Daily Verse a short verse (almost) every day

A Higher Stage of Grief

I refused it, denied it,
absolutely decried it,
this could never happen to me.

How dare he? The nerve!
I hope he gets what he deserves:
an evil witch as ugly as can be.

Is it true that we are done?
No way this can be spun
into a happy ending where he is mine?

My world is ashen and bleak.
I no longer eat or sleep or speak.
I just cry and weep and sob and bawl and pine.

These are the pieces of my life now.
Well, almost all of them, anyhow.
Slowly I will build myself up again.

Having been there, and done that,
having on my face fell flat,
I do think that I’ve learned a lot from pain.

But there’s no way this was my fault,
I am innocent by default.
One day he’s gonna pay for what he’s done.

If only he’d given us a chance,
my life would still have true romance,
we’d be two instead of far and lonely ones.

The Man That You Deserve

It’s not just you that I miss,
though I miss you so,
more than you’ll ever know.

It’s who I could have been
had you let me stay,
had you changed me in your way.

Like a collapsing wave
killing futures in its wake,
rippling the calmest of lakes,

That fake maybe self,
a faint fantasy at best,
shadows and echoes abreast.

The romantic mind,
addled and wonting,
impressed by ghosts and given to haunting,

Is tainted with your image,
and the promises thereof:
a me much finer than a me so rough.

One day I’ll find happiness,
and love too I suppose.
A matter of time in a large enough dose.

What I may never find, however,
for I clearly lack the nerve,
is the man I could have been, the man that you deserve.

Both Sides

I did to her
as was done to me
and now we’re broken free.

A historic replay
with three year’s delay
to the same day in February.

Having seen
both sides now,
I know how she feels and felt.

A little older,
a little wiser,
a little less innocent.

“No pain, no gain!”
Love is lost in the noise
of the ‘gram, FOMO and YOLO.

We’re all just dealing
with the paradox of choice
and will likely remain solo.


I’m not the hero you’re looking for,
I’m not the man you think.
I’ve lied and hurt and cheated and stole.
I smoke, I toke, I drink.

With power and fame and money and game
comes each and every vice.
My art was never artless:
but brimming with artifice.

The rules are different for guys like me,
at least that’s what they said.
And I believed them, and pretty soon
the power went to my head.

“Come here,” “stand there”, “a mocha chai latte!”
I’d scream at servants many.
“Good help is so hard to find,” I’d say,
“there really isn’t any.”

I’d push and I’d crush and move on to
the next project without a break,
never noticing the devastation I was
leaving in my wake.

The broken hearts, the crippled careers,
the extent of innocence lost:
the weight of all my sins combined,
the price of fame, the cost.

I never asked to be a hero,
but I’ve enjoyed it I’ll admit.
The higher up you raised me
the further I fall to shit.

I’ve taken a hit, but I’ll recover
and return in a renaissance.
But what of those whom I’ve abused,
who may never sing or dance?

Remember me for my art,
my single noblest part.
Do not peek behind the stage:
it’ll only break your heart.

Learn from my life, exceed it
in every way you can.
Dream and lead and succeed,
be an example to every man.

The time has come for you to
choose your heroes anew.
The time has come for me to leave
and I bid you adieu.

Inbox Zero

There are a handful of emails
lingering in my gmail
preventing me from achieving
the coveted inbox zero.

A pleasantry never returned,
a logistic ungoverned,
a reminder to update the website
of a man whose wife’s a widow.

These threads remain,
refusing to unchain
their present from my past,
my past from their presence.

I can’t bring myself to hit archive,
face the truth and accept that I’ve
failed those who reached out for help
in my lazy incoherence.

As long as those emails remain
in my mind the myth sustains
that one day I’ll respond to them
and set things right, once again.