Everyone has demons
Everyone has things they regret
Everyone has things
They'd rather soon forget

'' im not scared ''

We hadn’t kissed yet
But my name would roll off your tongue
As if we did
And I was dying to know how it tasted
On your lips

you would
know

that it's
time

to be
happy

for

YOURSELF

What a curse for the world of poets to lie within the realm of dreams. We'll never see the real thing the same way, nor will any other see our world at all. So we are strung apart, and never understood, as we seek endlessly to understand ourselves.

Kinship, and loss.
I know of resonance, but not of thought.
I feel emptiness, but I am not.
I am nought.
I am wrought.
I am molded in the image of my dreams.
Which are brought about from all that I have seen.
I know you feel it too, but I know none will see me, true.
Won't know me truly.
I am nothing.
I am losing, simple, fleeting, flighty me.
I am bemusing, ever strewn, interminably.
Lost upon a fabricated of sea of my own dreams.

The mountains call to me,
With the birds I must be,
Drinking from the crystal pure,
Cannot but fall for the pristine allure.

The only way to know
     Is to go...
Disappear in the night
     Disappear from your life

My love lies with you
     My destruction lies within you
And seeps into me

So I must go
     I must flee

I hope you miss me.

Where do they all go
the unspoken words
Do they melt, into nothingness
burning in the backs of our throats
Or delve into the blue deepness of our thoughts
a sunken treasure
I think they hitch rides
with the hopeless
and the heartbroken
Sitting heavy on shoulders

And I'm walking with the weight of the world
and I'm walking with the weight of the world

during days of fluttering words and windpipes,
chance summons a gust to lead me astray,
the lightness of the air beats bare on my breastbone,
it leaves bruises in bloom- and I know they will stay

these days I swear I can hear the movement of the air-
I follow as it howls through the hollows of my skull,
and as it dances faintly on my skin,
I give my weight to its gentle pull

It lays me down in dead memories- holding flower petals tight,
(a plants appendage stripped for mourning,
an emendation for my fright)

I see a smiling child,
speaking slow through fractured lips,
the scars resting upon his youthful face
bring weakness to my hips

and hot steam begins to stream
from the corners of my eye-
collections of crystalline droplets
screaming
“I never said goodbye”

I always try to wear a white dress, but all my attempts always fail, perhaps because I am from a land where the ashes are rooted and have a long history of darkness. I am the son of dim lights, so I know candles only in the tales my father tells me, but look at my hands; they are very empty. This white dress smiles at you and tells you to be a rose; the roses do not know the hatred. When my mother gave birth to me, she put me in a white dress. When I died, my children put me in a white dress, so I do not want to cut that chain and that date, so I decided today to buy a white dress. The white dress is good, it makes you shiny and smiling, as it brings back the memories of the old heavenly. In fact, I am not celestial, and my feet are clinging to the ground like a blind rock, but I always try to walk quietly in the road and to love the morning for no reason.

we've been talking for 47 minutes and 33 seconds
we already talked earlier today
i like listening to you ramble
makes it feel like you're actually next to me

i can see the way your mouth is moving
your hands lifting higher, higher, higher
as you get more animated
i can see your floppy, straw-colored hair -
your long fingers brushing it out of your eyes

you're talking about politics right now
and i'm really not a huge fan of politics at all -
it bores me quite a bit,
but i wouldn't mind listening to you talk
for the rest of the night.

It slithers,
Slowly,
From the tips of your toes,
This vibration,
From the tips of your fingers,
This stretch,
To your shins,
This tickle,
To your arms,
This sensation,
To your knees,
This energy,
To your shoulders,
This shake,
To your thighs,
This chill,
To your chest,
This awakening,
To your hips,
This Caress,
To your stomach,
This explosion,
In your core.

if your words were flowers i’d water them forever
each one is still rooted in my heart
but i sit in our sunken eden and cry,
with plastic peonies in a jar

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  is to what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

we mean nothing in his life
that big
          black
                        E
              H    ­        L
                    O      
                                           of    n o t h i n g n e s s
                                                                 in his life
yes
thats us

hi! nice to meet u

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems too *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

I wanted to tell you
That you had hurt me.
But I think
You already knew.

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YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE DOING YOU PATHETIC PEICE OF ****

Some days I am swimming,
most days I am sinking.
There is never a day where I
can simply just float.

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

From my body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity

The one who left you in storms
can never give you rainbows
and sunshine.

In you I descry a wandering eye,
with no end and no start,
looking to cherish the projections
of a disabused heart

and to think I could use this sight
to sift through reflections untrue,
to know what is not in the knots of my ribs
and to see what the sky sees in blue

together with you, a second of two
I try still to be more acute
yet in such a gaze, I am rendered to clay,
and hunger rules all that I do

though with every backstep
I am empty and left with impressions of oldness and you-
with cold questions of folly that sit still in my body
and pebbles in both of my shoes,

I still run to what could be swirling new in that eye
amongst what is not in the gray,
though I know that its gaze looks far beyond I,
for it sees naught but the lights of new days

You didn’t follow me this time
Maybe you’re fed up with me now
I wouldn’t blame you
I’m fed up with me too