December Aint Much Better

Vomit.
Now I know why writing is better than typing.
Sleeping next to a time bomb
is why I sob.
Lets sleep.
Her name was name and her game was
365:
everything you want to hear.
Its an "Im sorry" and "I believe"
dry heave.
Yes,
money man,
I have stumbled upon infinite series.
Add and add and add.
Is that the wrong mathematical
attitude
aptitude?
I tried counting steps
and misspellings and
wound up with
a frown.
I deviate far from the norm.
I remember sky watches and
a corn field filled with
giggles and laughs.
I experience time and
eye twinkles that
trickle past.
Please.
I have but one request.
Fill me in on
the need and pin spin to
declare the best.
When you deny the top of the charts
for the bottom of the barrel and regret it
where is it that you are left?
Last breath,
Twenty steps past death,
Ahem.
I clear my throat to clean the scene.
I clean my virus to
bleed clean the reams
of writing.
I fucked up a gross
post
most
grown moss
unforgiven.
All I wanted was an I love
you back.
Two thumb tacks hold
the weight of
a moron.
Sleep while running in
place.