in the distance
there you are
each step a saunter toward forever
my preamble

i can wait

what is it
you truly
seek
want
desire
from life

the dumb luck
of ***** meets egg
that made you
flesh and blood

self aware
conscious
of the brevity
of life
and the finality
of death

like a match
temporarily
lighting
keeping
the darkness
at bay

only to be
swallowed up
devouring
all that was created
when extinguished

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

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)

stumbled upon your hideaway
an unexpected intrusion,
sunken heart I swallowed
hallucinating your shadow,

bluntly dismissing my worries
as my eyes fondly sought
a heaven within your cheeks,

softly blushing underneath
your eyes treasured me
oh, naive little me,

put a foot aside, darling,
undone love awaits outside,
fantasies blinded your soul
while I stood, earnestly
yearning to own your heart

Im sorry it looks like I hate you
I don’t
I know you hate me
I would hate me too
I would
I’d still do anything for you
But you wouldn’t

All I know
Is how
I feel

And sometimes I
Wish I
Knew nothing

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

Mister
I'm not sure how you don't
Appreciate
The wonderful wacky
Being that is me
I suppose I could try harder
But it's not my fault that
You can't see

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."

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

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.

i used to deny myself death
as i was learned inflicting it
  would send me to hell.

i guess it saved me

i still bathe in that wish.
counting as they slowly wilt away,
  my white pedals of ash.
   the reward of risking the whole flower.

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

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.

Pine wafting through the
open layout of our house.
A million needles
waiting to be
swept up or
hidden under the rug.
The curious cat circles the tree
both meant to be wild,
but now domesticated
for the joy of human kind.
Why are we so selfish?

these days, emptiness is beginning to look more like a poem that writes itself. the irony is it is everything i can't be and everything i am

We are Salmons with four limbs.
We bow to the life cycle by the weight of destiny.

my streets are desolate
do not make noise
watch my graffiti in  silence
do not delete it
my hollow pits come before you
be careful
gangs block your way
do not resist
dreams are hidden on every pavement
take care of your step
stories for listen
take your place

Saturn is in
line with
Venus tonight
but, nothing's easy
when you're down.
The clowns walk
around, dressed in
yellow; fast food smiles
and cheeseburger
souls, and nothings
easy when you're down.

The dancers with poles
and sadness, that Halloween,
fires burning...childhood,
perfumed dreams,
kind of sadness fills the
navy blue night.
I can't find the North star,
and the jack-lanterns lie rotting
in the streets of Nebraska
and Kansas, and the candies
all gone, and the kids wait.
And I can't find  
the deep blue shirt I bought
at Goodwill, and Billy Burroughs
is filled with worms and earth,
and Bukowski looks at Satan
and says, "what do you
mean, we're out of whiskey?"

I've never been much for the stars,
and family and Thanksgiving are
painfully overrated,
and nothing's easy when
you're down.

I try to find art in a picture of the future—
but my fingers keep on tracing
each one of my past paintings,
thinking about how beautiful it was
when I colored them wild and free.

The ground is molten lava
there is fire in the
air we breathe, it is
my one desire to have
you here with me.
You may want to
pray to Jesus when
this story ends. Will
you keep my company
I guess that just depends
I count the souls here
by the trillions, we get
more every day. Some
times it's by the billions
and they are here to stay.
Here you will find Buda,
Allah's in here too
I know this may upset
some, not what it's
meant to do. I am just
a demon and soul's
are up for sale, the next
step when the wicked
die is here with me
in hell. This description
is not over, river's of feces
on the floor. You will seek
to find a way out but
will not find the door.
each person here doe's
suffer, the torment never
ends. If a name is
not in the book of
life the suffering  just
begins.

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.

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.

You look like yourself
But you're someone else,
You might tell the truth
But you have your shells,
A smile and cool shades on
A bit wet underneath,
So many lost fantasies
Dreams that could never breathe,
An optimistic teenager
That's given up on life
Over unrealistic old standards
Living on old fools' advice.

Everything that dies doesn't pass
Everything living isn't alive
Broken bridges could heal one day
But dead souls are harder to revive
Only way to get over the pain
Is to turn it into literature
The more you try to run from it
Your laughs and smiles just get faker.

Her eyes were fiery
While her lips peeled away
Her sun was setting
But her colors never fade
When she bites she is bitter
But when she smiles she is sweet
Like a nectarine emblem
She’s the fruit of life’s tree.

Sharp jagged rocks, a river
doe's flow, I hear
your voice on the breeze
I've learned a lot and
one thing I do know
is your cry in the pine
on the trees. Lover
of life with a care free
spirit induces me to
see, that you are wild
and I'm nowhere near
it is why it's unsettled
in me. It's your way
that beaconed me,
it caused me to see
that you were a lover
of all. I was under
your spell now I'm
finally free I'm no longer
six inches tall.