Another day in the life. All comments and suggestions appreciated. will return favor.

Down some roundabout road
Just off a well traversed main stretch,
I sit parked at a stop sign just after sun down.
packing my chillum and hesitantly wondering
if my mind could even climb any higher
As I scout out the area as if to care if I’m seen.
Still parked at the stop sign I inhale and exhale
and think and rethink what I want to do, what could I do?
When I get home I might strum my six string for a moment
but most likely ill lay in bed with the TV on
as if I were watching it.
I still imagine random scenarios centered around us,
Most of which we come together by a chance less then that of a bottled note hitting helpful feet upon a distant shore, few are of me waiting at a small table with meatloaf at a three star restaurant, and some we just meander along a mountain trail I know well, and have long longed to take her to,
but not nearly as much as I use to, as if my mind is atop other things.
But I don’t know,
it almost seems like life was more worthwhile when she was still my dream girl
in every sense of the now mutilated term.
Now I try to do, and say, all the things I’ve ever imagined doing with her
and to her, but I always imagined everything being different, and a constant comforting feeling of warmth more overpowering then stepping from Alaskan snow onto African sand, but the air is, as it always was,
as if she could change the atmosphere.
I do know I still love her though, I’m sure of it. I would sacrifice my life, and the existence of existence itself, to raise her smile an unnoticable amount.
But why can’t I be happy, why hasn’t she made me the man with a wider smile than that of the face of the moons', like I always dreamed she would.
I mean, I’ve always known I'm sort of crazy but- but now
I’m investigating the clinically insane, cause maybe I had never buried it deep enough.
life seemed so much more worthwhile,
being the lonesome miserable pot head virgin imagining happiness and the likes,
then it is being this theoretically happy half pot head who sometimes gets his dick wet, and has a loving relationship with a loving hollywood fantasy girl you not only want to ****,
but love to turn gray with, and watch the inside of a shared house slowly show ware day after day, as we eat together on a small oak table.
Our friends and family can imagine this as our future,
for she consistently updates them all on these plans of ours as they change ever so slightly, and continues to talk of marriage and family to her parental overseers
who continue to test, question, and mildly procsocute me, the future permanent possibility, as any good parent should.
Yet still I can’t shake this heavy curse of being unable to ever naturally smile.
i mean yeah I can define happiness, give examples, even pick it out of a lineup, but do I personally know it?
And so I light up alone, parked at a stop sign down a roundabout road off some main stretch of tar, and wonder how to continue on-
as if I were as happy as a man in my shoes should theoretically be
Last edited by CarnivalBeam at Jan 4, 2010,
Hey shoulds like it will be a great song but right now I am having big troubles trying to write a song about a nightmare and I just seem not to be able to think.. Music is my life and I need this song writen within 1 more month. It would be very helpful if I could get some help with writing my first song of my own.. See I have been playing guitar for about a 2years and i cant think of a thing for this song. I would like the title to be A Nightmare..

Heres my ultimate-guitar.com email. its all_most_post22 and heres my link..http://profile.ultimate-guitar.com/all_most_post22/

So it would be very awsome if I could get help with this song PLEASE!
these arent quite what I expected but thanks. and sure they do, but chillums are for the loners trying to quit, kinda.
Last edited by CarnivalBeam at Jan 4, 2010,
I like it. I can only hope that some day you don't become as callous as I am. Taking out on all future women prospects the failure of your first love.

I've spent my entire night reading old poetry I wrote for women(I used to do that) and a single letter my first love wrote to me after we broke up(three years old), I was incredibly high when I read it. I couldn't appreciate then what it meant for someone to spend so many words to express their love for me. Only now that it's much too late can I appreciate it.

And I cling to fifteen and sixteen, because I exhausted a lifetime of joy on those years.

I enjoyed it. Not because it was wonderfully written, but because it made me feel something.

Sorry for taking so long to return the critique. I've been on a wild bender.

Hey i appreciate the comment, and though I think all good poertry has to do is make the reader feel something I am trying to work on my writing skills. Would you mind giving me a brief reason as to why its not written well, or what about my writing could use improvement
I wasn't saying that the writing was bad, I was just saying it wasn't the best. The main point I was making was that you didn't need to impress me(your reader) with bullshit literary technique. The feeling you poored into the writing was enough to make the writing fantastic.

There's nothing wrong with it enough that warrants my drunk ass picking at.