’s fair, so I got beat fair and blue and white
You should have seen the other guys from this side of the bar(s)