I've written a thousand words
I've dreamt a thousand dreams
Oh, how bleak
Oh, the dread
Of knowing what to say
And saying what you know
To only be misread
Not knowing how to show
I've decayed to my bones
I've rotted to my roots
Oh, this death
Oh, my brain
From being who you are
And showing my whole core
To only be misread
Not knowing what it's for.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 3:15 PM UTC
Our small cups will fill
Our small cups will overflow
Like graves on a plot
A rivulet to the soil
Pouring till the end of time
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 8:00 PM UTC
This distaste for life,
It beckons me.
it ruins me.
Severing my aching nerves
to those who love me.
This sopping wet-hearted life.
I’m wasting it.
I’m washing away.
squeezing what’s left from within
For a reason quite unburdened.
This dead man’s life.
I can’t become it.
I relinquish it,
for those who seek impurity
you have my blessing.
This artist’s imprisonment.
My abysmal life.
My intimate fantasy.
secretes from the ducts
of the one who bears none.
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 2:02 PM UTC
A brash and destructive rage pulls the petals of life
from a sun-drenched flower.
How the tears and rain have nothing to grow,
but brash and destructive rage.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
As wasted sunlight drops upon the skin of atoms,
I sigh limpid ghosts along hell’s diamond eyes.
Out they shake with gusts of dubiety.
Ouch!
The glow ignites my wintered skin.
The rarest turns to pain again,
Yet, I am safe in lush calm sin.
I wish to saunter home again.
- I wish to feel at home again.
She is my home,
But she is not where home is.
When will home wander to me?
We’ll set the breadth aflame
And expose what lies in the ashes between us.
Dancing,
Until our flesh turns white.
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
As it seems to be,
The days connect
In make believe.
The summer’s eve
Won’t sing to me
And as we sigh,
So foolishly,
We’ll feel regret
For everything.
For nothing ever
Truly ends.
No letters written
Ever send.
Our words will lurch
At every turn,
In hopes to reach,
Or to return,
To whom it always
did concern.
A love you’d always
dreamt to earn.
A whisper fated
- To adjourn.
Aug 4, 2015
Aug 4, 2015 at 9:57 AM UTC
Slumped and grumpy.
Soft and ugly.
God’s at the end of my bed.
I rolled around
And lost my head.
God’s at the end of my bed.
The farthest I could be.
They fake *******
Dust’s collecting in a box.
All alone
I taste my teeth.
Lonely tongue
Itching sores
On the back of your neck,
Surfacing amongst silk
Far, far way.
Entangled comings
That spread through static
I hope are lost.
I hope you’re lost
Running over follicles,
Allowing them to breathe
And drip.
God is at the end of my bed.
I lose my head.
God is at the end of my bed.
I take his head.
The closest we could be.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC
I wish to be held
in the fluttering midst of your lashes.
To dream and lie
in soft gardens of green and dismissal.
I wish to be sunk
deep through the enclosing of your gashes.
A stream drank dry,
with decayed skeletons of sweet thistle.
I dare not divulge
How I loathe,
How I want.
I dare not indulge
In my breath,
Nor my heart.
I wish to be drunk!
How the merlot might rain onto my earth!
To fit and cry!
The tortured soil in pleasure and respite.
Oh, I am compelled,
To curse all monickers shared unto worth!
Now dreams must die!
Drowned amongst wretched ripples of moonlight!
I will not become
Who I loathe,
Who I want.
I will abstain from
My own breath,
My own heart.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
The air matches the forest deep.
Its Auburn glow weaves congestion into thick dimensions.
The grass, and leaves, and trees coexist in this moment of surreality.
A sepia trim around a coordinated portrait -
The eye cannot adjust to a moment irreplaceable.
A melting slathered teardrop falls slowly.
The tree's push this far into the sky -
Not pushing, but holding, rather.
As a weeping mother catches her child and slowly descends them.
She cannot hold forever,
and the red of scars, disaster, and reflection advents.
She let’s the child wander;
Developing.
Enveloping.
And black does become the night.
Delicate, and sluggish, this darkness falls.
Her arms can bear no more,
as the sunset-soul consumes an arcane definite.
Droning below the lake,
of which no hills sit near.
Charcoal weighing down the once prepossessing light -
of nature’s *****
A soft whisper,
And death.
Dreams…
And guilt.
"Free us of his torment!”
Cried the leaves: post-wilted.
"He’ll devour us by his own light!”
Shrieked the trees: un-guilted.
"Why entwine such sedulous melancholia?”
Squealed the breeze: pre-juilted.
Oh! Do despair in blessedness!
Oh! Does the flora mourn for her exaltation!
But…
Oh,
Does his darkness revile the ***** soul -
In impassioned ecstasy.
May 20, 2015
May 20, 2015 at 9:26 PM UTC
They move as lace
through the discarnate night;
Soft, volitional footsteps along disturbing corridors,
with outstretched
scalpel-esque appendages,
********* five, adjacent, stimulating patterns-
getting deeper-
Deeper.
And flashing their leer
of quivering needles.
Lullabying odiums to Johnny-leper;
Drinking his breath in the night.
O, for an exposed ripe?
Seeing only a diced-fraction of hell?
Will you not rest in the light?
Or wisp away in the rigid winds of reality?
The dawn is riding forward-
As the last tree in the forest falls with a whisper.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC