To tell a tale of my heart,
I love you.
I love your hair,
your handsome face,
your lips,
your hips,
your soft skin,
your chest,
your body,
the beauty and ugly scars,
the stitched up soul—
The messy and imperfect you.
I love your personality—
I love you no matter what.

I love your spring green eyes,
your teeth,
your smile,
the sound of your laugh,
your voice—
Nature’s melody
lost in the Wheat Fields
of Dreams.

To tell a tale—
You appear in dreams,
crossing my mind like a crosswalk,
your name ringing in my head like bells.

I love the way you breathe,
the sound of the warm summer breeze.
I love the way you walk,
the way you talk.
I love how you shut me up—
The way you pin me
against the wall.

I love the way your hands
resting on my chest,
the way you grab my neck—
Yet never choke me,
like the tangled vines.

I love the way you bite me,
the way you kiss me,
the way you miss me.
I love the way you keep me safe,
the way you comfort me,
your lovely words of affirmations,
the way your heart beats calmly—
A thousand mellow drums beating.
I love the way you see me.

I love the way you make me alive—
like burning fire.

To tell a tale of my heart,
I can’t not love you—
I love you.

Come here,
young traveller…
I harvest the pain,
from the scattered brains
to the shattered hearts
across the wheat fields.

My soul will untangle
the poison vines.
Though thorns
will cut my arms,
I bled many more before—
I’ll bleed for you.

You carry so many scars,
to still believe you’re beautiful,
love—
Oh child, young child,
who did this to you?

Knives twist,
gutting your insides,
strung from chest to thighs.
Running like prey,
hearts beating a million drums,
lost for breath—

Strings of stress
tied to the heart—
A manipulated puppet
played with by crooked hands
and conjured voices,
each sharper than
my harvesting scythe.
Tangled in a wild dance
for far too long…

I hear the hollow
whispering beyond
Blood Orange Valley.
Here, young traveller,
give me your hand.
Let me be the one—
stabbed through the heart,
covered in a million wounds,
left tangled in
The Hanging Tree—
You need rest now.
Be free,
young traveller.

Burning out slowly,
falling apart daily.
Dreams turn nightmares,
alarm clock screaming,
wake up at 6:30,
time rapes me
in my bed—
Spine shivering,
head aches,
dead and cold.
Maggots crawling,
I can’t sleep,
I can’t breathe—
maggots crawling
down a memory.

“wE MiSs yOu”

Dreams turn nightmares,
wearing the same clothes,
same skin with wounds,
drenched in bloodstains,
decayed in pain—
Is it worth it?
Clock’s bleeding,
I’ve been here before.
Stuck with trauma
on a hellish loop.
I’m over it—

“Goodbye Paul”

“*******!!”

You say you “miss” me?
God—I know you “mean it,”
said it like
a broken ******* record.
And if you see my smile,
you know it’s *******.
**** it.

You were never there—
You neglectful *******.
Your performance fakes all,
watch me fall and drown,
like you were hoping
I’d slam into a brick wall,
bleeding—

Tryna make a sound,
I choke on toxic venom—
Burning my chest,
stress feasting like parasites—
Never found my disgusting corpse.
A ghost haunting hearts,
friends with ends meet,
arguments turn into knife fights—
Take things far,
left with scars.
Last sentences hit
like a guillotine,
heads left rolling,
no ceremony…
But **** it—

Hypnotized in your
warm spring eyes—
Colors dancing through
nature’s unknown roads
I long to lose myself in.

Watching the blood-orange
sun of my heart
burn peacefully bright.

Fantasy to reality,
your voice—
A sweet song
I could listen to
for hours,
again and again.

Kiss me slowly,
as if you miss me.
Press your chest
against mine,
hold me close,
and don’t let go—
Take my breath.

Lock me up,
keep me hidden—
Take me someplace,
where stress can’t
chase and feast
on my ghost.

Take me where
wildflowers grow,
where the cool
breeze touches
my neck gently,
where I feel at home,
on our picnic blanket,
lying next to you—
Lost in your warmth
within our Wheat Field
of Dreams.

When I look
into your eyes,
I see a world—
A beautiful galaxy
I fall into, peacefully.

Green spring colors
dancing and twirling
like ballerinas beneath
a stage-light moon.

Each time you laugh,
even when
The Crooked Man
touches you—
It fills up the air
across Hollywood.

Your voice is
my favorite sound—
A sound of nature’s song,
lost in echoes beyond
the Wheat-field of Dreams.
When I look into
your green eyes,
I feel home
for the first time.

The moment
I look into your eyes
covered in midnight skies,
I realized I started
to feel alive again—
You get it?
Neither do I,
don’t know where to begin—
Was stuck for a while
with suicide blinding signs.
Scared, restless, lost,
feeling like imma die,
yet I survived cuz
I get to see you
through wild nights
that bloom—
Wishing I was
in the same room,
holding onto you,
Loving you…

****, I think
I love you too much—
Too addict,
crossing my mind
like a crosswalk.
Yet too much
is never enough.

I love you