I wonder if the stars know how many
love poems
promises
sighs
serenades
slow dances
soft kisses
proposals
whispers
they've inspired.
I also wonder how many of them still yet wish they were the moon.

in the center
of my garden of thought
is an
     inky black pool
an obsidian mirror that ripples
     and grows
with each
          and every
hurt, pain, and torment I endure
circling the pool
     my verdant hopes
     my violaceous loves
     my carmine furies -
their blooms crawl, intertwine, creep
  in a mass of emotion and impulse
      pushing ever against the center
where my garden meets that
     ebony pond;
a barren desolate blight
  of decay and hopelessness
the vivid chromaticity of my
   emotion
in perpetual campaign against
          the void
        that forever
    threatens to
               consume
                    me

"Jude," you said,
looking up at the clouds
the skin between your brows beginning to bend

"I don't think I can do forever"
and I tilted my head upwards, searching
the clouds for the shapes you saw

you walked

                       walked
                  
                                        walked
and the sun was so bright too bright
I couldn't see any of the **** clouds
but I could sure as hell see your shadow
growing longer larger as you walked away

that to me, that was the longest day

Grab me by the stem and hold on tight,
'til my thorns pierce your skin.
For a brief moment,
I will feel the essence of you,
and, darling, you'll feel me,
until you throw me down from the pain and clean off your hand.

Hands heal fast,
but your blood is still on my thorns.



I know that I scare you now,
but I just want someone to hold me.

A child cries over
a hard candy fallen
from his mouth,
little black suit,
a heads length over his chair.

He doesn’t mourn
Like his mother.
Why should he?
The world is chaos.
He cries therefore
he breathes,
he doesn’t understand
the dead are only
memories.

❦