I am still capable of ****** springs
and rivers with waters so clear
you’d never know how shallow
the bodies are buried,
how thoroughly I poisoned the well
Oct 4, 2025
Oct 4, 2025 at 8:31 AM UTC
Look at you, Blue Oleander
at the margins
of a birthday wish—
at seventeen, you were
the night’s favorite
sparkler,
and at twenty-seven,
the morning’s
favorite petal to kiss.
Sep 23, 2024
Sep 23, 2024 at 7:38 AM UTC
I owe you an explanation
I know you can’t fathom why,
If I’m here and so are you,
I won’t be yours and you won’t be mine
Here’s the thing:
I am but only one of me
Powerless against the hive
I can choose you but will they?
I don’t sit alone, I’m a table for five
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 10:59 PM UTC
I heard it from three stories above
Candlelight sparkling dark windows of dawn
A melody, murderous sounds of a dagger
Brutal weeps of ripped strings in mourn
The man haunts in song, in laughter
Hums quietly, in his staff he banters
With a violin he slaughters
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 10:50 PM UTC
Whenever I write about you
The words rip the paper and it tears in two
My hands grow tired
and I need to put the pen down
Whenever I ask about you
The blue walls turn gray, windows slam shut
My eyes roll back
And I need to lay myself down
Whenever I talk about you
I am on a stage and the microphone clips
My throat bleeds
And I need to step down
Wherever I go looking for you
The cars try to stop me and the stoplights turn red
My feet hurt
And I need to go back
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 10:46 PM UTC
I wrote on your back words of a bygone era,
Back when we were a a collusion in the making
Not souls, not cells, not matter
Yet by then, Nabokov had already met Véra
And to her, he wrote about a strange joy
Ane what he knew right when he met her:
He only ever existed within her eyes,
He was only ever seen through their letters
I’m not sure you hear the same notes,
And I want to be a lover, not a beggar
I want hear the songs of your thoughts
On a loop, growing louder, forever
Oct 19, 2020
Oct 19, 2020 at 10:38 PM UTC
The months I’ve been chasing
have passed.
I am left with a year of clarity,
September’s Spring, the tale of another promising Summer,
I’ll spend chasing the bits I have lost
Among the bits of August
Unkissed, unseen by the sun
And along comes a new year,
To all our great infortunes,
It is never lost, never late
To insistently sweep me off course,
And deliver me to my fate.
Oh, there comes my new lover,
In their ever-changing image.
To break my bruised fall into
Another loveless winter.
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 1:20 PM UTC
Clear to me a certain hour of the day
For a few seconds, at best,
The truth:
I’ve been locking drawers and
Sweeping pages under the rugs
Severing ties with July’s warmth
Tying a string across these months
I’ve been coping by fading into myself,
Shedding my skin by burning it off.
I have the pain but it isn’t felt,
And I know it isn’t right, but is it enough?
I’m stuck beneath the surface,
Pounding at the ceiling of a frozen lake
It is August and I thaw,
But still I don’t cry, I just ache
Sep 5, 2019
Sep 5, 2019 at 1:52 PM UTC
Benevolence’s dry, therefore,
I look for your acts of violence.
Easier to face it had you carried a sword,
Not just a shield and your armour.
Truce became the deadliest of weapons.
Turns out there is no blade sharper
than the white flag of a martyr.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 11:29 AM UTC