i want my poems to have teeth.  
i want my words to cut,
to maim, to bleed.
with verses, i will raze
empires. with stanzas,
i will turn thrones to dust.
with nothing but a bit
of silver on my tongue,
i will take the life of god.

i’ll ply that same *****
like honey, taste the sweet
nothings dripping
between knocking knees.
quake and quiver for me,
let me slip, furtive
as nightshade
to sate your curiosity.

feel the weight of veracity
in these fingers patiently
transcribing forgotten melodies,
compressing ivory keys
to sing of all that was lost
and what was gained
from the process.

Grab a feather
                                            Open your soul.

Grab some paper
                                         Make it your own.

And a small feather
                                             Shall be a brush,

And a small paper
                                        Your poems' canvas.

We are watching the clouds
bandage an incarnadine sky,

we are practicing our best knots,
weaving an army of tourniquets,

we are slow-dancing
barefoot on the edge
of a razor.

We are watching
a demolition derby
in the driving rain,

the smell of motor oil
mixing with gasoline,

the hard melancholy
of dying machines.

We are waltzing from room to room,
smearing our names on the floor,

we are keeping time to slow music,
bleeding out behind closed doors.

Thought of
missing him is
the scariest thing
is indeed an erroneous assumption

I have always thought
seeing his face
holding his hands
feeling his kiss
in the dreams
are one way
to **** my heart
when you miss someone
who arent yours anymore

but
when you miss someone
whom you cant even remember
the face
the touch
the feeling
is even scarier

Playing again
the playlist of memories
trying to feel
something
we used to have
but
nothing

the feeling we used to share
the warmness of your skin
the touch of your lips
the sweetness of your smile
the crookedness of your nose
they all are gone
I could not feel it
I could not dream it
I dont even remember
how your face is like
Time surely is unyielding
it makes my body
not to remember  
any of those feelings
Its like you've never been in my life

But somehow
the pain is still there
its like
im still hurting
from a wound that
has totally been healed
its like
i've moved on yet stuck
im happy yet sad

or
does it mean
im just broken?