The storm limps away into the night
I follow along--

out of an enigmatic temptation, I dare not fathom
I once visited the ocean they said was in love with the shore
they told me to walk bare foot on that ****** sand,
and breathe in the rosy winds
said it would help calm my ravenous heart
Ocean, they said would hear all my unsung screams

said if I gave myself to the dust, it would crawl up on me
and cover the naked of my shivering being like a wool blanket

I sat with my legs in the shallow water
and watched the giggling waves winding over each other
the sturdy tides curtly calming them down
only to be disturbed again by sudden callous gusts
Ocean, they said, would wake the child in me

running through the alleys, I call after the raging winds
but the night dozes soundly to sleep.

I walked bare foot but the seashells poked at my skin
as if desperately reaching for the flesh, or I think they did
closed my eyes; and oh the devils that I saw,
dancing their charm out; seduced, I forgot the flowery air,
but I know I inhaled it for I still feel the rose-thorns ***** my throat

The horizon smiled at me as I drew away my lids
I watched the lacy white waves ebb away
hoping they would take along what of me was left to carry

I follow you around, sailing through my vivid seas,
noting down the shrinking moons.
hoping to reach you but then I reach a village,
full of ancient wells and old kids
I wander through fields reeking with grass,
and through moors starving for it
Hoping to reach you but then I reach a city
full of luxurious graves and flooded streets
and so busy do I get tasting new drinks
and walking through puzzling, shining halls
that I forget about you or the old blue void calling me home

But that lasts for mere centuries--
Until one day some sudden chirp brings something back
a morning breeze so saltier than before
and when I see the familiar fields far away
the trees thinking, the bushes sleeping
somewhere behind the unmoving crowd,
a thin colourless line ,where the sky kisses the earth
calls out to me, singing its alluring ballads, someone familiar,
Almost a friend.

So I set off and run along the paths that lead me to you
drinks clink but I run off, villagers offer me roofs but I sail away
days blinking by, dozing off cautiously at nights,
feasting upon wild roots I run off for you, an almost friend.

And you’re there, right there, here I come, one jump away
your hand mere inches away from mine
your sound right next to my ears, whispering
forever teasing, sneaking away silently as I come closer
Like a hungry bull, I try reaching for the apple hanging by my horns

This blazed sky is no home.

When I lie on the sand
I only feel the little pearls climbing my body like ants,
They reach the top of me, pin in their nails and tie up their ropes
I wriggle and I scream then I tire and still
This is not falling asleep at all.
I feel like being dragged away into the snarling mouth of a cave
where the only noise is that of metal striking metal
knives spanking stones, daggers sighing in relief
as they slice smoothly through a skin so mine
Slow, shy sounds of my blood dripping down,
embracing the rugged ground and never letting go
Slow groaning, cracking of bones as they let go.
vessels—Oh so lovely—vessels only laughing

So I sit up.
I sit in the waves and watch them flutter about me
silently I sway along with the air, tides they greet and go
I wish they’d take me along wherever they went
maybe one day they’d leave me exhausted on an empty shore
and I’d look at the ever widening sky and be home

But they leave me behind on my very own land—
They ebb away from the shore they’re in love with
and she never follows.

Yeah *** is cool but have you ever felt the warmth of a man that truly loves you and adores you?

i wrote a poem. it wasnt about the leaves falling or growing back. it was about a boy that was too sad to
even look at himself in the mirror. sometimes he believed that if he looked in the mirror for too long he wasnt who he was supposed to be, sometimes if he looked in the mirror too long he became a monster and thats particularly the reason why he avoided the mirror at night because thats when monsters become real and he was tired of thinking of himself as a monster.
i wrote a poem but it wasnt about summertime or the way the sand feels between your toes or the cold rush of ocean water on a hot day. it was about the salty tears that he would cry because demons were haunting his room at night. and not the demons like ghosts but the demons from within. the kind of demons that you cant run away from.
i wrote a poem it wasnt about a bride blushing when the groom snuck a kiss when the priest wasn't looking it was about the funeral we gave you. it was about the hundreds of people who stood in line just to see your face one last time before youre put in the ground. it was about me staring at your chest from afar hoping that it would move that maybe this was one of your famous jokes and maybe your lungs would start working again along with your heart and your organs and your brain and maybe your eyes would open. perhaps itll scare someone whos standing right next to you but who cares bc youre alive. but you didnt. and now now youre in the ground.
i wrote a poem and it wasnt about me it was about finding the demons. i found the demons inside of you when you were put into the ground. i found the demons because as they lowered your casket into the 6 foot hole they dug for you i saw one slip out before they closed it. the demon was dancing on your casket and as they lowered you to the ground, i jumped. i didnt jump up i didnt jump back. i jumped in and i started hitting that demon as hard as i could because now that youre gone the demon had no place else to go. the demon knew he had won but even the best fall down sometimes and i made sure he fell as hard and as far as he could.
i wrote a poem but i couldnt save you from yourself. if i could have shrunken down and fought that demon before you left me i would have. but i couldnt. i had all these words left to say to you but they started in my chest and never made it to my throat and now im sitting here with all the words that couldnt have saved you anyway because the demons were trapped inside of you. the only way for you to be happy again is to cut yourself open & rip them out yourself, so you did. the demons were trapped & stuck inside you, and i know because i have demons stuck inside of me too. but sometimes i get so mad because if im still here then why arent you? if im still here fighting myself trying not to rip out my own demons, then why couldnt you have done the same? i needed you.
i wrote a poem. and it was about my demons being stuck inside of me and theyre crawling and theyre running around and sometimes they run to a dead end and they hit my fingertips and they bounce  back and run straight into my heart. they run through my veins, through my arteries. sometimes they break my ribs in the process but they heal so quickly that the doctors dont believe me and call me crazy but i promise them that theres a demon inside of me and hes breaking my ribs and hes breaking my soul and hes breaking my heart but i can still feel the demons running inside me. and i dont know how or why or when but i just want them to go away i dont know how im going to do that but i said some day i would. and i think thats the reason i cut myself open, to try and find a way to show the demons a way out but they run through my blood stream and i can feel them in my fingertips and i can feel them
in my forearms and i can feel them in my elbows and i can feel them in my shoulders and in my neck and i can feel them going down my throat. and i can feel it in my chest and i can feel it in my liver and i can feel it in my stomach and i can feel it in my pelvis. and i can feel it in my knees and i can feel it in my shins and i can feel it in my ankles and i can feel it all the way down to my toes and suddenly its like an electric current and it flows all the way back up to my head and shock the hair in its roots. it feels like i cant say anything fast enough or correctly.
i wrote a poem & it was about sometimes i believe that why i write & not speak is because i cant say the right words and maybe if i state at a blank piece of paper long enough the right words will come out but i know, i know they wont bc the demons are still stuck inside of me and i think thats why you wrote so beautifully that night and didnt ask for help. the demons knew that they were finally coming out and sometimes when the demons come out its the best time to say things.
i wrote a poem and it was about wanting peace. i just dont have peace but rather i have pieces of myself.
i will never have peace until my demons are gone. but im trying to find a way to get the demons to leave me alone without dying im not sure if i know the right way but im sure as hell trying. but the drugs dont work and the alcohol doesnt work and the cigarettes dont work and the blood doesnt work and the pills dont work. but i have to find a way to stop them before they eat me up inside and they tear me apart. in order to stop them ill have to tear myself apart and thats why i break things and thats why
i throw things because i have to find something to destroy other than myself and sometimes i pull my hair because i cant understand whats happening to me.
i wrote a poem and i started to see red for a bit but i stopped seeing red because the curtains are red and the walls are yellow. the candle on top of the cabinent is red brown and yellow and the book on the couch is  yellow and red the couch is yellow red tan green blue. the table is brown and the floor is brown but the carpet and the drapes are red.
i wrote a poem. maybe i should stop talking about them before they come back its like a taboo its like the  field of dreams and the saying"if you build it they will come" and i promise you that if i built a bridge from my heart to my brain the demons would make their way back & i would be consumed by them and im not sure if i can deal with that so ill cut the bridge in half before they start walking towards my brain.
i wrote a poem. and it was about me snapping that bridge in half and watching the demons fall down my throat and into the acid in my stomach, but that doesnt make any difference because once one does another one is born. so as long as the demons keep walking they will die with my secrets but the new ones will find  a new way to torture me, and maybe thats worse because if they need new ways to torture me then every thing will torture me. perhaps thats what happened to you.
i wrote a poem but im not sure what its about anymore. but i do know that its not good and im tired of speaking.