People walk all about
Humming a soundless tune of self-doubt
The drinks keep coming
Steeped in endless fuming

Friends joke around
A truth sealed and bound
Hiding behind a deadpan
Sustaining the image of an American man

‘More!’, everyone shouts
Raising their cups forgetting their spouse
Sitting here with a straight face
Wanting to forget my workplace

Words hurt they say,
but the feeling of them being etched
is akin to new found pain
a pen would be easier,
staining my skin, in-erasable
the pencil is more dull
perhaps then will I finally feel smart
it feels like an unwanted tattoo.

eyes devour tasteless words
sprung up from the depths
conniving little snitches
Her nails twist and twitch
dripping in, with disgust
sipping on the attics secrets
                   it leaks
      and
                   it reeks
She sits like a falling queen
bordered with flaking fake gold
the lips crumbling dry
She had no tone left
caked in old skin
many Women scream 'poor Her'

This chair does not get any older
sitting here, it dents with old emotions
no longer still but a swelling embrace
a cushion to my exhaustion
it becomes weary in wait
holding me like my legs can do no more
it resembles your hair in a way
choppy brown and representing age
sometimes I wonder if this chair will
become brand new again
like a new random chance
of good luck that I wish your body
could sustain whilst gazing at you
pondering if you can feel my passive stare

Perhaps it would have been better
to lay with you on your bed
making it a little less lonely
being provided with your warmth
compared to this thin blanket
it was another reminder of how
I cannot feel your body heat against mine
your bed dips a bit more every day
showing your weight, may be a little deeper
though it sings me good night
while squirming in your presence and
the fact this chair is becoming quite uncomfortable

I wonder if I will ever get off it again
waiting for your eyes to peer at me again,
again, to tell me that your leaving now
and the coldness really will settle in

He insists
preparing his zucchini
paying adequate attention
becoming a cook-off
looking forward to the tiramisu
the event drastically physical

Silence filled the icy storm
that brewed within me
thrashing with persistence
memories drip like melting
icicles that hang off
my bleak, chattering heart

Pale-blue doesn't
compliment you
I prefer the pink
blush that stains your cheeks
whenever I muttered,
'I love you'

In this moment,
you are still so beautiful
a replica of Snow White
lying still in her glass casket,
but it seems true love's kiss
really was a portentous tale

I rather be a single, petite daisy,
compared to a bouquet of thorny,
seductive dripped red roses
who get all the bees attention
while I get a beautiful, delicate butterfly

Sometimes I pretend
to be what I am not

that I have an imaginary friend
who's trust doesn't need to be bought

this pointless bond has a bitter end
And everything I did will be for naught

Nothing has made me more happy
then the color of your face
at the moment when
our warm lips brushed against
each other, trying to embrace
the fact that we have found
love for another
the sun starts to shed more light
the longer we stand here
in a loop of beautiful bliss

Companion
                    For
Life.
          liar!
Leaving me behind,
Soar, soar!

You selfish bird.
Spread your seeds;

You pick me up with your fingers
A hungry, dominant stare lingers
Pulling my limbs apart
Your mouth reeks with 'Sweetheart.'

In this lifeless state of wonder
Glazed by societal views, dragging me under
Clasped tight with no escape
Wanting to scream, '****!'

Nothing dries faster,
then black ink filled
with regretful words

They tease and compel
Devouring into my ill eyes
Lurking beneath the wilting yellow
Murky black blends in with the night
She taunts in the lightness of the day

This bed dips a bit lower every day
In disturbed curiosity and jealousy
Goading a reaction of plea  
Staring in unadulterated penance  
Wellness improving with each interaction

Greedy to drink in the color
Eyes feast upon them
Dancing slyly in sync
Dripping in need and want
One waits to dance in my head

These chains are finally unlocked
Feet find purchase of the cold flat floor
Only exuberating the ugly drug
To tear the flesh of yellow off her skin
All the while, in a manic spree of glee

Faces painted all around
but they made no sound
Seeking glass eyes found;
Open book kept bound

Can we talk about the daisies that lie in wait
as the little sister shouts
                 to her brother not too far,
that flowers aren’t only for girls

because one day he will have to bring them to the                            ****** shape in the green grass

             where she rests and the daisies have finally wilted,

store-bought ones
                 don’t have the same charm it enraptured his sister with

and didn’t create the same smile on his drying lips,                    
             the watercolor red stains his eyes

                                 and the veins become
       the stems of a regret-filled life.

Reading lustrous chapters
Softly kissing the words
Pages embracing with numbers
That steadily increase
As these eyes age
With a definable yearning
Wondering when a novella
Will begin writing a chapter
About a 'you' and 'me'

Wind brushes my hair
combing through with its cool fingers
tugging with airy emotion
twisting into knots
pecking my cheeks swiftly
clear blue eyes tear up
making me feel chilled
and a little less lonely

Whoever said to give up
had already gave up

Whoever said to stop
they never knew the word 'go'

Whoever said don't cry
don't know a broken heart

Whoever said your broken
is only repeating what they are

Whoever said you should die
has never climbed a step to live

Music is music
One can not help their feet
as they move accordingly
One genre is not meant
for a single person alone

Music does not judge
it encourages many
no matter of their race or gender
define yourself in those lyrics
and don't let pop culture get in the way

no where
no place
no light


it's inescapable
feet stapled, cold

fleeting breathe
stale air, dry


no ailment
no time
no life


darkest color of night
dancing dots

left with a sticky taste
a rumble of pleas

A little lost person
felt so small in a world
that oh, so big
but nothing could compare
to their thoughts and dreams

They liked what it thought;
their dreams were unbelievable
yet when someone asks them
What do you like?
They draw a blankness reply

For what they liked,
felt impossible to do
the future seems to clog
the wheels stop spinning
they question themselves endlessly

Hello, stars in the sky
for you are my own lantern

Your gaze upon us beings intensify
sparkling like a little ballerina dancer

Long lines of clouds could be seen
under the dense blue where a so-called
  'space' is available who wish to explore a
new world where humans do not inhabit
the mind and take control of your body.

how freeing, not even a bird could compare
to aimlessly floating around next to the Stars,
glimmering in the dark abyss, which I compare
to my old planet filled with a dark sense of humor.

This foreboding taste of the lost little girl,
who is an alien among her own and
to the stars. But at least those welcome her
with bright grins and burns. Not a sugarcoated
tongue who forces its way down your throat.

                               for simply

                being          the        Weird

                                     one.

Flakes peck my lips;
becoming more numb
with every brush and flutter

Mysterious person in my dream
your appearance is quite extreme

You feel like a dark, wretched theme
its enough to make me wanna scream

Only sounds of complicated feelings
come from the tone of our voice
in complex patterns of uncertainty
it may sound beautiful, but all it does
is vocalize our practiced perfectionism

There are lovelier sounds
in sync with a beat so strong
sometimes it can be heard
all it depends on is the person
and heart's tethered bond
then they shall get along

Here lies what they call,
A Little Love Song.