I am not a liar.
I articulate
The rough truths
They all deny.
So believe me as I faithfully declare;
I am an arsonist.
Ecstatic moments burn
Just as much
As violent ones.
Births and Deaths
Both leave flames
Behind.
But of different colours, and different kind.
I know all fires.
Every colour I have tasted,
Every pain and joy I have wasted.
Now I am proof of fire.
In fact, I am made of fire.
Born of it, raised of it.
And one day, dead by it.
Just like everyone else.
Jun 2, 2020
Jun 2, 2020 at 2:23 AM UTC
Lightless Nightress in cold Crown'd
At noon alive, at midnight drown'd
Skin lily-white and pallid bright
Icy eyes of sightless fright
Voiceless breathless warmthless lips
Golden hair in winter's grips.
By mourning moon, a wandering mem'ry
Of deathless youth and thawing Feb'ry.
Jun 2, 2020
Jun 2, 2020 at 2:15 AM UTC
give me your knife
of perfect exaction
let me slice
the flesh of my sides
let me rend
the fat between my thighs
and create an open gate
for your disciples
to enter between my legs
give me your blade
of perfect scrutiny
let it tell me
the desireable colour
of my hair, eyes, and *******
then i will dye them for you
while i bleed to death
give me your knife
cut deep until i am perfect
a venus, a madonna
cut me and devour me
maybe one day
you'll reach my heart
and finally meet me
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 7:32 PM UTC
I looked out the Window
and I saw
Beauty, abounding Bounty,
Peace, prosperous Pain,
Love and Lust and Longing,
a Hierarchy of Hate,
Mourning Mothers, Mounds of Dead,
virullent Venoms, poison Flowerbeds,
deep dark Caves of dread,
Birthplaces for beautiful things,
long profound Silences
Demon and Angle Wings
Roads longer than Long
Horizons farther than Far
ethereal, heavenly, beconning Stars.
I opened the Window
and stepped Outside
Aug 5, 2019
Aug 5, 2019 at 7:29 PM UTC
My hands are only my hands
When they grasp the wood of a pencil
My face is only my face
In the light of a reading lamp
My voice is only my voice
When it calls you unlike any other
My eyes are only my eyes
When they gaze laughingly at danger
My love is only my love
Because it is spoken in whispers
My joy is only my joy
Because of the crookedness of my smile
My angre is only my anger
Because of the ashes at my feet
My hate is only my hate
Because of your sweet tears
My fear is only my fear
Because of all these wasted years
I am a prime example
Of precise uniformity
and painful uniqueness
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 7:49 PM UTC
the words on this page
are the same colour as night
their stars are invisible,
they gleam in the mind
when it strains to find
words of wisdom,
hidden like stolen things
with tied-up wings
but stars can fly
just like birds
there is nothing so devastating
as an arsenal of knowledge
and an army of words
Jul 25, 2019
Jul 25, 2019 at 7:42 PM UTC
I remember trees
and pathless forests of flowers.
I remember bees
And unnumbered hours.
I remember birds
As beautifully bright as myths.
I remember words
And the lips they were spoken with.
I remember mountains,
Mighty monuments moments built.
I remember fountains
Sapphire and serene, still free of silt.
I remember skies,
The true blue of azure eyes.
I remember stars
Hopefully winking from afar.
Youth is hung like clouds above
The sky, no longer blue.
I think that I remember love
Though I can't remember you.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 12:53 PM UTC
Lassos of fire
pull out my roots
Running higher,
I’ll pull on my boots
And leave no tracks
In my trekking plight
There’s no coming back
No return flight
Indomitable Icarus,
I fly into the sun
Inconsolable Narcissus,
My iron wings don’t run
But my skin scorches
From rays up above
Then your harpoon searches
To pierce my flesh with love
And haul me down
And tie me here
To watch that crown,
That summit of fear
Gladly I’d remain
I’d surrender to you
But I must end the rein
And make the sun new
Stay, let me run
Forgive my absence
And forgive the sun
For its distance
For I will coax it
Maybe in some years
I’ll teach it closeness
So it will shine here
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 12:52 PM UTC
On the first day,
God made spoons.
And he sent them down
With red balloons.
So we wouldn’t drown
In our dining rooms.
On the second day,
God made shoes.
He tied our laces
Along with our noose.
We sang his praises,
What’d we have to lose?
On the third day,
God made grilled cheese.
He grilled them with butter,
So our hunger he pleased.
Not a drop went to the gutter,
For we swallowed the sizzling grease.
On the fourth day,
God made wheels.
He put them on our feet,
So we could chase his heels
Though he’d never let us meet
His shining ship’s keel.
On the fifth day,
God made combs.
He brushed back our locks,
So we saw where we roamed
But he did not let us walk
To where the horizon domes.
On the sixth day,
God made brooms.
We could sweep and fray
The days of our doom
While brushing away
The dust on our tombs.
On the seventh day,
God took repose,
He left us some time
To do what we chose.
Then we invented crime,
Found in our families foes.
Spoons went unused in bright countries,
I guess ‘cause there was no food.
And shoes took us to strange bounties,
Places we did nothing but loot.
People kept eating grilled cheese
And it all went to their thighs.
wheels turned and never ceased,
Even after the mills went dry.
Despite all the combs,
Our hair was still unkempt.
Brooms brushed away poems
As women to cleaning went.
But wait- our poems and words-
Were not fashioned by God-
He made man, beast and bird,
But not the phrases we jawed.
That day began in silence
But somewhere around noon,
Lunch halted the violence
And one of the meeker loons-
A gentle soul with a brain-
Saw her reflection
And gave it a name.
Then she made words
And practically named
All the adjectives and verbs,
And nouns that ever became.
She wrote about spoons,
Of famine and drought.
She wrote about shoes
And dangerous routes.
Grilled cheese she abhorred
This thought she tallied.
Then wheels she turned toward,
Wondering why they tarried.
Combs she had never used,
For she spent it all on ink
By brooms she'd been abused
So on them she did not think.
Then there thundered brighter thoughts,
The divine danced in her dreams.
She described him, defined him, untangled his knots
She tried to unravel his scheme.
But one day she concluded,
After a lifetime of words,
That her pursuits were deluded,
For her thoughts were but birds
In an esoteric sky
With clouds of definitions
Of which she could only contrive
To make a rendition.
But if she knew, she’d be surprised
Of her true correctness.
For in her thoughts, she'd realized
Her God’s greatest purpose.
Her life, given to his pursuit
Measured more meaning than mourning
And because she had not been mute,
Man had spent time learning.
Until his thoughts in paper shod
Made God a word, and man a God.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 12:51 PM UTC
I am a patchwork;
My skin is a puzzle.
Pieces tethered by sinews of thought,
Tighter than a muzzle.
Tear yourself from my whole,
Watch my veins unravel
Hear the bark of my soul-
In your pocket it growls.
I am a machine;
My brain is gears.
Feed my circuits energy,
Move my wheels with tears.
Ringing in my clockwork chest,
My heart is a bell.
Find the hour to ring it best,
And it will serve you well.
I am an orchestra;
My hands are violins.
Your hands are relentless whips,
Cleaving flesh and skin.
Rip away my singing lips,
Steal my precious tones.
Make me stutter, make me lisp,
And make my song your own.
I am a skeleton;
My bones want clothes.
Voiceless, thoughtless, inanimate,
Death I make men loath.
See my stripped hollowness,
Hear my torment echo.
Eaten by my weakness,
Digested by time and yellow.
My marrow picked clean
And by buzzard beaks chewed.
Since I have nothing else to glean,
Bones, my Queen- my empty bones for you.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 12:48 PM UTC