He had a crooked smile
Disfigured nose
Hair,like small grains of rice
He wore his heart on his sleeves
Literally.
Bleeding
Unevenly woven
Pieces missing

The clay model of him
Lay beside me
As I contemplated breaking him more
Like he did me
I like it that he 'feels' how I feel
Maybe this is the first step
To healing my broken feelings
©

Shreds of black hair
Lay littered beside the cesspool
Of the dried blood
The smell was filthy
Carpet stained
Broken razors lay
In a rusty plate
That was filled
With half smoked blunts
Wet ashes
Half burnt notes
Burnt matches
The small candle lit
Gloriously on
The bedside table
The only sign of life
In the small unkempt room
The remains of a depressed
Town girl,a hottie
Rumors had it
Bundled notes were found
Tucked under her three
Pound mattress
Maybe it wasn't suicide after all
But then maybe it was
©

what is it called when you write
but never want anyone to understand.
am i selfish-
elitist
a fraud.
or am i-
a coward.
the human heart.
is a poem
i am not.
an author.
i am not
the ink.
not the curves.
the rhyme.
do not read into me-
i am simply
alive.

like water
I poured myself into her until she was overflowing at the brim

like reinforced steel
I bridged my heart to hers and welded myself to her soul

like the sun
I filled myself with light to cover her darkness

like a blanket
I shielded her from the harsh world underneath the covers

like magnets
I orbited her aura until we inevitably collided

like a seed
I felt myself growing up from her

Then, like an idiot
I could tell she felt nothing.