Wasted.
Another bottle of fire water
churning in the pit
of my soul.
I'm wasted.

The warmth we use to feel
concealed in the arms
of one another
was left unattended.

The spark that followed
was nothing short of the hollow
human I've become
since you decided to pull the trigger.

Bang!
Nothing but a smoking gun
a few fingers prints
and no alibi.
You killed the best parts of me.

I hope you know
that I can't breathe here
entangled in the black
smoke as it's fingers
strangle me silently.

How do you escape a fire
that burns vibrantly
from the inside?

You can't stop, drop and roll
when the flames
make themselves
at home and feed
on the happiness you usually
keep stored on the top shelf.

I'm wasted.
A burning man
but still cold enough
to remember the frigid way
you turned and left
me waiting for a call...

a call that never came.

I want to forgive you
but that part of me
no longer exist
outside of ashes and a shadowy
reminder of what once stood
in it's wake.

I am a man on fire
with no water
only tears of gasoline
that stream like Netflix films.

Let me find peace
in my slow decay.
So don't call
and don't write.

Don't search for me
when your own spark
finds a fuse strong enough
to ignite the same pain
I've learned to love.

But when the last flame
has claimed the last bits
of my humanity
just know that the
seedlings will fall.

And my roots will set a course
for the center of the Earth
and my stem with rise like mountains
and find a home
in the heavens.
I am a burning man...

but only for now.

She came before me
dressed in the lies
most damsels drape
over their souls
after their hearts
have felt the sting of shame.

She covered her truth
with bandages
stained with the blood
of wounds
still healing.

"Show me" I said.
Let me see you.
Let me peek
behind the wall
that you have spent your whole life
building...brick by brick.

Take off the mask
and let me bury my own
hurt in the gaze
of another wounded
by the misfired
arrow of Cupid.

Let me see you
without the makeup
and the long sleeves
and turtle necks.

Let your hair down.
Let it freely fall
around your exposed shoulders
and caress your skin
like the warmth
of an open fire.

Let me feel the flames
from the warmth
of your body
pressed against my own.

I want to watch you
and dive into your open sea
and make these waves
my home.

When I first laid eyes on her
I remember the way in which she
gracefully paced
across the Earth
with a confidence
that matched her wild soul.

I had, until this point
managed to subdue
the growing desire
that grew like twisted vines
in my unkept garden.

I approached her
with an uncertain step
but that uneasiness
was the comfort
we both craved and we caved
to our wild and untamed instincts.

That night the moon
was the only light that fed
into the darkest corners of our minds
as we began to unwind
and became entangled
in one another.

Her roar was the call
of a lost queen
separated from her pack
long ago but it reminded her
of the beautiful beast
that she was.

Wild with passion
she looked me in the eyes
and her innocence
had been replaced by a stare
that could set fire
to the skies.

I couldn't resist the urge
to want to venture deeper
into her garden
and feel the pulsating reminder
of life.

The warmth welcomed me
as I crossed the threshold
into her shielded soul.
I made myself at home.

We got lost as I explored
the realm of her
intuition and being.
My hands traveling along
the unpaved trails.

Her garden was just as
unkept as my own
but there was something
wildly beautiful
amongst her chaos.

I could've stayed forever.

Even a rose

In all of her majesty

Must learn, someday

To let her petals fall

But know

That even now

You are still worth picking.

I know why the caged bird sings.

It's not because his song
is as vibrant
as his feathers, that he plucks away
each day because he doesn't
feel beautiful.

It's not because of the majesty
that exist in the freedom
of being able to spread his wings
though he knows
he'll never rise to the occasion.

He sings because he believes
that this cage
was made for a king
because he has never tasted
freedom with a side order of skies.

He's never flown past the sun
on a cool morning
or hung with the moon
on a warm night.

He's only ever known
the comfort of a prison
that his thoughts have
become accustomed
to calling home.

He would never venture
beyond the "welcome" mat
because what's beyond the threshold
holds no promise
the way these bars and metal locks do.

He sings because he knows
that no one is listening
so if he makes a mistake
he doesn't have to live with the regret
or embarrassment of knowing that he missed his note.

The caged bird
never believes that he's caged
because behind these walls
he's safe
and he prefers it this way.

I know why the caged bird sings.

She was
in some ways
like a cloud.

Never wanting
to really come down
from her place in the sky.

But when she did
She poured her feelings
on the world beneath her

And the flowers grew in her wake.