you told me you worry
you're not really good
if you're drawn to bad people
were you wondering why you ever liked me in the first place?
old fashioned cigars
the size of your fist
and knuckles bruised
the colors of the side of your neck when i kiss you
waiting for your own lungs to tar
and to trade the colors infused
in your neck
for a pair
just like mine
you don't want to be kissed anymore
you want to start kissing
waiting for someone to
til your skin molts
and your bones tingle
but you have to stop waiting
to teach you what that's like
we're all villains anyway
you're not really good
if you're drawn to bad
why do you think you were drawn there in the first place?
but i have something to tell you
from one villain
morals come from heaven
because no one has a conscious
so i'll play the villain for you
kiss necks till they're bruised
maybe throw a punch or two
and when you finally realize
your definition of bad
love, tar lungs, and
i only ever punch holes
you victimized sadness
and after you read this poem
i want you to tell me
can you even give me a clear definition of bad anymore?
It isn't a competition.
I don't care that something like that
Also happened to you.
Oh your dad left you too,
Yes that must have been hard,
I know because it happened to me.
Don't tell me that my pain isn't enough
Don't say your pain is more painful.
That I should be lucky.
Go fuck yourself,
This isn't a pity party,
This isn't a competition,
This is life and
It's not fair to compare yourself to others
And then deam their pain unreal.
every one is a disappointment
No matter where you go
You think you have a good friend
Why is the world so cruel
Making life so hard
I'll have to find a new friend
Just draw another card
People around me are hurting
And that's the worst part
How do I tell them I'm sorry
When I didn't crash the cart
This is all your fault
But yet I feel the blame
Can't see your name
So what I am asking
Isn't for much
Maybe the world be better
Like love and such.
I know the violence of drugs and the silence which cracks open stones.
I've seen the bones of the solid and sold and those who have died before they got old.
Don't you tell me it's not true that the lure of drugs will not get you,it's a trap,another line on your rap sheet,another magistrate to stand and meet and another dark and one more nameless street,
that you'll walk on your own.
Then ask her name, she will tell you to earn it.
She fills her glass, straight up no rocks.
Handling every shot cupid can manage,
Leaving men to lick their wounds.
She counts no money,
Only the free drinks and failed attempts.
Her face is easy on men, which makes men easy.
A surfers perfect wave are those hips.
She smoothly lights her cigarette,
Leaving ashes in the wind.
From her mouth she wont blow smoke up your ass,
Just cigarette smoke in your face.
Tell me your dreams
The desires for which you are so
Tell me so I can see the burning passion
in your piercing eyes
The sparkles that shine so prominently
Tell me your fears
The nightmares where dreaded creatures lurk in the
darkness, attempting to penetrate your mind
Tell me so I can prevent those common shadows before
they befuddle and torment you
The burning fury they obtain when they engulf you
at your most vulnerable state
Tell me how your mind works
The intricate way for which those wonderful
thoughts of yours flow
Tell me how to be so magically profound about
life, time, and death
The ways of straying away from reality to catch
a glimpse of paradise
Tell me the forbidding truth about my unfortunate path
The cold, naked, and abandoned road for which
I have regrettably travelled upon
Tell me that paradise is at the bottom of a trench
And I shall allow myself to fall, so that my life
shall perish happily upon landing in paradise
Well you know that I sip on my sadness, my dear,
Filthy palms, filled to the brim.
And I know that you watch those trains passing by
Dizzy eyed, still drunk with sin.
Your teeth reek of reality lately,
You smile facts, figures and cracked calcium.
Now, once more with cupped hands leaking, shaking
Delirium up to your chin.
Well I know that I’ve missed the point, honey
I should get it tattooed on my wrists,
But you know that you talk like firecrackers
So flinching gets awful hard to resist.
I make believe that I’m right like craters
make moons believe.
So I’ll comment on comets and ignore truths
popping between parentheses.
You say, “It’s fiction we live in
You play in pastels
and fake hollywood rhythms
and I’m tired, staring up at your screen.
You're addicted to this diction
My voice is lost, screaming
these words you keep stealing
and twist for yourself what they mean."
Sometimes we sit soaked to the waist in nothing
Fringe Wolves snarl, drool and moan;
I’m afraid that this desert’s left them starving
They crave marrow within bone.
Dripping teeth, curled clawed toes and howling
I swear they feed every time that we breathe.
By cinderblock, flashfloods or whirlpools
Just drown us properly.
Well, one day we’ll resurface to find ghosts reborn
from hallowed shells of Fringe Wolves
Who waltz wicked and crooked a foxtrot to show
sometimes loss is beautiful.
And when I ask for your hand you’ll look tragic
like you never saw what I see
When you walk away, I’m toe-tapping
to some song you kept whispering.
You say, “It’s fiction we live in.
It’s intended for men like you,
but I've watched you drain out in my palm."
This clothing, from bedpost to box-spring,
It's all wax-coats and smoke screens,
live lit-candle lasting
When did skin begin to fit wrong?
So when they ask for me at the after party
With neon eyes and harlot tongues,
You can tell them I traded this stale air in
For forest fires and tornado lungs.
'Cause I’ve been reading up in matchbooks
how to ignite with star-gazer eyes.
So feel free to maintain your Truth
but pardon me while I burn up in Lie.
I fall, helplessly into the meadow. The tall grasses embrace me with their long fingers. The soft yellow bells droop down onto my cheeks. They cover me in their sweet scent, and the warm butter sun melts onto my face. I push myself up with my arms to gaze at the sanctuary around me. A gentle breeze wisps in circles around my head. Several stray strands of hair dance on my cheeks, and catch in my eyelashes. I pull the tangles away from my face, and stand up. I am surrounded in a barrier of ancient willows and maples. They seem misplaced here, old, wrinkled, and sagging. For the rest of the meadow is a swaying sea of oddly touchable pastel flowers. I bring my hands up to my head, and touch my hair. The light is warming my agave colored hair. I step forward, and laugh melodically at the feeling beneath my feet. The soil is welcoming, and the long tentacles of the green grass tickle my toes. I realize when I look down, that my feet are bare. I forget what happened to my sandals. In a flash, the thought of how I arrived here passes through my mind. And then it’s gone.
The grass whispers and brushes, rustling a delicate sound. But apart from that, there is only one sound. Somewhere distant, somewhere unknown, my ear catches the music of my childhood. Ocean waves, pulsing against the earth. Suddenly, a current of air snags the light fabric of my dress. And with that current, like a child’s kite, I am picked up from my feet. I can feel an indescribable sensation in my stomach. It flutters like the butterflies that float around me. My feet pedal like on a bicycle, and I roll around in the magic that lifts me. My laughter rings in the sanctuary as I drift higher, up into the sky. Beyond the wall of trees, I can hardly distinguish the features of the land. Pillowy clouds lie low, and random branches from the trees sometimes peak out the tops. The horizon erupts in a splash of rose pink, mango, and turquoise. A pure, innocent beauty.
The ecstasy is abruptly interrupted. I look beneath me, and I am painfully, suddenly aware that I am floating, high above the ground beneath me. The spell is broken. My body drops, plummeting down, fast. I scrunch my eyes shut, and brace for the hit. But there is none. I cautiously open my eyes and realize I am mere inches above the ground, suspended in the current. I reach my fingers down, to kiss the earth with my fingertips. My legs and waist elegantly lower with the rest of me to the ground. I turn over onto my knees, breathing rigidly, attempting to regain my composure.
Where am I? This world, I am found in, is curious. I doubt this reality. One cannot simply escape from the world! With great doubt, I raise up my hand to cup the daffodil in my palm in front of me. It never falls into my palm. Instead, the petals begin to grain, and distort. And in a matter of seconds, it simply vanishes. In confusion, I look to the sky, and watch as the vibrant blue fades to a wan purple and cracks, like the shell of an egg.
“This can’t be real-“ I mutter to myself. The long branches of the willows evaporate their leaves, and like skeletons and bones, dry up as if submerged in acid. I stand up, and spin, desperately looking for a part of this world. Something, still alive, something animate. I twist and turn in desperation, the world around me smearing into nothing.
My breathing is rapid, and uneven. I lift my face from my pillow. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my hair sticks to my neck. I look down, still in pajamas. Lying in my bed.
I am baffled. Was this a nightmare? No. Not quite. But, was it? I scoff at my ridiculousness. Of course it wasn’t real. What am I thinking? I sigh, and lie my head back down to my pillow, and turn my head to the window. ‘Sleep again, it wasn’t real’, I tell myself. But, just as I start to shut my eyes, something catches my eye. Despite the impenetrable darkness that lurks in my bedroom, I spot something soft and yellow. Set atop my rug, lies the same delicate, yellow daffodil, waiting for me to cup it gently in my palm.
There is a freedom in delusion,
It is artificially flavoured and cheap-
for anyone desperate enough to buy it.
Like this, there are many more copies of the originals.
It is the promise of Love,
The dissapointment of failure,
and the bitter taste of regret.
Yes, there is a blind happiness in the act of faith;
believing in the shadows reflected on the walls of the cave.
A hard truth to accept- the lies you tell to yourself
as you go to bed and succumb to wishful dreams.
Another day wasted-another mind twisted.
The vitality of grass and the prattle of the birds ceases
love fades away, as does the vigor of the summer.
Words once fluent, now cease to forced murmurs of dispassion.
There goes the first leaf of autumn-
in the cold harshness of the creeping wind.
There is honesty and pain in recognition,
Deceit and grief at the eyes of imitation.
Yes, there is a temporal taste of forged happiness;
A comfort in the fabric of deception.
You're my umbrella
Constantly protecting me
From rain and wind
And other things of the sort
I know for a fact
That I always appreciate you
Whether or not
I always tell you
Last week I noticed
That while I was struggling to stay dry
You were struggling
To stay together
I hadn't realized
That while keeping me safe
You were in constant pain
And close to being torn apart