Poetry of an american teenager

Poetry from my younger teenaged and early twenties self. Ponder it. Sorry about the language in the last poem. I was a very passionate person.

The Candyman

I'm afraid of the man
that sits on my curb and
offers me all the candy
i could ever need.
Sugar becomes sex,
and love walks away with
a smile,
and this sucker tastes
good enough to eat.

The Harvest

The lies
fall from my mouth
like sinful fruit
that without hesitation
you savor mindlessly
forgetting to wait for the lies
to ripen to truth

Dream #10

A dog walks a man
down an endless road
of candy cane houses
while their owners stand
on their hands and smile
toothless grins at one another
while the clocks all tick
backwards and the moon is the sun
and the sun is the moon
And all the vampires
lay in tanning beds
baking their skin to golden brown
while the boogy man
sits at a quaint little cafe
dining on a salad with fat-free dressing
while reading Vogue, and wishing to be
the next Kate Moss in Calvin Klein underwear
And the sound of The Bangle's
"Walk like an Egyptian" pours out speakers
installed in every street light
only interfered with the sound of the ice cream
truck coming up the ladders
never down the chutes
And the ice cream man sells
heroin in a cone and prozac on a stick
And all the rail-thin toothless smiling people
dream of the day when they will, hopefully,
become fat and cease to see their
bones in the upside down mirrors of sorrow
that make up all the sidewalks,
so that everyone can see up each other's skirts
while they walk down the street to the
"open mic" nights at the coffee shops
where no one ever talks but instead
all sit quietly reading the bible
wondering who God really is?

Lovesick

Your sugarcoated words
eat holes through my mind.
I wonder
how much longer
it will be
until all my thoughts are
decayed?

What is Forever?

Sitting on a pedestal
deflowered by the fingers of reality
Tongue-twisted and out of breath
from a kiss that never existed
In love with the idea of love
but not knowing what the f@!+ it is.
Knowing only that I hate companionship
to the point of craving nothing else.
And I hate the way that
you're pounding on the walls of my memory
as if to let me know that you're still there
and you will always exist,
and I'll never sleep.
Scabbed knees and red lipstick,
kiss me and make me all better
Open my mouth
but the words have dried up
and i cry
because i don't know what else to say
Scrape my nails down the spine
of my subconscious,
but nothing is underneath.
My identity is drowning
in thick rivers of regurgitated wants
that are flushed away form
everything that i need.