20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers


Not Much of an Artist These Days

Splashing paint on the canvas
With both hands at random
Expressing anger and compassion
With a color or three
A ventilation system if you wish
Another stroke of the brush
Someone calls is rubbish
Some call it a masterpiece
They clearly didn’t watch me paint it
Broken brushes and spilled paint
Gracing the rug covered floor
Its a good thing walls can’t talk
That room is my catch-all
It’s where I leave my heartbreak
And all the hatred I have
A few torn canvases are proof
Lying mangled, tangled, empty
Much like you left me


(I wrote this a few days ago. I waited to post it here because I wasn’t really sure how I felt about it. I’m still not sure, but I think it is the sum of life in general for me right now.)

There you are, screaming
Words I can’t comprehend
My minds is focusing on the sounds
Of the bike spokes passing
The ticking of the clock
The bass on the speakers
An image in the corner
My vision blurred
My minds so clear
I know exactly what’s going on
It’s like coded numbers
Painted on the walls
But the code is illegible
I’m writing so fast
But it took me two hours
A sentence through
This is so scattered
It’s like a bus versus a scooter
What does that mean anyway?
The sunrise is paintable
Oh those words, back to that
Focus on the importance
I can’t stop myself from distraction
I can’t put this together
All the wounds
I thought you were asleep
Now I see the blood
It’s over, so over
You were screaming for help
But I couldn’t help you


There was a moment in time
When I thought you meant it
It felt so real, I knew it wasn’t
I’ve been wasting these years
Like they were just mere seconds
Passing away hours and days
To keep you with me
Its taken forever for me to see
Just how crooked you were
And just have arrogant you can be
I loved the good and the bad
I’ve loved you all these years
I remember the first kiss
The smell of that cologne
Everything’s changed now
Not all for the better
You keep saying that it doesn’t matter
How can I forget this?
Five years. Five.
If this is over, I’m not alive.


Ode to the Irish in me.

A bottle of Jameson
And a best friend
When the world fails
Hit the bottle again
Jameson never fails
He keeps me tall
Makes me fearless
And makes me thankful
A best friend to hold
To keep me right
To be glued to me
In the middle of the night
When it’s me against the world
I take another drink
Jameson keeps the world balanced
He never lets me sink

This has yet to be given a fitting title.

This little town
It’s dragging me down
Sitting on the river bank
Alone, we drank
Waiting on the rising sun
Hoping it’s all done
Taking a little midnight dive
Just thankful to be alive
Losing faith in humanity
On the brink of insanity
We sit and think of ways
Try to get back those days
When happiness was easy
The wind was breezy
Life was so simple then
Now, we are facing the end
Living life in this little town
On the river, our friendship will drown.


Self Portrait


I do not have any poetry to post today. So, I thought I would upload a picture. For those wondering, this is the current look. I’m not huge on taking pictures of myself, which is in fact why I’m a professional photographer. But, alas, here I am! Ha! Hope everyone’s having a wonderful week! :)


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 3,787 other followers

%d bloggers like this: