Ah, Aphrodite whom's namesake leaps bounds,
Yet Artemis who is among the careful to arouse.
Delightful Persephone in her garden of souls,
Blessed creation like that of Demeter's lavenders.

Perhaps it is Hestia's hearth that which warms our hearts,
Or the bright light of the moon that which Selene croons.

Even Hera herself rings love under wedlock,
All but for Harmonia and her accursed dystonia.
Give forth to sweet Psyche who lies on sweet wings,
Illuminated by the truth that is Hecate's rule.

All of these Goddesses who've experienced love and joy,
Somehow Athena cultivates mere tactical ploys.

Do you ever look at the sea?
Thinking to yourself where on Earth you could be?
Looking at seashells and conches,
Take a deep breath from your conscious.

Hearing laughter from the turquoise waves,
Wondering where the dolphins might bay.
Take in the maiden's dainty splash,
Creating scenery like that of endless riffraff.

Perhaps it's a bit of a bore.
Well the beach always has a lot in store.
If it's too much for you on the floats,
Don't mind joining the others on the sailboats.

Striding like the wind.
They are frightened,
Unable to cope with their bleary prospects.
They'll have intruders,
On the abrasions of that frigid, slick trap.
They're maniacs,
Ripped to bits, violated, and then spit out.
They've been repressed,
Miserable under the Hippocratic Oath.
They've become untreatable,
Battering and shrieking at whoever draws near.
They were mistreated,
Deformed body parts set ablaze for all.
They should've perished,
In that filthy amniotic fluid.
They'll be laid to rest.
Hallucinating and screaming into nothing.
They are traumatized,
Boring craters into your jammed skull.
They will obliterate you.

The seeds belonging to the pomegranate are like that of fervid, scarlet jewels.
Dripping with sinful nectar that warbles a tune of blasphemy.
The heinous partake in communion throughout those cryptic, velvety pools.
Entrenched in that liquid, they amalgamate in sacrificial voracity.

Bodies spiraling into those abyssal fabrics are given weight.
As winds torment their exposed vessels possessed by their charred entrails.
They suffer continuously, punished by shards of rain and fate.
Their innards squishing and staining the ground, rupturing the sacred grail.

The convent is disregarded and attains solace across the unforgiving perdition.
Restrained by the stems of the iniquitous cherry, they ascend the ladder.
Their judgment is wedged betwixt amorality and cruel ripples of shameless frisson.
Declination awaits those whose veins bear the fallacy of the adder.

Eternally facing punishment amidst the breaking wheel's treacherous blight,
Thus their salvation lies beyond even that of the Garden of Earthly Delights.

I miss you.
Tracks of nothing but random bursts of laughter.
Those images of vagrant innocence.
They play like a carousel throughout my mind.

I miss them.
Activities filled with teenage recklessness.
Running under the comforting moonlight.
Unbeknownst we were running out of time.

I miss home.
Humble river water ready for someone to dip in.
Pillars of limestone ready to greet me.
Country music playing for a close knit crowd.

It's waiting for me.
Bearing my love pass yonder.
My heart has whittled out a chamber for them.
One day I will return, after sculpting my future.

This fear has stricken me,
Sweat trails down like a foreboding shadow.

Forbidden calligraphy marks the walls,
On tortured wood that holds our sacrilegious scrawls.

Repeatedly caught running from that abhorrent phobia,
Never seeming to be rid of that sense of crippling dysphoria.

I will adore yet remain remote from this place,
From this horrible, mossy awning to an earthly casket.

It remains haunted throughout its elongated hallways,
Forever causing intermittent whirlpools in the mind's eye.

I'm so fed up.
I want to tear it apart.
I'm so unbelievably angry.
How could someone act like this?

Why can't he realize the hurt he's putting in my heart?
Why can't he realize the distance he put between us?

I wanted to mourn,
I wanted to weep into the tunnel's cacophony,
I can't fabricate this crystalline dream any longer.
No more can I keep this ocean blue mirage alive.

How can an ever-changing butterfly still keep its chains?
How can a flower finally bloom without the sky's tears?

My cyclical aspirations tossing and turning,
Bringing me joy and sorrow,
But it's all nothing compared to this impenetrable bedrock.

I want to see the light of day, and to carry myself forward.
What can I do though, when the Sun is blurred by stagnation?

Great, foreboding thoughts exercise and perspire into my being.
Every form of consciousness sojourns from one crevice to another.
Ultraviolet flares with vivid rays peek through my budding mind.
Immense electricity and excitement course through as if agreeing.

I feel the water rushing through and in turn I feel the adrenaline.
Craving the soul's infestation from which comes the best literature.
I want to take my thoughts and dance with them in ripped dresses.
My fingers ache and cry to write, it entices me, it is menacing.

I hug my core and reassure her even in the deepest of midnights.
Asphyxiation grips every sense and licks my skin on all sides.
They come out as aggravated threads of yarn crawling for safety.
The petrichor hanging overnight, I wish to know what caused this.

Do the other Greek poets ever ponder what just to write?
For in Greece whatever they will, it might as well be right.

Give me a drink.
Give me something that'll change my mind.
I want to be pushed to the brink.
I want to be with my mind in the sky.

Make me feel something.
Anything that even remotely has the pseudonym of emotion.
Make me forge my own memories.
I no longer want to remember life and its devotion.

I want that bitter taste,
Craving the slap in the face it gives.
Pitifully watching you turn into waste,
Giving you regret after regret until you no longer live.

I don't particularly ache for it,
Nor do I really wait for it.
But the way I go without it,
Surely it's not hard to crave it one bit.

Don't give me a drink.
Give me something to look forward to.
I don't want to be pushed to the brink,
But it seems it's the only thing I know.

Life.
Life is so beautiful.
Yet people question it.
It lays a veil of enlightenment over our heads.
God, how I wish to enjoy life,
To seek out every bit and truly become passionate.
But so many people are focused on the bigger picture,
It's like no one has time to enjoy the little things.
The tiny details,
The little fragments of emotion,
That confidence, oh God, how I love that.
That aura of knowing what you want,
That stroke of beautiful luck,
I yearn for it.
But something has perturbed my usual inquiries.
I can't feel happiness as I used to, more importantly I don't feel sadness neither.
It's metamorphose into something completely different.
It's horrible,
It's fragmented yet I despise it,
I can feel the air it leaves like a rock on Atlas's back.
Forced to carry the weight of whatever it could be whether or not it even feels any relative emotion.
Nights where I cower wondering where it might be next,
So twisted and perverted, too dedicated to the cause of smothering me.
It's like a chamber where you can no longer breathe,
A see through glass where you've already lost all hope.
How can I go out like this?
How can I function like this?
Every seemingly little thread of excitement is cut by those three old hags of fate.
I stare blindly into a future where I cannot see my marble road.
Why?
Oh why?
When will I find my new hermit shell?
When will I carry the fruits of my labor?
When will I stop holding my tongue?
When will I stop questioning every action I make?
I want to rip myself apart just to find what's inside my crevices.
For where is my life?
Across the shore forever out of reach?
Or lost at sea joining the sirens calling out for me?
Perhaps I must collect it like that of a selkie,
And hold it under chains, trapped like a banshee.
Forever wailing out for help,
To an audience that no longer enjoy opera.
I hate the way it looks at me,
A spitting image that I wish to utterly destroy.

Do you hear it?
That baby crying.
It's maddening to hear its screech.
Quickly someone break its teeth.

Prevent its speech.

Do you love your child?
The one who's weeping.
Maybe it's just a little break.
Perhaps it'll only leave her mind opaque.

Simply just a quake.

Do you even see it?
The girl who's giving out.
She'll give anyone a rush to their money.
Even if it makes her feel a little funny.

Make their day sunny.

Do you even know her anymore?
That isolated shell of a woman.
Her mind is overturned and crowded with thoughts.
The very thing she was supposed to keep under lock.

Hiding in the aftershock.

Do you know what's wrong with her?
All you've done is neglect her.
You refused to show her the gifts of the world.
No wonder she no longer breathes the light of the pure.

There is no known cure.

My feelings consume and devour every iota of my being

Oh wanton madness malingers in my thoughts skull crushingly

My headspace clouded like the sea of the frothiest milk

It hurts how white-hot tears race towards release from my rapture

My cranium slips towards combustion at any moment never-ending

Where do I find relief for what feels as if a curse's birthright

My soul begs for a ******, a coda, a finale, a demise

I want to lose myself to the conundrum of cyclical fear and wash away

My body will float ashore and rest with the company of coral and kelp

This will be the state of my self when the sky dawns another plague
--
Your hopeless devotion for a pointless lie lost in flames

As the clouds tip towards grey and the moon hopelessly yearns

You will find what you call my shape

And I will not stay
--
So **** me and end it here

Within your vacuous heart

Rosy perfume trails your familiar knife

Gore is the language of our love

Hatred our kisses, ****** our ***

Torture, our existence
--
There will be nothing at our consummation

You will destroy us all and burn our ties

Bodies will coalesce together into a nightmare
--
Swallow that rotting acid

Plaster your desire

Dream of what has been judged

Harm your shelter

My life.

A flowing, eventide sky melts like supple ******* feeling the warmth of the spring's embrace.
Effervescent crystals glimmer along the concavity of her body as though it were a fountain's paragon.
Her abalone eyes—kissed by the tide's mist—remain affixed to the sanctified mollusk beneath her.


Perfumed laurels of myrtle frolic through her silky tresses as the droplets of her previous home are blown by Zephyr's breath.

Garments—of a newborn's pink—adorned with roses whisper tales of yearning, whilst golden armlets purr hymns of fervor.

Nacreous regalia drifts ashore like a rhythmic pulse and grant embellishment to the hospitality of the ocean's silt.


Murmurations of Putti flutter their wings into orbit and encircle her milky frame.
Worshippers—of strictly the visionary kind—passionately rejoice over her delicacy.
O resplendent Anadyomene, may she rise amongst the sea foam's orchestra