Words

The Six Degrees of Matt Burns | home

In those times of frantic mindset, when you're beyond words with others, its time to converse with yourself. Here lies the power of writing therapy, channeling out your conscious through the pen onto something completely void, its basically osmosis of the emotions that pool inside you. Who knows, in the end it might be even something you'd like to keep for later! I've been sticking to this regimen since about Middle School, I've received compliments and criticism of what I write about and how I write. Sometimes I get stuck on the concept of romance for months at a time. I welcome additions of your own submittal or of someone else who may have a better way of expressing your feelings. Overall I think there is something special in calling a poem or a story your own, imagination is fluid, you don't have to let it run dry.

And people crowd around the poet and say to him “sing again soon” -in other words, may new sufferings torture your soul and may your lips continue to be formed as before because your screams would only alarm us, but the music is charming. --Soren Kierkegaard

O me! O life! Of the questions of these recurring,

Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish

than I, and who more faithless?)

Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the

struggle ever renew'd,

Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and the sordid crowds

Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me

The question, O me! So sad, recurring -What good amid these,

That you are here- that life exists and identity,

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a

I went to your house

Walked up the stairs

Opened the door without ringing the bell

Walked down the hall

Into your room where I could smell you

And I shouldn't be here

Shouldn't be here...

Would you forgive me love if I danced in your shower

Would you forgive me love if I laid in your bed

Would you forgive me love if I stay all afternoon?

I took off my clothes

Went through your drawers

And I found your cologne

Went down to the den

And I played your Joni

And I shouldn't stay long

You might be home soon

Would you forgive me love if I danced in your shower

Would you forgive me love if I laid in your bed

Would you forgive me love if I stay all afternoon?

I burned your incense

I noticed a letter that sat on your desk

I love you so, love.

Meet me at midnight."

And no, it wasn't my writing

It wasn't my writing

So forgive me love If I cry in your shower

So forgive me love for the salt in your bed

So forgive me love If I cry all afternoon

I Can Write The Saddest Verses Tonight

I write, for example: the night is in love with stars,

And tremble, blue, the stars, from afar.

The wind of the night dances in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest verses tonight.

I desired her, and at times she too desired me.

In nights like this one I had her in my arms.

I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She also desired me, and at times I did desire her.

How could I not love those grand fixed eyes of hers.

I can write the saddest verses tonight.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear this immense night, more immense without her.

And the verse falls within my soul like…

Of what importance is it that my love could not save her.

The night is in love with stars and she is not with me.

That is all. In the distance someone sings. In the distance.

My soul is not content that I have lost her.

As though to bring her close, my stare looks for her.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night that makes the trees bend.

We, we of then, are no longer the same.

I no longer desire her, this is true, but how much I desired her.

My voice search within the wind to touch her sound.

Of another. She is of another. Like she was of my kisses.

Her voice, Her clear body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer desire her, this is true, but perhaps I do desire her.

To love is so short, and to forget is so long.

Because on nights like these I had her in my arms,

My soul is not content that I have lost her.

Although this is the ultimate sorrow she has given me,

And these are the last verses that I write for her.

I put away my desire tonight;

Tucked her safely and warm into a dream

I only wish I could enchant.

Running my fingers down her arm relieved

My moment's sorrow but left me aching for

The stars of her eyes, those missing twinkles rise

At the dawn of her sleep. I tickled

Her fanciful ear, fancied to be

Tickled myself should I interrupt her from rest,

I laughed with a smile and sighed with

A deep heart that creaked like the closing

Door behind me. So often I walked out, alone, back to home

Where I knew still another waited for me.

Another well kept, waiting vigilantly for me to

Comfort her as the sun goes down in my eyes.

Stars and angels' tears are all that heaven holds.

love is more thicker than forget

More thinner than recall

more seldom than a wave is wet

more frequent than to fail

it is more mad and moonly

and less it shall unbe

than all the sea which only

is deeper than the sea

love is less always than to win

less never than alive

less bigger than the least begin

less littler than forgive

it is most sane and sunly

and more it cannot die

than all the sky which only

is higher than the sky

These lonely nights, my patience fights, to keep awake and true

No matter how many times I've rolled over to the empty side of you

Or looked for places to rest my head, to rest this shaken soul

To have lost is to have loved, to have never confessed it at all

Just sometimes I can't help to think of her, and how she used to breathe

Or how she might be of another body, on this very night, released

Shared in dreams, we slept in peace, now in pieces I remain

I want to hear the dream-light sigh away, between her oral frame

Instead I roll on back, on my own, blind hopes and eager ears

Waiting, waiting for something new or not, just waiting for her here

Revelations, regrets that paralyzed

This boy, who kept the sun

On the back of his hand

In sin-dication, he felt,

These had burned away

These days, and the people he did not

Jumping in a back room

Throwing his money down at the bed

Could make him melt, but keep her arms

A lazy tongue burdened his eyes,

Kept them half drawn but still

Roaming along, green as any sickness

Now he's reaching out to himself to find

Nobody there, only the cold, tanned

Whore, demanding some more

Greenage to listen to him whine about

All the swine with doubt

That keeps him yelling awake

Nothing happy is ending, nothing close is fleeting

Everything strong is bending, worries starved, are feasting

Eternity at hand is cramping, the world, with me, encaving

The tranquil churn the trampling, my time enfrees the slaving

Fate, an indecisive choosing, Love, the gleam before the losing

Hate is realizing my weakness, Dreams are my rise from meekness

Everyone leaving is staying, memories with dreams embrace

The were's and will's are fraying, a new beginning in every face

Please don't let it be, say alittle lie for me

I've fallen too much today

A pick-me-up please, from you to say

What I mean to you and so on

The filler and then be-gone

What I need from you is (most simply)

I dream with you, of

you and irresistibly

For you, waking hungry for

A good morning's kiss

Satisfied by, only you

Restful, if (love) in the

Age-old dogma of warm beds

And two sets of cuddling,

Cannibalistics Lips, devouring

One another, and so I wake up hungry

For you, like a wonderful dream

I feast with smiles on my

Looking into my hemophiliac

Sky, full of lost clout, whisper

Thin currents like smiles

Gushed forth lament and sorrowful

Punished because I do not admit

To Love, loved because I do

Not give in to hate, easily,

What is forgivable might I

A slap to the wrist or a

Where once palms held fast, but now

Open faced, Red painted Nails, Face

Teary, Bloodshot, Hopeful in Deniability

Cry not Freedom my almost called

Love, cry not in Frustration over

My so called love, You cry

For me with inescapable belief in

Your wanting-it-so-badly love, You

Punish yourself in whatever name

Given to it, however you give

It, whoever you give it to,

How you annunciate it, like speaking

Wind, two lips and one long

I don't know the exact words to say as I am

Lost in your beautiful eyes, and held agape by the

Outpouring of pure happiness that goes through every

Vein in my body. Maybe the meaning will be

Enigmatic under all the feelings I'm trying to get you to

Understand, just know that all I'm trying to say is...