The moon breaks,
My head aches,
She pulls a gun,
To raise the stakes.
She holds me close,
She turns her nose,
She reaches out,
And time slows.
There is no fear,
Her lips are here,
I kiss her back,
and disappear.
She steps in,
For searing skin,
I cut her off,
it could have been.
But I know dumb and I know love,
I know her and the pain thereof,
We wanted each other for a moment there,
but I can't have another affair.

"Excuse me sir, do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?"
For a moment, I almost tell him that I was born Jewish.
Or that I don't really believe in a God at all.

I almost tell him, "No."
But I look at his too-thin, pathetic face,
And at his cross necklace.
I notice his red shirt,
The blazing white shoes,
faded jeans without a belt.

I almost tell him, "No."
Then I remember that old trick I used to play.
knock knock knock. The door opens.
"Excuse me sir, do you have a moment to talk about our lord and savior Jesus Christ?"
The same look I'm giving him now, and the door closes again.
I rob the neighbor visiting his daughter in New Mexico instead.

I almost tell him, "No.
I don't have the time because I can't be redeemed, so *******."
I almost tell him, "Your God is a lie that your parents made up to keep you a ******."
I almost flip him off and say, "White America can *******."

I almost tell him, "No."
But I hesitate, because I marvel at his capacity to believe.

I almost tell him, "No."
But I hesitate. I look him in the eyes.
"No," I say, and I slam the door in his face.

The game stops being fun,
When you spend a night full-throttle,
And can't remember if your headache's,
from a needle or a bottle.
The game stops being cool,
When you throw up in your yard,
When you look inside your mirror,
And behind your eye's you're scarred.
The game stops being fine,
When you start to fear a hug,
Because you almost check their pockets,
For some money, for some drugs.
The game comes to an end,
When you realize what you are,
When you give in to your urges,
And you OD in your car.

I reel you in with honeyed words,
That only you can read.
I reel you in with hooks and spears,
I reel to make you bleed.
I speak to you in riddles,
Decode them with my smile.
I speak to you in poetry,
I speak to you in guile.
It's not you I'm deceiving,
I'm too busy with myself.
I write my book of ciphers,
It's there for you on the shelf.

Green tea, red fire,
Glowing in the place.
Black screen, white tusk,
A poised trunk with grace.
Pupil-less and empty,
Stare into the soul.
Thick flesh-less life,
Ebony and coal.
Distinctly creepy in its eyes,
But beautiful without.
Distracting from its evil,
With the fountain of its spout.

There is nothing worse,
Than waking up from a dream,
To see that she's gone.

Take a trip on a pill,
It'll be quite a ride,
Swallow the tablet,
and swallow your pride.
Lose yourself in the haze,
That it casts on your mind,
Open your eyes,
The stars are aligned.
In this trance you can see,
The you you want to be,
But don't get too close,
Or you'll never be free.

Breath the air in zeroes and ones,
Gather your forces and gather your guns,
Feel electricity flowing through you,
Paint oozing red from pulsating blue.
A network of neurons fuels violent vigor,
Process their fear and pull on the trigger.

Was it a mistake?
Or rather, what kind? Was it,
Carelessness or recklessness,
That brought you to hit send.
It's like every time I start to think everything is going to be okay,
You come back and knock that down.
In person, or in my texts, or in my memories, or thoughts or this ******* stupid website where we confess the ****** things in our souls.
If you want to talk, I will.
But if you have said all you have to say to me,
If you don't want to be the best friend I once had,
Then do me a favor, and lose my number.
Because I can't keep being knocked down.
I can't keep lying in bed and holding the stupid clown I was raised with close and cry while it stares back at me without any ******* eyes and then be expected to wake up in the morning and go to the school where every ******* hallway reminds me of one of the times I made you smile.
I can't keep being spied on by my former friends, by the security guards, by my brother and by that ******* staircase.
I can't keep living in this ****** world like nothing is wrong. Because it all is.
It's all just wrong, worng, wnorg, gnorw, ngrwo.

The clock ticks slowly towards doomsday.
I am in a desert, the sun pounding down onto my back,
Telling me:
"You are worthless."
It is right of course, but it doesn't make it hurt less.

I want only to look up from the sand,
And to see your smile.
I want to hold you, to kiss you, and to look up,
And to see the gentle moon once more.

I dream of you,
No remedies.
In walls of blue,
Are memories.

Of you and me,
Intertwined.
So carefree.
So ******* blind.

To all the pain,
I'd bring down,
*** and champagne,
Take back their crown.

I'm tired of life,
Without a doubt.
Cut by the knife,
I'm bleeding out.

Panicking,
High in the air,
Scrambling,
But nothing's there.

I cannot fall,
Back into drink,
No alcohol,
I have to think.

About the evil,
I have done.
It seems medieval,
But I can't run.

Tools of torture,
On my brain,
From disorder,
Remove the stain.

I am awful,
This is true.
Drown in offal,
To then break through.

I have learned,
A simple thing.
I can be burned.
I am not king.

You don't want me to move on.
Your wish is my command I suppose,
Because I can't love anyone but you.
Not my family,
Not my friends,
Not them.
Not myself.
I suppose you could say my tether to other people,
The bands of attention that allow humans to interact,
Like people that is,
are broken.
My heart is broken.
My mind is broken.
We are broken.
And I am broken.

Picking out the pieces of my hair like petals.
She loves me.
She hates me.
I love her.
I hate me.
I know that I could love her if she'd let me,
but she won't
because
She hates me.
I know that she could love me if I'd let her,
but I won't
because
I hate me.
I know that I love her,
even though
I know
She hates me.
I know she loves me,
even though
I know
She hates me.
I know she loves to hate me but she loves me,
though I know
She hates me.
I know she hates to love me but she hates me
though I know
She loves me.

I wake up. The bed is cold.
I am cold.
A gray day awaits.
I stare into the blank ceiling,
And feel an emptiness I cannot fill.
Not without her.
I stand up and shuffle across my shattered bedroom,
To the door.
The glint of the golden doorknob is the only color in this place.
I drink a tea. My mother is worried.
She's starting to notice I'm not eating at all.
Maybe...
It's time for a haircut.
A change...
From who I am. It'll do me good,
To be someone else, for a moment.
"I still love her" I think to myself, but it is silenced when I slice a hole into my head.
It is clean, a thin trail of blood which becomes a waterfall.
It streams down my face, and I keep cutting,
Blood and hair and tears falling as I stare into this broken mirror,
And the most horrible, hideous monster looks back at me.
I hate him so much, and I cut more in hopes that he will look away.
But he doesn't.
His frozen, desolate eyes stare deep into my soul,
Or rather his own,
The poor disgusting *******.
He has forgotten what it is to feel anything but pain,
And even that is escaping him.

At the end of a relationship,
I think I'm reminded of something.
It's a simple truth really, hidden while we're together.
I hate myself.
And when we were together, I didn't, because you loved me, and you were a part of me, and at least some part of me loved me,
I thought.
Can love just die the way it did for you?
Are you even in pain?
I can't tell any more. I think you just want to leave me behind, because I remind you of the part of you,
That still loves me.
Despite the darkness, despite the pain, despite the sheer stupidity,
That part of you lives.
Maybe I'm just telling myself that,
You've had no trouble moving on.
I remember you were so upset with me once,
For not taking time to move on from you.
Look at you now.
There's no time like the present when you're running from the past.
I want to take a year, to talk.
To tell you, through words and actions, that I'm sorry.
I want to fix this massive hole in my shriveled heart,
The one that you put there.
I want to fix us, this incredible beautiful thing we had.
I want to move on, but the demons of my past are putting walls in front of me.
I break down whenever I think about it for too long, not just about you.
I break down when I remember how my father used to hit me for crying, and then hit me more for crying more.
It was a cycle.
I remember when I thought I couldn't love, so I lied to myself until I could.
I remember cold hands in the dark.
I remember the knife, and the blood.
I remember the numbness of staring into the cosmos, and feeling nothing but terror at the smallness of it all.
I got good at burying it, all of it.
Very, very, very good.
I built a dam to hold my emotions in, with the military discipline Aba taught me.
I learned how to drain them into the ocean, just before it overflowed.
Now...
Now it's overflowing with nothing at all.
Because you keep walking to the gates,
And knocking them down,
Until the things I forgot I could feel are raw and exposed in the light.
You don't want me to die, but I don't think you love me.
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
But you abandoned me,
Right in the nick of time.
I meant it when I said "I love you", despite what the dam was hiding.
But you didn't. You couldn't.
You never needed to build a dam,
To keep the feelings from flow,
Because you know what it's like,
To feel, and let go.
I was taught, day and night,
To hold and to hide,
To never let out all the pain that's inside.
I learned how to numb,
That won't go away.
I can't learn to feel,
When I feel more each day.
I want to believe they mean nothing to you,
but you're wrong if you think that I didn't love you.

The world we live is in is cracked.
It has void where form should be,
And oceans fill the emptiness where it shouldn't.
That's  part of why I tried to leave it behind I think.
The world isn't perfect,
It's actually quite ****.
But it can be perfect with you.
The world we live in is breaking.
Just when you find your bearings,
The labyrinth changes shape,
And you fall screaming into black.
The world isn't perfect.
In fact, it's a ****-show.
But it can be perfect with you.
The world we live in has shattered.
Up is down, left is right, but wrong too.
I can't remember being happy because the world I lived in,
When I could feel happiness, that is,
Is gone. Forever.
This world isn't perfect.
And now it can't be.
But it could've been with you.

Part of me died when I lost her.
Part of me died when she wrote the first poem. It's just so much pain.
Part of me died when she looked at me and said "YOU can't take anymore?"
As if the thought that I was in pain was foreign to her.
I am broken.
Part of me died, with a noose around its neck.
I was in the garage, a rope to my left and a hook above me.
There was no time to think.
That part of me will never return.
I don't think any of them will.
I will always love her. Perhaps she will always feel the same.
But,
The part of me that has the strength to push on,
Died.
Choking
In
The
Air.

If I could turn over the clock,
And warp to my mistake,
Prevent the ripple's from the rock,
I dropped into the lake,
I would go back to a day,
That we met in time and space,
And send you far away,
Though I'd want to kiss your face.
I hurt the people close to me,
Because I'm made of slime.
To fix the past, I'll need a key,
To take me back through time.

If I could, learn to do,
How to do things right by you,
I would do about anything.
I might even learn how to love.
If I could, begin to be,
A fraction of the bad you see,
I might do about anything,
But never learn how to love.
If I could, turn and say,
Something that'd make us okay,
I would say about anything,
But first of all I'd say that I love,
You.

I am so much more,
So much better, and yet, worse,
Than the things I've done.

I wish I could fix this.
I wish I could alter time and repair the beauty I've broken.
You're still everything I need, and that won't disappear. Never.
I love you. If you need to hear me say it, then you know where to find me.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I've done, and I'm sorry I didn't say so sooner.
I just couldn't bear to let you go.
I'm being ripped apart.
And I'm
Not
Getting
Better.
I miss you. I don't know what I am without you in my life, but whatever I am, I don't like it.
If we could speak, I'd make a joke about the play you were in last year.
I wish, more than anything, more than life,
To return to the festival, and leave behind the strife.

You will always be my angel.
When I see the right path, it will be your words that guide me.
I just wish, pray, want, need...
Help.

I wake up in the morning,
with a pit where you should be,
And the air I breathe isn't filtered like it was.
I walk through the day with two broken legs,
And my feet drag along the broken glass.
You say that you're empty, but I'm hollowed out,
And I hate what's left.
I'm innocent, and that's the worst thing I've ever done to myself.

Breath in, breathe out,
Forget all the problems you're thinking about.
Live in the moment, swallow your fears,
Close your eyes and see with your ears.

I grip the barbed wire that I use a rein,
For this beast of a world that I cannot yet tame,
I grit my teeth and I hold my breath,
The name of my lover is death.
I kneel in the salt as I am abused,
With cables and whips, yet I am amused,
Blood hits the floor, and I smile at the stain,
The name of my lover is pain.
I spit out the words that I hear in my soul,
Reciting them from this internalized scroll,
I gather my demons and open the gate,
The name of my lover is hate.

I bleed through my fingertips.
I am a poet:
I stay awake, by no choice of mine, and I bleed onto the keyboard and into the world.
A tribute, if you will, to the wars within.
I am a musician:
I sneak into the woods, so my family cannot here, and I bleed on the strings of my black, battered guitar, and the music is heard by no-one.
I am a scientist:
I stay at the school, late into the night, to type one last line of code, or ***** in one last bolt. The whir of the motors is a release. Here, control is more than an illusion.
I am a person:
And I am full of so much blood.
Sometimes, it wells up in my heart until it is ripe to burst,
And sometimes it is as empty as poetry, or music, or beauty.

The nuclear winter fell on this place,
This broken desert glen,
And whale bones serve as carcass homes
For the very last of men.
Oil runs like blood,
Across the broken, lifeless dune.
They siphon it from ancient cars,
And howl at the moon.
Corpses rot abandoned,
With an X upon their palm,
Irradiated from the night,
They call the Night of Bombs.
One man who lives forgotten,
On the taste of human skin,
The man exists in all of them,
The evil deep within.

Love is, fools may say,
As a warm, softened kitten,
Mewing pitifully.
Gods-men may say it is the snake,
Poised venomously in the tree of knowledge,
Tempting gleefully into sin.
Some say it is a peacock,
Strutting high upon its perch,
But running away at the drop of a pin.
I say it is the owl,
Flying above on wings of terror,
And its glowing eyes turn to the grass,
To swoop down and
devour
that
***.

Night falls upon the sleepless one,
who stares deep into the void.
He cannot yet be overrun,
He shall not be destroyed.
On the precipice of the blank,
He has lost all hope.
The riverside with either bank,
But while on land he cannot cope,
And so the water engulfs him,
He is drowned but still he breathes.
Light without him is now fading,
But within him it still seethes.
Destruction lies upon the sleepless mind,
Until it pounces on the light, resigned.

c n i r p o e o x u c g p n s h g v i y
v p y r g s k e k q w g x e o r q k q d
h d l z f e f z o l i o c z e v e n o v
s e a s x p n l c x c g j d s r o p o a
c k c t h a y k h k t x j u a z n j h f
w k g q d c h v i w x u g z f a d i p z
f t x q p s n p q v m f u s b u a v k x
b h m h g e w k z d q b i l z r n q d k
c p u u y i c v l g k u e o b i j t k v
f j n w k g t t f s y q m g n r d e f l
t y o r j h e g v w v g z c d p m g c r
m s j f a q h e s f s o n x h z y s s k
z b u b m n m e v a t o m a d j f l c a
x q g x n a g y l f l h z b m w l k s q
y p e g g f y b b z o p x g c u f b t a
h e l p j g r z n x z e d g n n c s b b
n o i t c a r t s i d u z w u w w f r j
z l t f n t d o j u p o p k t l y s s k
d m a x f l m s s r b m z g m a i o q j
e r n i o w h k s q m o e t u r w u s a

I am the last of a dying breed,
The shrinking group of people who can say,
They know me.
Not my name,
Nor my stories.
Hell, half of them are lies.
I am alone with my thoughts, and actions, and mind,
And I can tell you for sure,
That we are all alone, together.
We are not how we're seen, or how we see ourselves;
I am every ****** thing I have ever done,
And if somebody knew,
They would weep for the part of me that still gives a ****.
Thankfully, I know what they do not.
That this part of me does not exist.

The dry and broken sun beats down onto my eyes.
I have not had water for days, and it seems I have lost my taste for air.
Once, this place was an ocean.
Before man, or machine.
Before the chimps, and the lizards, and the fish.
There was only water,
The only sign of life on a lifeless planet.
When the earth was silence, the ocean was the source of sound,
The gentle purring of the planetary gears of life.
The waves, they are the only constant.
They were here before.
And I pray that they will be long after.

Home to every haunting dream,
Everything that makes you scream,
Your memories of an assault,
They call this place The Vault.
Holding secrets you don't know,
Letting out a darkened glow,
Guards on all sides shouting "Halt!"
They call this place The Vault.
Holding in what's scaring you,
Your insecurities like goo,
The source of every single fault,
They call this place The Vault.

There isn't a pain,
Which is greater than my own,
When I'm ******* bored.

At first, it is a cockroach,
Which survives every boot-print you leave on it.
Then, it is a vulture,
Circling above, waiting for a moment of weakness.
It becomes a tiger,
Which hunts you in the night, until you wake up.
Suddenly, it is a storm,
And the tornado's of your past are throwing you away,
And you're drowning in the air, and you are singing in the rain,
And then the storm is gone.
So tell me, wise reader...
What is left?

I'm in a treadmill in my mind,
It's like a hamster in a cage.
Claw and scratch, but I'm confined,
Till I go off the pressure gauge.
So I let out a little steam,
From the cooker in my brain,
It's not like I can simply dream,
Because I'm becoming insane.
I'm in a treadmill in my mind,
Look closer and you will find,
That the treadmill is designed,
To be a never-ending grind.

Every single thing,
That considers itself wise,
Is fooled beyond words.

Tick tock, rise and shine, shake the whiskey from your eyes.
Close your mind and count to five, scream yoursELF A LULLABY.

Walk along the sunlit street, and listen to the birds.
Listen to the angels and their softly spoken words.
Listen to the sound of wind across a grassy knoll,
But don't listen to the hole.
It's time to smell the roses, and the little daffodils,
It's time to smell the smell of your dad's burger on the grill.
Why don't you go outside and enjoy a pleasant stroll?
Just don't listen to the hole.
Because the closer that you get, to this hole inside the ground,
The more that you will hear the most horrific of all sound,
It's the sound of every evil thing that lives inside your soul,
So don't listen to the hole, please don't listen to the hole.

I am the eyes above the city.
I can see the businessmen and budding actors, scampering like rats through a forgotten maze, and hear the clacking of their shoes on the concrete.
I am the eyes above suburbia.
I can see the soccer moms and teenagers, drinking when no-one is watching because the stresses of their tiny worlds are too much.
I am the eyes above the countryside.
I can see the creatures of these places wander across a barren world, and I can smell the moonshine they come across at night.
I am the eyes above the world.
I can see the grand illusion, pulled across the mighty sphere of the Earth, and I feel nothing but joy as I abandon this place for another.

Run, hide, scream, despair,
Upon us comes an old nightmare.
Terror, weakness, gasp for air,
It's psychological warfare.
In the windows, yellow eyes,
Primal demons from the skies,
Parts of you that you despise,
Blotting out the red sunrise.
Snakes and spiders do kung-fu,
Boiling water raining too.
It's a dream, you're breaking through,
But the things you saw wake up with you.

Up is down and down is up,
Covering with their makeup.
Right is left and left is right,
Cower, run, before the light.

I love you.
Three words never caused so much pain.
Or joy. Yes, there was joy in them once,
But the two young, stupid people who said them are gone.
They are torn apart,
Stripped of their clothes,
And thrown in a cell with bars made of air,
The air in their lungs when they said those words,
I love you.
They would revel in each other,
Hold each other close.
Each was addicted to the soul of the other,
Without a thought to the withdrawal,
And that's where the headaches start.
I love you.
And this isn't a poem, it's a letter for you,
I pushed you away to push me into hell,
because that's what I was used to.
I'd adapted to fire, demons and sin,
and you are an angel.
I was afraid of your light, and of your grace,
because you are the reason I look on my face,
In mirror's and can't bring myself to say:
I love you.
I remember. I remember the curses and cookie dough,
I remember the blanket we dyed red with our blood,
I remember a beauty, a beast, and a princess bride,
I remember these things despite myself because,
I love you.
And so, if you read this, and I hope that you do,
Just know deep inside I am waiting for you,
Behind the stairs, or the old construction yard.
Oh Sophie, oh Sophie,
I love you.

It won't stop bleeding,
This gaping red and black hole.
Useless bandages.

One of these things is not like the other,
White, and white, and white and brown.
Who is this one? He can't be my brother.
He's different, let's all break him down.
One of these things is not like the other,
Straight, and straight, and straight and gay,
What a weird thought, she cant be a mother.
She's different, that there's easy prey.
One of these things is not like the other,
Happy, and happy, and happy and sad,
Everything strange to me, I must smother.
When they're just like me, they'll be glad.

Planted in the mind,
Growing stronger by each day.
God, I need an axe.

Who knew that puzzle pieces could decay,
And leave a stench that never leaves your nose?
Who knew that crimson colors turn to gray?
Where there is scent of blood was scent of rose.
Were we too different or too far apart?
Where you once were is only broken bone.
I guess that's what you'd call a broken heart,
But blood's still pumping through my heart of stone.
I'm made of anger targeted at me,
The slightest move will likely aggravate.
I should be happy, hell, I'm finally free.
But I'm chained down by my own body weight.
I hate this dusk when once there was a dawn,
I want you badly, but the love is gone.

My poems; who have I been writing to?
Are they just words that I have plastered with meaning,
Pinned against the wall with emotion?
Are they written for the lovers I've known,
Or the ones I never will?
Maybe they belong to the demon I dedicate my sins to...
Or is it to the fact that it doesn't exist?
Are they reflections of my soul, or my mind, or just chemical nonsense smeared across canvas?
I would prefer any of these to the truth.
The truth, the unfortunate truth, is that my poems are love letters to this broken, little world that doesn't check it's mail.

It's funny how God,
Far away as he is,
Plays such a powerful role.
We are God's jilted lovers,
We pray for miracles, those kisses of wonder on our ancestors.
But he has left us, and found a prettier planet to put his coat around.

And so I've spoken,
In burning, silent actions.
Long live the quiet.