lest the stars above should know
should the sky gently chuckle
will selene lean intently,
with the crack of my knuckles
and the screams of my spine
as i guide a lonely tale
a sly reveal of every crevice
for which even i cannot nail
and should the clouds above shutter
at the sound of my cry's?
for all i can be aware of
minds fabrication releases lies

We met by the blue river.
I had problems and you had problems.
We bonded over that.
I could see that you were just as broken as I was.
And I was okay with that.

You were running from monsters,
And I was running from monsters.
You had demons and I had demons.

Do you think you have room for one more lost soul?
They say silence is the most powerful scream,
And it was pretty obvious that we were both screaming
In a place no one could hear us.

We weren't okay but we smiled anyways.
We realized it was better that way.
Because we realized we didn't want anyone to suffer
The way we did.

It’s the gutted smile
You threw down on the table
The day the love of your life found
The love of their life.

It’s the anxiety
snaking through you in public spaces.
Strangers’ eyes carving you clean.

It’s the leather jacket
You bought when you were 15
And refuse to take off even in the summer.

It’s his calloused and grease stained hands
Exploring the winding hills
Of your new body.
Scenes from ****** play in your head
As he tells you
You taste like strawberries.

It’s the scorpion sting you iced with snow.

It’s a deep churning in your stomach.
They kind that only appears
When you forget to take your medicine
And you didn’t notice until about 5 minutes ago.

It’s the Atlantic City skyline
Blazing a depressing neon
Over the rest of South Jersey.

It’s trying to write poems out of license plates
And getting into an accident
When you can’t find a rhyme scheme.

It’s scabbed knuckles and
Bodies outlined in scars
Colliding in a ****** big bang.
An entire world unraveling like a red carpet.
We are silver studded starlets
Sinking our heels into the softness.
We are gods.
We were made for this.

walking
the streets of Vienna
with you
things come alive

   venerable palaces
   waltzing around St. Stephen's

   beautiful white horses
   from the Spanish Riding School
   galloping through the Schönbrunn Park

   old Sigmund F.
   ogling the Viennese Choir Boys

ice is in the air
it fills all space
and leaves
   nothing
untouched

the noncomittal voice
of an unfamiliar priest
bounces off
the hard air
   unheard

dark clad people
  white faces
frozen to the cemetery ground

someone
who has not yet
fully understood
softly
   defiantly
places a flaming bouqet
of red roses

my gaze
cuts through
the strange flowers
to the time
that was