I'm falling behind
Plummeting into sadness
No catcher in sight

Shadows ask
To speak under
low breath,
A campfire burns
With pinion twigs
Scavenged from
Old Dolores
Land, still she cries
A forgotten martyr
words now frail
Sentiments, in the
Pitch of night,
The curse breathes
Through the sand

Just like a lost soul wandering but in a body.
That's been me now for so long.
But I'm getting ready.

Still developed a lot myself.
Had influence on others.
But wandering without a future, not yet ready to die.
Holding on like that for so long.
Untill I was ready.

Tried to leave but failed a couple of times.....
Now I finally received a way out that is sure to succeed.
Still the hardest thing to do.
Very lonely.
I just had to wait a little longer....

Then one night my mom told me: you've got to end this, make a plan now finally and make up your mind!
My fiery mom.
With old Norse wisdom inside of her naturally.

It had to be my time though.
An old friend apologized to me when he saw me again.
He needed that before I left.
But now it's time to get ready, not hang around in limbo.

My mom is right.
My mom, equal in my battles.

I had to realize I need to be a true Viking.
Find pride and courage in the sacrifice.
The hardest one.
Dying in battle.
My only escape.

The sky had darkened
From fire smoke from the East
The river flows with garbage
Smelling like rotting flesh
It was warm
There was nothing to excite the body
Or delight the eyes
Everything had the shadow
Of disappointment
Even the birds
Have given up singing their song
(Tell me dear reader,
Do you have the time to be strong?)
All I can do
Is wait for the rain
To wash it all along

I was falling
for you

the feeling of
being weightless

the sky and
the ocean are
blue

like your eyes

your eyes and
Einstein’s brain

are the depths
I can never reach

but I will drown trying
to reach either or both

I just didn’t expect
the tears
at least not mine
I was ready for everything else
or so
I thought
I just didn’t expect the pain
or to be asked to explain
I just didn’t expect the blame
or to be asked to explain

u see the knife
you watch the glow
u see me smile
but can't hear me cry
u think i'm happy
but inside i'm breaking
u see the blood
then u realize
that i wasn't
lying
when i said
i'm depressed!
u wish u gave me the
support i needed
but now it's too late.
I'm dying inside...

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

mom, i love you
mom, can you take the weekend off?
mom, can he go back to his house?
mom, i miss you
mom, i hate you

I listen as he romanticizes cheating,
contorting it into “forbidden love”.

Let me real-life your fantasy.

For it would be a fallacy to judge
when I too, romanticize everything.

Bitter each all critters here

I don't feel special,
I'm not unique.
I want to cry
but I can't even speak.
My hands reach out,
but they cannot hold
a single thing
but the bitter cold.
Everything's frozen,
I feel lost.
Even my tears
have turned to frost.
When I cut my waist
it bleeds black.
I'm so deeply gone
there's no way back.
This is goodbye

Blood woman -

take your hands off my throat

for lack of breath

is a side effect

of wanting you

and I can’t breathe

for trying to tell you

that this lust is

killing me

I am crowding
The latest
Page
On a Sunday night.

Write,
Take the stage,
Believe me,
I only perform every now and then.

And I like
Reading yours
More
Than I like re-reading mine again.

I am ready.
Sunday night
Don't be intimidated
Write your poetry.

I’m sorry you love a damaged heart,
I only know two sides to a story, either heartfelt or torture.
It’s hard to put down my shields that’s been guarding me for years.
I’m sorry I’m the one you wanted,
It’s not too late to walk out.

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

I can always fit in,
But I’d rather stand out.

It is not worth it
If I’m not happy.

All I know
Is how
I feel

And sometimes I
Wish I
Knew nothing

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.

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

I used to grow flowers.
Pretty little petals
Sprouted from letters.
Into pretty little paragraphs
Sprouted from words.

Now I only grow lonely.
Ugly little concepts
Sprouted from doubts
Into fetid thoughts
Sprouted from desolation.

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

poems are just an external manifestation of internal turmoil

It takes me
perhaps a few minutes,
at most,
to write a poem.

In the brief instant
between
creation and publication,
I am convinced
that this poem cannot be
improved.

But note,
it is never the claim,
that the poem is
any good.

I write
so that I may express
what I had genuinely felt
for a few moments.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

When I was little
I was scared
Scared of the monsters living under my bed
I used to hide, under my blanket
Under my blanket, I was safe
The monsters couldn’t reach me under my blanket

My parents used to say
The monsters would go away
I would grow up and that then they would leave

But I grew up
And the monsters didn’t leave
Turns out my monsters, grew with me
Now instead of under my bed
The monsters live inside my head

So I hide, under my blanket
Where I think I am safe
Wondering if after all this time
My blanket can still keep the monsters at bay