Angry Writings Make The Worst Writings

I’m done and my speckless vocabulary has been wasted
For a day spent working looking forward to earning
Some well deserved time with a beautiful, immaculate mind
Between coffee cups and dirty snow roads.

A well-built wall, built by God is keeping me back
Making each and every mistake prevalent
To this boy attempting to be a much better man
Locked and staring at a ceiling fan, in a home, I no longer know.

Clock lost its sense of symphonic tempo
Leaning forward and pressing the minutes down a storm drain
Vase of roses rises to my mind, in my sleep
Memories wilt the eyes of a shepherd-bound, lost sheep.

Blot with black the face I thought I’d keep
Sorely dressed to seal some sort of false fate
I hope this finds you to boil the blood wrapping your bones
Takes you to your knees feeling the sick, sin of defeat.

Hang the cloth of white on a warm wood bed post
Let the ghost know, I’m not done fighting, just yet
I’m a fruitful, night owl, imperfect, lost boy
I’m the place for a scenic mind and safe soul.

I’m the late night call, need-you-now, sweetest boy, nicest guy, Keslerbear, curly hair, early-morning wake-up-kiss, forever forgiving for wrongful wrongs, too kind at times, open mind, poet of sorts, writes things girls want written about them, but all reject the thought of it, musical hard-drive, vinyl man, guitar strumming, short-song composer, keeping composure, helping-hand, complimenting things beyond physical taste, and always have been here for myself, when I need me, because I am the lone wolf, cuddle-bear, ginger beard hair, complacent at times, line by line, and killing time with writing words to ease this heavy-burdened crane, don’t take my lane now, because I’m on a path guided by the imperfect steps I track, and I’ll try not to let you down, or frown, because some angry writings make for the worst writings, but this one turned out all right.