This life of blackened poetry’s
Atrocious, slowly killing me—
a poison, psychologically.
Of course I see life preciously,
as any schoolboy prodigy.
Alas, the lens of poetry
views beauty oh-so-dismally.
Evicted from my memory
is every joy that comes to me.
The dampened soul I’ve come to be
detests each thread of sanity—
So in this life, my only plea’s
Please spare me from the vanity.
May 18
May 18, 2026 at 2:42 AM UTC
Can you feel me through this poem?
Can you hear the metronome;
my heartbeat pulsing, calm but rapid?
Words on pages— simply vapid
glimpses to the depths of me
with fire-fed intensity,
and every line revealing more the
faulty fervor in my story.
Is it true or am I rambling?
Babbling synonyms while gambling
reasoning and rationale
to find the words to tell my tale,
with each new word confusing more
the moral that I’m striving for?
So slit my wrists and drag me bleeding
through the depths of hell, repeating.
Break my heart and bring me, wailing,
seeking comfort unavailing.
Show me beauty, gouge my eyes,
feign the truth in webs of lies.
Crush my legs and make me walk,
then stitch my mouth shut, make me talk.
Find my soulmate, **** them quick—
I’m the window, you’re the brick.
Am I sane or am I crazy?
Spewing darkness, sitting lazy—
cozy in the life I lead,
all snuggled with the cup of tea
I’m sipping in my favorite chair,
not blissful nor in great despair.
So take my hand and lead me, beaming,
through the twilight, stars a-gleaming.
Look me in the eye and slightly
bite your lip, then kiss me lightly.
Tell me secrets, hold me tightly,
whisp’ring nothings daily, nightly.
Take our picture, show your friends.
Say you’ll love me ‘til the end.
We’re both the ones we both admire,
You’re the fuel and I’m the fire.
You cannot feel me through this poem.
You cannot hear the metronome;
The pitter-patter of the rain
so calm upon my windowpane.
Words on pages— seldom stating
what I’m truly contemplating.
Am I content or rife with pain?
Is truth in words or in the rain?
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 10:10 PM UTC
The wall came first
then ivy grew.
Him wrought from stone,
her suckling dew
between the crevices and cracks
of broken brick and tattered slats.
All separated were their lives,
yet intertwined to hypnotize
all but a masons’ knowing eyes—
a wall of green, the best disguise.
A hundred years could pass and see
that verdant slab so beautifully.
Yet time ticks on;
reveals what’s true—
when he does crumble,
she will too.
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 7:43 PM UTC
not
Everything Is Meant To Insult You,
darling.
not
Every Word That Is Spoken;
Every Word That Is Written;
Is A Legitimate Trigger,
honey.
not
Everyone Is Out To Get You,
sugar.
it's not that
You Should Feel Worthless,
Because You're Female, Black, Or Gay,
Hispanic, Muslim Or Trans,
sweetheart.
you just
Never Read Between The Lines,
do you love?
Nov 28, 2016
Nov 28, 2016 at 7:42 PM UTC
I quarrel with him
He does not understand.
He loves me but cannot see,
I am as he and he as me.
We are reflections of each.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 2:58 PM UTC
The slow fizzle.
The long-winded let-down
like a broken chord
fallen from the heavens to the grey midground.
This is not the Hell you're searching for,
nor a pleasure
like my pierced lips pressed gently
against the porcelain of your skin.
Purgatory is no sin
when neither party wins.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 3:14 AM UTC
It never has occurred to me that people do not care.
I understand their reasoning and know it isn't fair
that no-one really wants a thing except things for one’s own,
that no-one wants to please you til you please them to the bone.
From this fact comes the heartache that we all must face sometimes,
though no one quite believes they’re not alone when anguish climbs.
There are, however, no-ones better than most ones out there,
who'll fain and fake a reason to assist and sooth despair.
It’s those who make the lonely world a worthwhile waste of age,
the ones who, when you’re insecure, give strength to turn the page.
This family, I've heard them called,
related or attained,
are those who wouldn’t be appalled
when your hands, red, were stained.
Contrariwise, some no-ones are much worse of ones than most,
they build up all your ego and they give you strength to boast.
Although you'll surely fancy them for giving such a gift,
they do so with malicious goals to set your mind adrift.
And once they’ve hooked your heart with hooks as sharp as hornets’ teeth,
they'll draw you closer with their charms and cunningly unsheathe.
It’s not a blade of iron or a blade to cut your skin,
but a blade made of desire that will pierce you from within;
a pin-point ***** that gives rise to a sudden heart-attack,
an ache inside that sets your mind and spirit far aback.
Love is how I’ve heard it said,
Unanswered, star-crossed, true;
they all exist to fill with dread
a slowly dying you.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 5:09 AM UTC
I open my eyes
on Sunday afternoon.
My dumb dreams imply
that there are two of you.
I try to not think
of irrational things,
but whenever I blink,
you are what my mind brings
to me.
But this you is a fantasy.
It's monday night
and my head is swimming.
A subconscious fight,
and the fiction is winning.
I try not to let
these old lies let me down,
And I try to forget,
but I think I'll drown.
You see,
I miss what you'll never be.
Tuesday is through
and you're stuck in my head,
memories of you
are on all accounts dead.
I try hard to sleep,
but there isn't a chance.
So I lie and I weep,
'Cause I want you to dance
with me.
Under the willow tree.
Wednesday is here,
and I think of your voice.
It's been a whole year
but I haven't a choice.
I try hard to live
but I've lost all my trust,
'cause I was your captive,
All I want is to just
be free.
Of you and our history.
Thursday at dawn,
and I'm hardly awake,
With every yawn,
my whole body shakes.
I try hard to go
without thinking of you,
but I want you to know,
that revenge is due.
You see,
I actually believe in me.
Friday at noon,
and I enter my mind,
where you sit on the moon,
and it's making me blind.
I try hard to curb
all the feelings I store,
but you pluck at my nerves,
you're a ******* *****
baby.
And it's all that you'll ever be.
Oh, why
Were you living that lie?
Was I being a creep?
Is it something more deep?
Can I ask you again,
if I **** as a friend,
why the hell did you stick around
until I shut down?
Saturday now,
I'm asleep in my bed,
Not dreaming of you,
but myself instead.
Don't try to smile,
I don't have to run,
'cause I know that you're vile,
and I'm havin' more fun,
clearly.
Have a nice life, honey.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 5:06 AM UTC
My ivory gave breath to earth as it once gave to me,
How empty and how dismal would my life without you be?
My heart has put my soul to bed and still you cannot see,
How empty and how dreary would my life without you be.
And so my poisoned tears have begged the earth to set me free,
How empty yet how happy will my life without you be.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 5:01 AM UTC
A sea of serpents slithers dead,
Across an emerald plain.
As children step upon its bed,
It leaves a vivid stain.
Teeth and tails of vipers bound
And buried in the earth,
Holler loud yet make no sound
To weep for what they're worth.
Hush the hissing howl now,
Drink wind and water sweet;
And savor serpents’ scowling brow,
As silent sounds retreat.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 4:59 AM UTC