I’m afraid of the dark
I hold my breathe when I’m alone at night
I feel its hand on my shoulder
Chilling as it grips tighter
With its knife to my throat, it tells me to run
Run around corners and past open doorways
Anywhere where it’s lurking about
Uncertainty is flourishing

I see shadows painted in paranoia
Stalk me while I walk to my car
Like bad memories and college debt
All through my life

Nothing else has this grip on my life
No addiction, no disease,
Only the darkness and its vice
Have such a control over me

You know
I don’t know
and revel in the not knowing
because the pain of knowing
would mean growing
into someone
I believe is
not worth the knowing

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)

Laughing with your favorite someone
is just downright good
for the soul

It wouldn't matter now, would it?
Anything, anyone
Empty heart with a cluttered brain
Deadlier than the history
Livelier than the memory
I wish and wish if only I could hope
The float of the bubble , nowhere to go
Stuck in a limbo
In the casket , about to dig the grave
Empty, so empty i am, this is vain.

if I were you
what  thoughts would pervade
enjoining on a journey

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

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."

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

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

I wonder if I really am kind hearted.
Most people think it’s true,
But maybe I’m just afraid of being mean-
Maybe I’m afraid of being you.

He asked her what it's like living with anxiety.

She smiled sadly, "It's a never-ending pulse-race. Like knowing you don't want to jump off a cliff but not being able to talk yourself down from it.

Your fears take on a nebulous, unidentifiable form that tightens around your throat and incapacitates you.

There is no calm. No peace. Only the edge of a very strained thread."

we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections

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.

I woke up from a nightmare
I could not stand to keep
to myself

you were stretched across the couch
coffee going cold on the table
a half finished cigarette
still burning

you wrapped me up
in kind words that
I could not bare
to hear

whispered into my ear
"one day we will go wandering
and this tiny house will overspill
with dreams'

you are not your memories, darling
you are not the bad things
that have been done to you
you are a fierce flame
that warms my heart

forget them, my love
they are nothing
and you, and you
are everything

She had that
octopus smile,
always reaching for
something.
I was her small
fish; her handmaid.
I lived in her nebulous
world for far too long.
Inky confusion...

There's a reason for
your treason, said the
old man to the shark,
but Hem forgot, a beast
is a beast, they do
beastly things.
We all have to eat.

I'm done being the
meal.
It's your Ocean,
I'm just trying to
swim in it.

You're an oyster,
and I want your
pearl,
but I won't drown
for it.