I want to draw
what is in my heart
cathartic pictures
screaming the pain I feel
but I have neither the talent
nor the ink to express
all the skulls I see
dancing in the subset

Witchcraft and wine
it comes so naturally,
and now that you’re mine
I’m going to actually
try my best not to lose it.
If there’s a bomb then I will defuse it.
If there’s an offer I’ll just refuse it.
If there’s a card to play I’m going to use it.
Because you’ve got me under

Your blanket of stars and mysteries,
connecting our scars and histories.
In parked cars both sighing mystically
and back to the park where I was to shy to try anything.

Sorcery and scotch
you put me in a trance.
If you took it down a notch,
I just might stand a chance
that I’m not going to lose my head,
even with my cheeks burning red
getting brighter as you quietly said
“I’ll meet you tonight in our bed.”
Depriving me of slumber

With your healing touch and cosmic skin,
I’m within your clutch and freely giving in.
It’s too much and you have yet to begin,
removing my crutch and cleansing me of each sin.

I was warned of street magicians
and cautioned with tales of gateway drugs.
To not take my eyes off no matter the conditions,
because that’s when they tend to pull rugs.
“If you fall for one,
you’ll fall for them all.”
But this time I’m done,
I think it’s last call.

With your witchcraft and wine,
you make it look so divine.

“Try and be patient,
Have plenty of hobbies,
Keep your friends,
We do need them
Even if we don’t always think the same as them,
Be happy -
Even if you have to work at it”

I try to create
to make art
to write poems
it all seems fake now
the brush strokes
the empty words

I try to create
whilst watching other people successes
They're so much better than me
they're so much further than me,
I wonder if my journey was once there's
if they shared this feeling one time

Rolling in time
Strolling along the beat
Don’t know what will come  
All I know I have to hum
To the heat
Storms will pass
I know, I know
What will become?
Rolling in time
Strolling to the beat
Staying out of the heat
Loving each day
Trying to make my way
Everyone rides a storm
You will get out
Strolling along the beat
Don’t take the heat
Storms of life

A strange pattern for
writing has come
to me lately.
The skeletons of
poems form when I
lie down for a nap.
Sleep always calls,
and bones want to
dance and grow skin.
Lilacs bloom, and I feel
the inner thigh of
eternity, soft and wet.

I can't get any rest.
I have to jot down the
notes or they turn
to ashes and blow away,
or, they are buried deep in
mud and slumber,
impossible to dig up.

I sleep with a notebook and
pen, as I drift off,
I whisper to the tortured
bones,
don't cry and try not to worry.
I'll bring you to life.