The rose sits
The rose waits
The rose does not talk
The rose does not walk
The rose hangs down
The rose keeps a frown
The rose is permanently stuck
The rose is consequently plucked

When my feelings are twisted and my mind distorted,
Hand me a knife
Hand me a knife to slice away my sorrow
To distract my depression with blood
To remember the number of times I felt miserable
One scar at a time
Hand me a knife to tear open my skin
So some of the sewage of my body can leave through the opening that I make
Don’t worry
It does not hurt when I make the cut
It only burns a little afterwards
I promise the knife will not get close to my throat
or at least I don’t think so
You don’t have to see the cuts
They can hide under my sleeves
Just hand me a knife!
You will never suspect I used it
It will not be the first time
It will not be the last time
That I paint a silver knife with my own blood
I promise it will be fast
I will cut,
Wash the knife,
And greet you the next morning
As if nothing ever happened

after his lips
brazed mine, i understood what
churches meant to saints;
death and rebirth and homecoming and
ease. the artistry of our
flesh meeting flesh,
gentle grassroot heartbeats finding
heaven in the moles on our shoulders, our
inner thighs. he hums a hymn of becoming and i
join the chorus: a
kingdom of quiet wednesdays and
leaving forget-me-nots on my pillowcase to bloom.
murmurous, he sweetens my melancholy; our
naked bodies left bare to the seasons,
over and over again, unafraid. i
part my gracious fingers and
quilt for him a makeshift
rosebush beneath blue eyes and
summery glances. our
testimony is this:
underneath july starlight,
victory is found in the
warmth of our
xanthic chapel; a
yearlong love story left
zen in our delicate rapture

A fine night
Or so you thought

The moon decided to hide today
And even though not much on the ground is visible,
There is a showcase of stars in the sky.

You are sitting in your room
Looking out the window
Admiring the display of lights,


In the middle of your peace

You hear the echo of an intruder

The sound of someone demanding to get in

A knock

Could it be?
This late in the night?
Who would be brave enough?
Who would be willing to leave their residences, an hour past midnight, in order to get to you?

Maybe you just imagined it
Maybe the sound was nothing but a phantom of your imagination.

You decide to ignore it
And you resume your imagination
You let it pull you closer to the stars
Your whole existence revolves around the beauty of nature

Knock Knock

It pulls you back to reality
You start to realize
Someone's outside
Someone whats to get in
And you ignored them.

Knock Knock

But who?
Your mind lacks the creativity to think
To think of the reason
Or the identity
Of the living soul standing at your door

Knock Knock

You try looking out the window
Maybe a look at their face might turn the gears in your head
But the web of constellations only light the sky
And the ground remains blind

Knock Knock Knock

What a stubborn being!
Can't it have a bit of patience?
What could possibly be so urgent?
What could he possibly have to discuss at this hour?

Knock Knock Knock Knock

Irritated
Frustrated
You leave your window
And march down the stairs
This being could not possibly be related to you

KNOCK KNOCK

You finally reach the door and touch the ****

A thought strikes your mind
As sudden and powerful as when a firework reaches the sky

There was only one answer
Only one reason behind the why
Only one exception for peace in this marvelous night

This being was being chased
This person was trying to hide
This creature was in danger

It was asking for your attention
It was asking for your help

Was it too late?
Had the lonely soul left?

KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK
KNOCK

It was still there!

KNOCK

There was still hope

KNOCK

There is no time to waste

KNOCK

Your hand wraps around the handle of your door
Full of impatience
You pull open the door to the entrance of your house

You let the darkness embrace your entrance

The silhouette of the beast in the distance

And unfortunately

You don't manage to see the face of the thing your just salvaged

Because the bullet was quicker than your eyes.