And maybe in time,
Even I'll believe the lie.
So let's sweep it aside
And lock it deep inside,
And, let them belie-
Ve the pretended 'alright.'
ReflectingSo, when did we become strangers,
did you forget my face?
Do you know-
of course you don't, but do you know-
that I miss you,
I remember the fun times,
stupidity of our days together,
I still think of you
and the family;
and even that silly little crush
did you forget?
do you hide it away like a forgotten
because, on the inside,
you're too ashamed to admit,
you're not who you wanted
ObligationsWhat are these trinkets to me?
Obligations held to
Obligations tied in the mire
of a past quickly fading,
Why should I subject myself
To your tedious obligations,
To your restrictions,
in weighted shackles?
So I say,
What are these obligations to me,
Except things to be misplaced,
And gather the Dust of Bitterness?
I say they're ties,
and that I'm going to cut them away.
Why should I submit myself to
when you rejected my Love?
Cotton candy skiesAnd you know the pain:
You see it
can feel it,
Written over every orifice of the world,
Let it eat away at your soul as you watch
Your vapidly sentient
Capacity for action
Eroding away with every cell
This virus infects.
So you run,
Turn to apathy
And sit looking at the
Cotton candy clouds
A midst a burning backdrop,
And you hide this pain,
Like it doesn't exist--
Not in you
nor the world
nor in the minds of people
that you can see living it every
You run to the emptiness of pleciboed
Living on the internet,
Indulging in fantasy and pretend,
Living as if
still a child in Wonderland,
Forgetting you need to breathe air.
Yes you sit before a burning
Backdrop, a prelude to the end
of cotton candy skies,
And repress the existence
of this reality in-leu of
of the semblance of
Can I [part 1]Can I love you?
Can we take it back
in the dead of night-
To the way you'd
Can we take it back-
back to the iridescence that shown
in our eyes as we
lay back in the dark,
Can I love you?
Can I listen again,
To that mellifluous tone
That escapes your lips when you speak?
Can we rewind to when
I meant something to you-
when you weren't just pretending,
when I wasn't
just there for your personal
Can I love the way you used me-
-how the morning light was like
the lock to a treasure chest,
and the treasure it contained
Like just one more instrument
To be finley played-
the smiles we had glanced
across the table at dinner,
speaking our language,
our hushed tones igniting
quirked eyebrows from the others
and our own hard-silenced snickers.
Can I love you,
in this dark feeling,
lying here drowning in the quick-sand
while I try to fall asleep,
Can I love you,
when the scorched sun br
This autogenous iniquity-
the cacophony of sin
It bites and
Your antiquated conduct
shall find no place
In this world,
No rest inside these bounds.
Go on then,
Cry your heart to pieces-
and lacerate your soul.
Soft, to the degree of
Incising upon that inner you,
That softness with which
Your mortal soul now burns,
Dirtied with that softness,
Tender-hearted pain of empathy,
soft and hush
As it reverberates through your
As you feel your failings
each claiming a piece of you
with more rapidity than
Let the tears come-
so soft so soft-
and burn an antiquated brand,
deep into your soul.
As the empathetic scars
Breed lace into your heart.
For whatever has been done-
no man controls the past so let it
Now let it lie,
Be it burning with the
Assignment TwoA suitable grad-gift.
Wrapped in expected 'congrats!' tissue
paper, extended in love from the hands of a friend.
But, it isn't just a picture frame-
Special, because the hand-spun-silk, woven-cotton-soft
In brilliant crimson holds the pictures
You, and me, your smile so ambiguous,
Like the Cheshire's grin.
assignment oneLove is a hurricane,
inside your irises.
An acrid storm,
Exploding within your eyes.
Love is soft
even. Malliable when in
a sculptor's hands,
Such as your own.
So like the shifting water:
Frozen to solid,
Melted to liquid,
Or released as vapor.
Love is an idea,
Transparency that transgresses
The BeachThe beach is cold and stings
As dainty little feet walk across the sands,
That time has been unable to mar.
The sun is just a glow over the
Mist hangs in the air, footprints are left in the sand.
Nothing has changed.
The world could be thrown into darkness,
Buildings could crumble, people could die,
Or a job could be lost,
Or a house need repainting. It could be
A family argument, and tension among friends.
It could be the shadow in the doorway, a knife in it's hand,
Haunting your dreams again.
But the sands on the beach would still be unmarred by the
Cruel hands of time.
His love in you would be a butterfly of hope,
As the world was ending. His embrace
Would be a comfort in the midst of the dead.
The lost job will roll off his shoulders,
As he cracks a joke to make you laugh, because,
He lives for your laugh.
And he'd make a game, of the trivial task of house
Work, so that even though you both hated it,
It would be time you'd be together.
The family argument he would
The Adjustment BeauroI doubt you'll ever understand,
Just how worthless,
You make me feel.
You leave me with,
After each segment ends.
Maybe it's your nature,
Maybe the 'Adjustment
Beauro' just decided
We shouldn't be a we,
But you'll never understand
One way or another.
So I guess
I'll let you rip me apart.
I'm not good for anything else.
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
SapiosexualI don’t know what I’ll do
when the first fistful
of dirt hits the bottom.
Maybe I’ll follow you to the grave.
Or maybe I’ll pray
for a zombie apocalypse,
so we can dine on each
other’s brains one more time.
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flame
And eagles, turning, turn to fire
Ash cold, alone I lie
And think of you.
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,
that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead.
It isn’t true.
It’s said the stench of hell infects the earth
and healths of heated blood are downed.
But Hamlet lied.
The dead know nothing, the living less.
There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;
souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
Not My Kind of Fairy TaleDon't give me the Knight
Whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the Knight,
Whose armor is dull and broken.
Whose horse is weary,
Whose heart is heavy.
Give me the Knight who looks at the dragon with pity,
For that dragon has done nothing,
And is just as imprisoned as the princess he guards.
Don't give me a princess who only wishes to be saved,
By that Knight whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the princess who wishes to escape yes,
But wants to free the dragon,
Who does not wish to marry her savior--
Nay, give me the princess who wants to explore,
Who wants to live and to learn.
For the years of imprisonment only made her yearn,
Not for the Knight whose armor shines bright,
But to see the world and live in the light.
Do not give me the evil dragon,
Whose soul purpose is to give that bright Knight something to fight.
No, give me the dragon who is weary,
Who longs for the freedom of the sky,
Whose leg is burdened with chains,
And whose heart aches for the princess he must guard,
the world is brighter where
dregs of strangers' revels remain --
i keep this half-light for my own.
i'll stay until the wind sighs a scotch-and-smoke
cliché, til the Muscadet's slipped from the lip
of my wayward
hello.(i know you're there before you do.)
your night is told in
patchouli-pulse wanders; mine,
in whorls of liqueur-breath. come
close and i'll find the warp
through the weft, the trails telling tales
in synaesthesia --
Platinum Blonde's been 'round and gone.
(-- closer, find syllables strewn
in an exhale's wake; stolen from my throat-
ful of careless farewells, spin and sway
and beg you stay.)
time enough for a kiss-
and-never-tell, for a stumbling waltz
to the dissonance of crystal-shatter odes
to the summerlong i knew you --
we were(n't) meant for more than this.
morning goes right through you,
and breathes a thousand fortunes in-
to shards of (our) stranger starfall.
and when we kiss,
he says it
leaves him breathless,
is just two awkward kids
reminding each other to breathe,
that's all you need.
A Somber NightA Somber Night 1/1/07
The times we spent together weigh
heavily on my mind.
Red was your flowing dress
on our second date.
Yellow, the tulips I gave
you on our six month anniversary.
Our life before the incident is a blur.
Green was the grass we laid in
as we gazed at the brilliant stars all night.
What are you thinking now?
Are you thinking at all?
We were as one, our bodies intertwined.
Remember how we would interpret
the shining ones as our imaginations wandered?
I stayed up all night when you got sick.
When I view the stars now...
I die a little inside.
Black is the color I wear.
Blue is the feeling I am fighting.
You were the one I wanted to
drink coffee with every morning.
You left without explanation.
You left too soon.
Orange shined down on your tousled
hair at dawn - the waves remind of pain.
Yellow is the sunrise we can't share anymore.
I envision your last breath.
Anger engulfs my eyes with
The Silver stars never lie,
their light continues to shine,
You can't have it allbut you can have the glazed heat bursting from the blacktop like a broken
fire hydrant. You can have the jangle of keys
swinging from your hip with each stride.
You can have the tactility of leather and the graze of
bathroom mosaic tiles under a cold shower pelting
bullets and when the water cuts off
you can have dry book pages. You can have happiness,
though it will often be bitter, like finding a stranger’s
wallet full of pictures of smiling children until you
return it to find that the couple is barren.
You can have the scratches on the back of his knuckles,
faded, yet raw. You can have the translucency of sheets
in the sun, silhouettes but no details,
never revealing anything more than a fringe of hair
and frayed laces tripping over themselves.
You can drop obscenities like bombs until
they don’t mean anything anymore. You can pull out the Monopoly board
that broke your family. You can’t put it back together,
but you can pretend the thimble is your mother and the