And I remember fantasizing about your
Death
My hands wringing out your delicate
Throat
My weeping member pumping you full of
***

When you wake,
the clouds of your foggy head shall part.

My semblance of what I could be,
my treasure of all,
the ghost in my shell.

In comfort,
feathers drop like dew to your skin,
mocha, gold, soft and hairless.

My flower blooms for you,
in this bed of weeds.

When my inspiration is gone,
there is still always you.

I'm speeding down the road
looking at my phone
and the only thing
that's catching my eyes
are the telephone poles
waiting to kiss
my face.

This is dedicated
to the dead words
deleted.

When your blonde hair turns black, through the lenses of dark ink
I cannot wash away,
I breathe your name, in syllables,
wrought like the iron fence
you built to keep me behind:

Mare-Eee-Uhn...

It's of no use.

You bore my ******* name,
and I cannot ******* bear it.

I choke you down, into my sleep,
down to your knees,
and I consume you,
a foaming ****** from the *****-
hole of my conscience.

I feel like you are the only real thing I've had.
I feel you in my heart.
I think about your taste, your scent.
I think about you.

I think of you as a child to me.
I think about you all the time.
I think about my seed pumping into you, your *** up, my feet planted forward
(you know the position)
I think about you.

I think about your smile.
I think about that giggle.
I think about your eyes rolling back as you ***.
I think about you.
I think about you.
I think about you.

I carve you like marble
grind and push my chisel over every inch of your body
feather your skin with a brush
buff you with my rag
rub my polish into you until you glisten
push you down the elevator shaft
touch myself as you fall
come as you explode.

I'll wear it like a broken record,
your weight, an open wound,
still.

How quickly the everything you were,
your void, a dripping faucet,
madness.

You swallowed my love in your throat,
your gut, a churning pit,
death.

What's left of my ability to feel,
your numbing, a left hook,
loneliness.

So please, free me, Star,
from the gravity of your being,
as it has left me crushed
like damp, wrinkled pages
of a book you no longer care to open

Wake up, heart.
Gently rise, open those eyes and look
at what you could have.

**** the sadness from your bones,
lick the moist marrow clean.
Explode like dust from the Sun,
rain down into my cavernous chest,
spread life back like the flowers that bloom.

Let me die at your feet,
born again into something luminous.

******* out,
through the back of my skull.
Let the soul fly free,
into your nothingness.

I'm sorry
I can't field the answers to questions
I won't relapse into.

My heart is hurting,
and I can't stop it.
I want to feel again, so badly,
but it's dead.

The muscle is not alive.

Just like my writing,
this boy isn't real.

He stares at the wall like certainty,
placebos poisoning his ability to feel.
The little special places where she once crawled,
now burn marks of self harm.
His nails won't dig in far enough.
His life won't end quickly enough,
and so he sets his ritual, his belief,
his yearning for illumination onto the prayers he sends to her,
his goddess,
Death.

All my apologies, worthless.
All my ego, a *****.

I spend the days peddling my wares through binary,
relapsing into the folded paper daisy chains of atom bombs.

My stomach is a pit of ice;
it winds its way into growth, cold fungus,
clutches my chest like a mastectomy of tar.

I've only had zero peace.

The birds I watch, the scars they show,
leave me stumbling over their hollow little bones,
like the words I try to say to you.

Inside my chest.
Inside my mind.
From all the dreams I've left behind.

Oh, to get my hands upon your frame,
to mold you,
to hold you,
to *******.
To watch your eyes gloss and fade,
as your identity fades into

a glazed expression of
all the gains,
all the lost hopes,
all the joy,
all your dreams,
as all your existence collapses
into a single few moments of freedom
from yourself.

All my hope rests with you, aflame.
The yellow heat of your hair
corrects the simple nothing that rests in my stomach,
a knot of weak loneliness.
I yearn to swallow you down,
my lips and mouth making trails along your skin:
neck, *******, belly, inner thighs.
I drink your honey,
I gorge on the reciprocal desire dripping from your hive.
Like drunken gyroscopes,
my eyes roll back into my skull
at the heady scent of your innocence.
All the meaning
in all the art
in all the places
in the history
of the world,
uncovered and shamed
in comparison to the luminous existence
my breath finds in contact
with your flesh.

Love has an empty story to tell,
and I am sick of listening.

My stomach is full of feathers,
and in the same manner with which you pour venom from your eyes,
I leak ozone from my pores.

There isn't enough time in the world for me to impress you
to the point of ******.

I cut little pieces of your words apart
in my head, like paper dolls. Pulled
apart slowly
(don't tear),
stretched in an accordion waltz.

The tune they sing
is spoiled milk.

My favourite pet daydream,
(her combustion creates me)
that I eagerly await
to set fire to flames.

She lay in her victorious gesture,
a breath of longing,
stutters dislocating his jaw.
Her illumination, a scent memory,
she was the most acute,
vigorous testimony
of truth,
of history,
his feeble heart
could dream.

I'm skipping stones on your plain
surface risking nothing
but every corrosive moment
in the clutch of feathered sadness,
dripping in milk.

I long to slip
beneath your surface,
but I freeze everything
I touch.

I want you, back of my throat,
past the lips, parted so willingly
around your shaft,
hard and firm.

Let me gag like a *****,
saliva dripping,
I'll be the best *****
who has ever ****** you.

Reach forward, caress you in my hands,
staring up with eyes full of fear
and hope
and relief.

*** for me, baby,
***.

Empty my ******* head out
in one great last blast of passion.

My memory is fading,
your face, a burnt and ashen sillouette
of blood in my mirror.
Catch me, I'm falling,
hiding in a nightmare of *******
unrealized sexuality,
unwanted.

I'll spin on out,
uncatchable,
ruining lives along the way,
carrying only the broken memory of you,
Love.

Leprous ash,
the soreness of atrophy, caught,
a terrifying tenderness,
and my numbness just cannot sway.

I just cannot give what I want,
what you need,
and I'm dying
in my attempts to provide it to you.

I'm so close to slipping away
burning life into irradiated ash,
slipping beneath the waves,
and escaping.

Baby, let me break.
Make me happy,
lonely, aching to
love.

Able only
to hate.

I'm not the power they say I am.
Lost and curdling in my corner,
a broken, brittle man,
shaking in the recesses,
corners in which a
faucet drips blood.

So break, baby, and run.

I am a symbol of death,
and my name is rot.

I'm leaking thick drops of lust
into the naked nothing
surrounds my chest
breath, a Liliputian task in your absence.
My weariness, a tourniquet,
gauze, wet, etches the corners of my mind
I'm swallowing water, child,
and this undertow is just too strong
for treading.

I'm filling the void
left by your absence
with **** and marijuana
and I'm so sick of feeling cold.

The flowers, red and violet,
bend away from your light
and they just won't reach to you
the way I wish they would.

I'm an old man,
sipping a drunken melody
in this claustrophobic daydream,
and my heart just feels like Winter.

Little acorns, fallen by the tree
anchored into soil.
You had just begun to grow,
when mother wilted.

The comforting shade of her branches, gone.

The support of her vital roots, gone.

Yet you remained.

Little sapling, snatched at by a predator, tooth and claw. You held tight to the soil, setting shallow roots,
clinging to the earth,
rich with remnant memories,
ghosts.
You set your branches up, grew quickly, reached out with earnest energy,
to shade the acorn below you.

Gnashing teeth, fangs of a predator. Violence, a flash of red lust into your branches, pulling, ripping.

Yet, for your acorn, adopted, your remained.

Through the jealous filter of grief, you remained.

Through the threat to your own body, you remained.

And even though Mother is gone,
you have taken her place.
Your roots winding deep into fertile soil, finding your way through paths
she first dug,
you find your strength
as protector,
anchor,
life-giver,
to the little acorn beneath you.

The comforting shade of your branches, remain for her.

The support of your vital roots, remain for her.

I'm busted, baby.
Swollen and brittle
Soft and pliable
And there's just nothing I can do
Excluded lesions collect in pools
In sorrow, I've dug for you
But I'm busted, baby.

Swings and playgrounds
Candy and sunbeams
On your face, loyalty
Can you feel my love?

Turnstile girls
Nullified conscience
On my mind, ghost
Can you feel my love?

Black eyed scars
Kisses and blood
In my words, deceit
Can you feel my love?

Vacuumed existence
Jargon and filth
On my breathe, death
Can you feel my love?

I've been drowning under your weight
too long
in stances of submission
weakened by your laugh,
ceaseless.

Watch my lightning bugs sink
into death, let them burn
out and collapse these lungs
into delicate origami butterflies
like the fragile hatred
I feel for you.

Did you hear it,
telling me I'm ugly?
Did you see me,
believing every word?

My head sets on the horizon,
aflame with impending doom
scuttled like a sinking ****,
burnt and begging.

My hydrogenic mass defeats you,
surfaces spread thin like oil
on glass and there is only one way out -
immolation.

Sun-soaked dust clouds rain
their bitter truths on the
spires of steel antennae
violating my mind.

Sparrows burst from my head
like a broken breeze
an explosion of feathers
black and blonde,
and I can't hold your memory
as much as I'd like.

My churning gut,
full of sour milk,
running like a river,
full of playing children,
and chemicals.

And like the pointless energy
of these words,
my fists crack pointlessly
against the depth
of a black-water ocean,
filled with you.

I won't even speak to you today,
I know it.

And I want it to be your fault,
but I feel it's mine.

All the things, unsaid.
The thoughts, unsaid
behind a blue light lcd
staring into the white space
I do not fill with the:

I miss you so much and it hurts
I so very much enjoyed our time together
And maybe I'm over emotional
And maybe my vision is blurred
But I hurt when you aren't here
And I hate this machine
I've become.

And I worry she tore all my veins out
replaced them with wires, unfeelingly
pumping signals to this lead heart,
just gears and steam.

I am a machine, not a man.
I am efficient
I am strong
I am unfeeling
And I destroy everything
I touch.

When the memories of
how I was your first love,
all engulfed in flame,
and how I am your first regret,
wrapped in the cellophane of disgust,
I feel the black maggot
churn in my heart,
defecates into my gut,
makes me sick,
all over again.

This morning I  smelled the sunshine,
and thought of you.

Immediately.
Suddenly.
Instantly.

And like
the storming ache within my heart,
the longing of you
left me
vacant.

When wakefullness holds me captive,
stirring ceaselessly at 2AM,
I rest on memories of you,
on the spot you once lay,
on my bed.

A light at the end of the tunnel,
bursting out from the dark,
into four days of
midnight playgrounds
rainbow bracelets
highway lanes and passenger seat,
full of music at four A.M.

A little bit of hurt,
never a milligram of harm,
brings this closer
than standing in front of your desk,
idly moving words between us,
ever could have.

Fragments, strung together like your tears,
shock themselves, an ice bath.
I could steal you like a thief in the night,
your shining white knight,
fill you with my lust
**** myself just enough,
that little death of ******,
inside you.

Words no longer have meaning.
I strip them of their false hope,
reaching spaces in between,
letters like notes in a song,
between which, the truth
is told.

You couldn't pry this void from me.
I grasp onto it like a greedy child,
sloppy and heady from
your soury-sweet mother's-milk,
drunk like you never were
from my ***.

Remember me?

I'm the man
who stood by and watched
as your own Mother
your own Father
cut you out of their lives
and your own brother
told your husband he should have succeeded
instead of failing
to **** himself.

Remember me?

I'm the man
who pulled you out of closet
you would hide in
screaming, crying, wanting to
hurt yourself while
your own Mother
your own Father
your own sister
were deaf to your cries.

Remember me?

I'm the man who was there for
half a decade, learning to
care for you
bathe you
give you space
(Just don't lock the door, love.)
laid on your back
when the weight of me
was the only way you could
feel safe.

Remember me?

How quickly,
shamefully,
selfishly,
you forgot
on that day last June,
when you told me,
you were leaving.

I didn't forget you,
or that kiss I knew would be our last.
And I wish I could remember that
last look as you drove away,
but the image in my mind
is blurred,
just as it was on that day,
as the tears bent the light
from the face I loved,
as it drove away,
free of tears.

I'm only here,
waiting for you,
never coming through
my door again,
never looking in,
my eyes again,
never breathing near
my ear again,
never lips on
my flesh.

I'm only here,
waiting for you,
still.

If it were a million years from now,
you'd still be
in my mind
in my heart
on my skin

I thought.
I believed.
You were the one thing
I had faith in,
when I was a universal atheist.

I would have ridden into the dusty East
to fight Crusades in ****** tribute
to you.

All those years with you,
are like a crumbled castle
I walk through at times,
wanting
the walls rebuilt
the gates strong again
the flags no longer
dead on their poles,
tattered and charred.

But this place is a ghost now,
just like your presence,
in my chest.

The lips that met,
never touched. Or could she only
dream?

The sweat beading upon my brow,
as she was spread out like a
feast.

When certainty is unpronounceable,
and air beats harsh and stark,
can anyone not see me screaming,
at these never fading blister marks?

Well she lives, a life allowed
permitted apostrophes
clinging to the nerve endings
in my mind.

Where are you, suddenly,
a cry from the night.

I could bleed from these arms,
into my hands,
which once seemed so strong,
drown my prize
in nitrogen and scar tissue
and maybe then I'd be happy
to destroy myself
again.

If I had you in my hands,
petal,
cradled from the rot
guarded from the corruption
the world assails you with,
I would hold you firmly
and never let you go...

Never let you go.