Realities differ.
Your reality is the reflection of your belief system.

they left the door ajar, lightless, and the heavy darkness swallowed us whole
yet i could still see you with my hands cupped around your face
the cold wooden floor chilled my spine but the fire in my chest burned me up
you were all that is new, the autumn i never had
a feeling like a fever dream that's at the same time the clearest there was
impossible to name and even more to ignore

Oh the peculiar village,
her eyes carved out
from her visage,
thieved just to
look at the moon
and the stars' lagoon,
for the moon isn't the moon
the night isn't starry,
when not seen from her eyes,
she who seems married,
to the night sky of course.

melting at your touch
a simple hug - our brusque
adieu

and you'll never be too much
for someone who can't get enough
of you

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 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)

It's the continual
opening of the
eyes that disappoints,
not that sleep brings peace,
but it's the momentary
reprieve from life's
clenched fist, and
it's ruthless apathy.

Life is a toss of
the coin,
a roll of the dice.
Often, it's snake eyes.
As a kid, I always
thought that everything
would be alright.
Now I see the
randomness of
it all.

I'm always trying to
get back to Eden.
Sometimes, the
dreamer in me
forgets the futility.
The banishment is
forever.

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 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

Keen observations
Of a restless mind,
Every day a possibility
What will I find?
Will I trigger imagination
And inspire another?
Oh, don't count on that
Were the words of my mother.

The terrain of your loneliness falls under my hands
soft as cinders in a snuffed fire
We have both burned, in our way
and under my breath
Embers ignite, the soft glow
And incandescent heat of our palms, tenderly met
Lanterns in a grey sea
we light as beacons
For our lost ships
calling them
To safe harbor.

Κάποτε κάποιο καροτί κορμί
σκυφτό σκιζμένο και συγχισμένο σημείωσε
πως από την ενσυναίσθηση
μπορούσε μόνον να αντιληφθεί την προσωπική του αίσθηση.
Το ίδιο κορμί, από εδώ και πέρα θα το λέμε υποκείμενο,
γδύνοντας το με τα μάτια μου
άφησε πίσω μια ανάμειξη πρασινωπού χρώματος που για λίγο θύμισε δυναμικά γαλανή πινελιά πορτοκαλιού.  
Μια φορά πολύ καταναγκαστικά έθεσε το άλλο κορμί, το δικό μου, που έγινε το αντικείμενο της δικής του ιστορίας σε θέση πτώματος. Σε επίπεδο τόσο χαμηλό και αξιολύπητο που έκανε εμένα, ένα υποκείμενο θλιβερό, να νιώθω μικρό και ασήμαντο.
Τότε το αντικειμενικά αδιάφορο μα υποκειμενικά αυτάρκες κορμί μου άφησε πίσω τις ανυψωμένες προσδοκίες του.
Το κερί δηλαδή που άναψες με το λεκτικό σου σπίρτο, η καρυάτιδα που συμβούλεψες να προσέχει να μην την αλλοιώσει η όξινη βροχή και ο συμπαντικός κόσμος που επαναπροσδιορίσαμε συρρικνώνοντας τον στο μέγεθος μιας ζεστής αγκαλιάς που μία σου, σε ερέθισε και μία μου, με ηρέμησε, κάθετι δηλαδή που είχε με προσοχή πλαστεί σε έναν κόσμο συγκεκριμένο, σβήνουν ξαφνικά.
'Ολα μονομιάς βγάζουν καπνό που αρχίζει να ανεβαίνει επιδεικτικά στην ατμόσφαιρα.
Όλα τα τσιμπήματα, τραβήγματα και αγγίγματα πολλών ρίχτερ που μηδενίσαμε αντιδρώντας κ΄οι δυό εναλλάξ ψύχραιμα, γίνονται τα ανέκδοντα της παρέας.
Η αφαίρεση του δικαιώματος μου να σε δαγκώσω και να κουμπώσω την μία φορά μετά την άλλη τα μονίμως ηλεκτρισμένα με φορτία αρνητικά σώματα μας δεν μου επιτρέπει να εκτονώσω την συσσωρευμένη ανικανοποίητη ουσία του ερωτικού μου πυρήνα.
Γι΄αυτό η επιβίωση του υποκειμένου μου είναι εξαρτημένη από το διαστημικό μυαλό σου που μετουσιώνεται σε λογοτεχνία. Μετενσαρκώνεται στην ιστορία την δική σου.
Δεν νομίζω απλά να τρέμω, να εμφανίσω μια απλουστευμένη φρί βέρς συλλεκτική δημιουργία που είναι η κατ' εμέ ανιαρή ιστορία η δική μου.
Δεν νομίζω.

all i do is sit and wait
the feeling isn’t great
when all i do is give and you take
your energy seems fake
is what i’m doing a mistake
this feeling makes my stomach ache
when it comes to me all you do is flake

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 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."

All I know
Is how
I feel

And sometimes I
Wish I
Knew nothing

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.

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

December nights are different than the rest
In December I lie awake and listen to Christmas songs
In December I lie awake finding presents for my loved ones
In December I lie awake thinking about what I'll cook over the holidays
Why can't every mont be December?

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

Please for dailiness
Help me take it slow.

Courage, calm, and caring
The anxiety will ebb and flow.

            Seeking. On we go.

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.