Dark hair, milky thighs

We are all such broken things

Deep in the Nothing.

*******, sycophants
Obsequious mosquitos
Blatant fuckery

****** rings, tattoos
Open leg crab harnesses
Shove it in my face

Day blooms; morning fog
Dreams die, fading to shadows
Cold nights, forgotten.

Her skin is kissed by the stone lips of Luna; pale and cold are the curses between her legs.

My skin barely contains the poison underneath; the lies in my fingertips are centuries old.

She peels her skin off as I milk myself dry

Her breath is ancient flowers pressed between pages never meant to be opened; her ******* are polished granite, worn smooth by the bloodstained hands of old men who lost their souls
long before she
lost her virginity.

These dusty daydreams,
sun soaked and lazy thoughts
floating in the blue smoke
of an afternoon spent idling,
are the only way
I can drink your
milky skin
and not taste
blood.

*Scars taste better when you cry

Water born lovers-
Ripples became tsunamis,
Floodplains bring new life.

Severed ties, cut cords;
I watched it all fall apart,
From a safe distance.

Shameless *******
***** knees and greedy mouths
Sublime  atonement

I'm not quite sure what did it...

It could have been watching
Mother being beaten
or knowing Father was the one giving the beatings.
It may have been
when it was my turn
for the beatings.

It may have been the first time
I experienced the futility
of existing
here and now,
there and then.

It could have been
the first time I felt an
irrational fear of
climbing under the porch
with all the spiders and dark places,
or the subsequent shame imposed on me
because my little sister was
the one who
saved the stuck kitten.

It might have been the time
I rammed that same sister's head
into the side of the stove
and then threatened retaliation
if she told on me.

It may have been
thinking as a child
I was destined for
mediocrity, even though
I knew I was
born
to be great...

II.
Knee deep in thick muck,
******* and fuckery,
we trudge on and on
and through it all....

III.
Everyone is dying.
Some, quicker than others.
I'm going to
ride this out
for a while...

IV.
Hi
Hey, you look cute

Fat. You look ******* fat poured into that stupid dress. You are not seventeen anymore lady, jesus!*
...

V.
I can hear you breathing while doing yoga;
a slow inhale, pause, controlled exhale.
Your body is a....

VI.
Another ten hour shift
with the crew of ******* *******.
If I wasn't the boss
I'd have cracked some
****** heads
wide open
by now.
These ******* don't
know ****...

VII.
My plants need watering, wilting next to grandmas paintings...

VIII.
So, you think you know me...

VIIII.
Spare parts.
Lots of folks out
there made from spare parts.
Pieces that almost fit.

My knees were laying
around out back somewhere;
they were beaten into place.
They got most of the dimensions
right but the joints are tight...

X.
It takes two weeks for your kisses to reach me,
and two seconds for my blood to fill the empty spaces...

XI.
Wait...just wait. Don't go.
I was only kidding. ****...

XII.
Light. Bouncing all over the place.
Light.
Reflected into you...

XIII.
These giant guardians on the boulevard,
My friends, these tremendous sycamores, have been keeping watch my entire life.
They tried warning me...

XIV.
Two years later and your taste is gone but your smells still linger in the dark folds of memory...

XV.
This is going to be offensive to most.
Inappropriate? Some might say.
I wouldn't...

XVI.
These so called poems from
these so called poets about
cutting yourself and suicide really
can wear a guy out.
My tendency towards empathy and
compassion, tested daily, wears incredibly thin.
I've been there, not my thing, this cutting.
I'd rather burn flesh.
We've all got our thing right?
Except self harm isn't my thing.
Not a thing I do,
just a thing I did.
I wonder if these tortured
souls make it through the
next hour after reading
one after another cry for help.
I wonder if some do it just
for shock value, some just to goad
their creators.
I wonder if I am reading a poem or a
suicide letter.
It's unnerving.
I'm all for suicide; I suggest everyone try it
at least once.

Just quit with the incessant
*******...

XVII.
Cut my throat and leave me to the jackals for
I would rather drown in desert sand
than submit to the will of anyone
I do not
trust...

XVIII.
****** clamps, lead weights.
Paddles, restraints...

XVIIII.
I sat alone,
from nowhere a warm, blue light surrounded me.

**.
Balancing these monkeys on my back with the demons in my mind and...

21.
I smell ******* a mile away *******,
and you stink.
I see you shuckin' and jivin',
be-boppin' around like you are some kind of
badass...

22.
And now there are no flowers on the table and no long, dark hairs on my pillow...

Flowers of flesh, blood.
Bell jars breed suffocation,
So much to tell me.

Thick and cold, sharp night;
Milky skin drips under a sky that turns
from ebony to scarlet as the bugs find their way into our blood.

Take me into your heart like a dagger; what I want to do is live in your pain until all I know
is what makes you cry into your pillows.

Bury me in your long and heavy shadows
until the pressure of your fear consumes me like I was never anything more than fluids for you.

I'll take these chains off and
break my bones to give you something to mix your paints with. Just whisper in my ears so I can finally sleep.

*Whisper me to sleep in this cold night,
wrap me in your heat.

*****'s  mouth on **** face
******* her way to freedom
Enslaved by the taste

Paddles, aftercare
Classical conditioning
Making this one mine

Teasing the
hard night
with my
soft skin,
I come
alive under
the dead
moon.

I said her name,
and then she came.
The end.

Taking his time,
bathing in the blue smoke,
memories whirling and
eddying in the grey wrinkles,
his brow furrows.

All being one, he searches deep

She rushes from
one errand to another,
living to serve,
dying to love.

Sighing, often

Her calculations
demand symmetry;
feelings
just don't add up
and lonely men
wait in grey shadows
on the fringe.

Random elements

It's a twisted pile of flesh
for some  
while others
only get to **** the
swollen ****
or get stuck
being the fifth wheel
on a broken cart.

It's what they want

He remembers the smell
of Texas flowers
shining through his
deep Nothing
and knows he is
too far from home.

Sugar...

Tasting the pale one,
with her bugs and
her dead things
living under her
milky skin
and pretty dresses,
is still his
favorite sin
because she is
the only one
that can keep
him warm in her
sweaty folds
and wet sheets.

Bury me in your sweet blood

At the train station,
he sees her in
a sundress while
the sun and moon
both die
according to prophecy.

See you there, darling

You can make it seem
just like home
if you listen to
the night because
all we need
is waiting for us,
somewhere.

*Somewhere

Cold night, razors edge;
Changing paradigms, by force.
Life is violent.

I tasted her mind,
after drinking her juices.
Delicious poisons.

I'm growing weary
of finding ways
to make myself
come.

Cool skin, warm night air
Tasting each others secrets
Dying seems pointless

I ate a whole bag of
cheetos one at a time,
savoring each cheesy bite,
and watched two seasons of
South Park as my friend tried to
hit a vein.

**** man. I got little ones, they keep rolling.

It took her hours.
Forearm
Shins
Wrists
Other arm
Calfs

"What the **** man, why even ******* bother? Why not just smoke it like everyone else?"

******* tweakers

She says the high is worth it.

That rush, man. *******!

But really,
no matter how ****
they are,
or used to be,
nobody likes
a spun out
tweaker *****.

*Nobody

Trite melodrama-
These theatrics, tiresome.
Just leave, little girl.

Even before
I enter you,
I feel at one
with you,
my beloved.

Our simple and
seamless merging,
timeless;
unfettered
by temporal tethers,
unencumbered
by corporal constraints,
we become one,
again.  

Sublime transcendence.

Wishy washy fool;
He got lucky, she forgave.
Kind woman, his light.

Black leaves, silver clouds
This night, this now, drapes heavy
Alone with the dark

Twisted memories
Stewing in spiteful juices
Rotting in my guts

Sick, mean little boy
Spitting her venomous words
I knew we were doomed

Chakras and serpents
Surrendering to Goddess
This love, eternal

She is my Goddess
I, her Divine Masculine
A sacred union

Supine, wrapped in scarlet,
only eye open, third.

I create her skin, flawless and golden;
her hair becomes the color of midnight
on the ocean,
blood at night.

Suspended, bound in purple,
capitulation, freedom.

These lonely visions, they are cobblestones in my twisted path of memories both past and future, overgrown with weeds of time and worn around the edges; an uneven course winding in and around and back again, with branches, heavy and black,
so black,
on all sides.

Where are you, dearest?

I smell acrylics and oils and linseed
and the windows are open; traffic hums on the hill and your brow is furrowed as your brush caresses the canvas, each stroke, love manifest.

Later, you will sing for me

Fluid, mercurial, she sings and paints
and broods
and pouts
and wipes her cheek with her thumb, smearing alizarin crimson on her pixie face.


Time stops at her beauty

The moment falls into my guts, burrowing into
my insides forever;
the plants by the window,
the deep red smear on my angel,
the sound of camelhair hitting canvas, forever mine now
to cherish and carry
with me as I trudge this
desolate and dreary landscape.

*When I come home,
you will sing for me

The war rages on
Choosing battles, difficult
Fight them all, ****, win.

Dead eyes, rotting bones
Skeletons hold no secrets
The river gives all

Dagger of the soul
Timeless disintegration
The edges crumble

Blue eyes and skinny.
Tattooed harbinger of love.
She doesn't see me.

Moonlight, cool breezes.
She lives in another time.
Our love transcends space.

Heavy limbs, old roots.
Seasonal magnificence.
Mighty Sycamore.

Dead eyes, painted skin.
Crush armies, write love sonnets.
Poet warrior.

These rooms are getting smaller
without you.
These tired bones ache in
your absence.

You are missing, from me

It's almost five a.m. and
I'm staring at the walls again,
thinking of all the women
and their parts.
Their missing parts and
the chunks they ripped
from me.

Some took more than I could give
and knowing this didn't make
the bleeding any easier.
Pushing boundaries becomes a bore;
I know how far I will go.

I saw the weathered metal chairs
on your porch, the same kind my grandmother had in her back yard,
as I drove near your house today.

I remembered our brief kiss, on those chairs. The electric shudder rippling through my entire being as your lips parted and for one sweet, fleeting moment, I felt loved.

It's five a.m. now and I'll die again today,
without you.

This now.

The milk of your skin,
punctuated by the midnight in
your hair,
pours over my open wounds
until you wash away my insides.

My guts, your home.

I never wanted you to
live without my blood on your hands
because, let's be honest,
your bruises make me hard
and my suffering soaks
your sheets.

This now,
I am the blade
that does not cut.
You are the bleeding moon
hiding in the shadows
of our ancient desires.

This now,
we **** each
other
to death.

Sad monkey, blue girl.
Stars in eyes, hungry bellys.
Crying, now sleeping.

Thick clouds, heavy greys.
Birds hush as lightning gives birth;
Tornado alley.

I smell *** everywhere I go.
In the air,
On cafe counters,
At bus stops and on sidewalks.

I taste it in your coy smiles
and backward glances
while he wasn't looking.
Sand and salty skin,
lips with no teeth behind them.
Blood rushes and swollen parts.

I know I will ruin you
from the inside out.
This is how cancer feels.
Love isn't always soft as sighs,
slow and careful cobweb touches.
Sometimes it's mindfucks,
riding crops and hematoma.
Ask napolean about the pyramids
and you will hear the
words of a true ******.

These words, just cockroach
legs swarming around the rotting
chicken bones underneath
your stained mattress,
ancient and ugly,
feeding,
defiling,
consuming.

This now we are sharing,
my now of writing,
your now of reading,
are they the same?



Another day alone
as I decay into
a great big
pile
of nothing
and
somewhere
out there
is a ****
that will
finally
make me
happy.

Soil and ancient roots
Unbearable vacuum
Her silence killed me

Flaming fuckery
Egos clash between keystrokes
I can only laugh

Brotherhood tainted
Enemies bloom from strangers
**** yeah, internet!

Go **** your mothers
We can all be crass, so what?
Free speech is not free

I said I would not
Involve myself with drama
But look at me now

**** all this **** man
I come here to write, not fight
But some people ****

I'm sure some of you
Are counting my syllables
Does it matter man?

I write bad haiku
Lots and lots of bad haiku
This is one of them

See what I did there?
It is more than syllables
Go break haiku rules

You know who you are!
Trouble makers, muckrakers
Sensitive poets

Tiniest casket
One more soldier up above
Drafted much too soon

Crawling night, pale moon.
We bury him tomorrow.
Precious innocent.

Psychic soul suckers
Narcissistic little *****
Poetry for pukes