maybe the reason I am here
is the reason I weep,
silent all these nights
like an owl bleeding white,
sorrow it reeks
peace it seeks,
white is the color of my mother
telling me I selfishly brag with honor,
I sailed through the stars
to find a place on mars,
dug a grave miles away
to let my soul solely sway,
maybe I don’t need a guardian
since I find enjoyment in hiding.

twirling around a veil of sadness
questions asked and answers fathom
your soul, dead, on a mattress
tell me, is it worth it
to unravel the darkness?

light on the sea but no one could see
a mystery you are, my love
I’m solving you, I wept on my knees
maybe if I touch you
I can make your pain disappear
but no, you asked me to back away
I understand, dove
let your wings set you free

To be kissed
by your eyes

To be touched
by your voice

To be held
by your lips

To be tangled
by your hair

Anxiety wraps
itself around me,

like a coat that
doesn’t fit me

like a lover that
doesn’t love me

like a fire that
doesn’t warm me

if I knew I was
going to die
tomorrow
would I spend today
writing more
or
saying goodbye to my loved ones?

hardest choice of my life

maybe I'll write my goodbye
in the form of another poem
to make the best of both worlds

Some people eat dreams

for
breakfast

and
lunch

and
dinner

and it's not even because
they can't afford food

the last time he went out of
his mind he liked it
so much there
that he never came back

not even after the
alcohol left
his blood

he keeps writing to this day

addresses women with 'sweangel'
a combination of sweet
and angel, I guess

but never spends more
than a matter of weeks
with any of them

some take pity on him
and some morbid curiosity

but no one loves him
truly
only his insanity

but that handle was made for his hand
hand - handle
handle - hand

the fingers would close
around it to never let go
It had to have flesh around it
at all times
But the blade...
the blade was still naked. He couldn't let
the blade naked
It wasn't fair

"So that's why you stabbed your
mommy then?" the psychiatrist asked him.

"Yes," he said.

"The knife is more important
to you than mommy?"

"The knife listens. Mommy doesn't."