My Lord, all the time in the world is mine,
And this coy mistress ensures it is not thine.
Nothing lies between us, sir. I guarantee
That no lovers day is set for thee.
Stay thee by the river Humber and complain
I will mind my own Ganges’ plane.
Keep espousing your lover’s lies
For I know what you hide.
You seek no more than each breast,
And none of the heart and soul within my chest.
That is why thou has so much time for ***
And not a second to wait, so you sit, vexed.
That is why you will wait till the last age
To see any hint of skin, much less my heart that for thee I have caged
In cold steel awaiting a better man to warm it.
One who lifts me to Heaven and is humble with wit.
Your love is no dignity or boon,
It is the disgraceful advances of a lustful ****.*

At your back there is a winged chariot, you say?
That you hear closer every day?
That is vengeance coming for a man such as thee
To place you in the deserts of eternity
That you say I should fear.
But do they not place me away from here?
And my beauty?
I would think one such amazing lover would be it his duty
To see that, once again, I am more
Than a pretty shell on the seashore.
Do you not see the little creature inside
The gracious heart beating, so dignified?
Why do you seek this dignity so desperately?
If you truly loved you’d see we’re better separately.



You speak of time devoured
I assume in the love-making of every hour.
Like the birds of prey you mention
I’m sure your hunger matches its conventions.
Your intentions are amorous surely,
But such things from thee I do not hold dearly.
You seek to devour me at once
And at once you will leave me looking as a dunce.
So now each pore fills with fire,
But not with that of your perverted desires.
They fill with the flame of rage and disgust
That a gentleman such as thee would these matters discuss
After being answered. I answered thee clearly too,
And rejected your pursuits.
I choose to languish this slow power
For it is better than languishing in you, overpowered.
Once more, I say I would rather run with the sun
Than stand still, and be undone.

The midnight ink.
Perfectly dabbled upon the printed page
Or written,
I don’t discriminate.

The breath I feel in each turned page,
And the life in my fingertips
As they brush
The timid paper.

My thoughts,
Flowing blissfully by
In harmony
With the black type.

The lamp next to me,
Providing necessary lumination
For my endeavor.
A beacon of hope in the black room.

That is peace.

Bleeding for relief
No longer the norm
I no longer flee
I have mastered the storm

When you see the heroes
In the shows we watch
With all of their special powers
That wow us “top notch!”
You wonder if they exist here...

We are those heroes

Each of our own style and kind
Writing stories and emotions and rhymes
Doing what others cannot do
We turn feelings into
Words

But each hero is not without their weakness
You see most of us write because we cannot speak
What we want to say
And hide the things we write away
We are nothing there

But here, we are the heroes.

In Waves
It comes and I go with it

It takes me to foreign lands
And to places anew.

In Waves
It comes and I go with it.

It carries me away away
A willing captive

They say I cannot hurt,
They say I can't complain,
They say my pain is a fantasy
They have not seen my brain.

They say I am okay,
They say that I am cured,
They say my problems are in my head
Of that they can be sure.

They say that I am strong,
They say that I am weak,
They cannot decide for sake of my mind
And that is why I bleed.

She died trying
In that old house
She died there

Where each footstep would creak
Like here aged bones
And bend like her back to time

Where each window was broken
Like her will
Knowing nothing

You smile when you come
And smile when you leave
Ask if I’m “okay, love?”
But I know it’s dishonesty
You could’ve killed me!

The words I have shall never sound, and
The actions I wish upon thee will never land.
You think you have the upper hand
But you know nothing, sad and foul.

I am dying can’t you see, I’m
Wilting before your eyes.
You must change quickly, or should I
Make me blind what darkness I see?

I fight death, not planned of course.
It is in the moment he comes.
Changing patterns mid-poem?
You’d understand if you noticed my mood swings
And all the other little signs.

But you don’t try...
Just another reason why.

I’ll have you know why I did it
He spoke
I could not stand his existence

I’m not crazy
I simply awoke
Bloomed like an undead daisy

His bones they are broken
And blood it is spilled
And afterwords I did softly stroke him

I told him of my will
For the world
And whomst I would ****

This happens when I grow bored
I attack and quickly so
It’s how I was born

God made me so, I know
I cannot change the fact
That I have grasped my next victim’s throat

And that’s that.

Once I sat alone in a dark room,
Trying my hardest to make something good.

Nothing would flow, not a word.
Nothing to show would I have, not one work.

However, I heard a sound.
A chilling sound that I could not recount.

I looked above me and lo and behold,
An angel stood there and I was stricken with woe.

You,  he said, are not pleasing.
God, he said, you are not heeding.

Yes, I responded, I know but im ill.
He did not respond or seem to be bothered.

You have disappointed the Father, said he
And he perched himself again above me.

And then I felt something change!
Suddenly, I was less deranged so to say.

I looked to my arms and the scars I no longer hid,
But then to my horror I saw what he did.

My skin was like iron!
And my veins they were wires!

And then I shut down,
And the angel frowned.

Suddenly I awoke once more,
And saw no angel at my door.

This wasn’t totally frightening, this vision,
But I was still glad to see blood running crimson.

I wonder what this thought process was
My mind I’m sure, must be abuzz
And black.

I write mostly for acceptance
That much is true
But mostly it is
To escape

My kind is a terrible place
Dark business
Unproclaimed and without much ado
Scarred by Evils omnipresence

While they write of love that is true
I write of darkness’ admittance
Despite its bitter aftertaste
I never seek repentance

What is a poem?
Is it words?
Is it something we can grasp?
Or is it some abstract peace?

What is a poem?
A window to the soul?
Even nonsense apparently has some meaning
Of some degree

What is a poem?
For if one word can be a poem
And a square on a canvas is art
What is a poem?

Once I had love
That is true
But now those days I’ve come to rue

I used to thank the Lord above
That is true
But now I am unable to give him his due

Once there was one I loved
When the creek was clear and blue
But now it runs a crimson hue

We loved and did thoroughly
Each second was not one to lose
We met each night at the old, wooden pews

Then one day she did not show
And where she was no one seemed to know
Until they found her there below
The oak tree by the the creek called Buffalo
No one knew the cause

And now I plead the Lord above
To free me from my ******* to
The earthly plain I’ve come to rue

For she never knew the evil I did do
I had loved not one, but two...

Shadows dance around and round,
Into the wall my head does pound.
My wrists lie bare to the floor,
My brother enters through the door.
He finally sees what he always saw,
Except now open lies his filthy maw.
The pain I cause is worthy today.
Now I lie here, finally slain...