Hypnotized by your blank kaleidescope
caress you like a Kwashiorkor belly
rotund
smooth and round abdomen, empty and
covered with flies
an allegiance to parasitism,
supported by the skeletal mass
too thin to pull the body along,
ground-glass ground
ochre earth,
away from the feathered death
stepping lively behind you
hooks pierce the sand,
soon your meat.

you scream at me
with colic voice
cut you open
I have no choice

A girl with soft teeth
grinding cavities

*******
in confession
with five weeks of absence

wrapped up
in confusion
with five hours of evidence

she's got a new kick
tomorrow, she says

tore up
in weeping
with five minutes of dissonance

I have:
coconut lips
wrist bindings
finger marks
hand prints
tongue on skin
palm on ***
nails on throat
stubble on neck nape
gentle caress
tender heart
shivering words
rough chin on inside of thighs,
soft,
wet.

Do you have:
lip to gently bite
hips to trace with feathers
collar-bone handles
eyes to drown in
body to wrap around
legs to intertwine
voice to whisper
scars to lick
mouth to breathe into
and hair to hold like a leash, until
it becomes release,
collapse,
lost breath,
speechless,
rocked to sleep?

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

I am not
stone building
mortared wall
mountain range
concrete foundation
giant rock boulder

I am
a cool breeze
rain on a sunny day
music in the trees
the beating of your heart
rich soil foundation
with deep roots of
hope
faith
love.

There are bits of glass
strewn about
this empty
heart of mine.

Spread this out
through your cries
broken little pieces
spread out
like your legs
shaking and bent
the rope remakes you:
a glass sliver contortionist
thorn in your side
like a kitten
lapping milk
with razor tongue

Scaffolding in place by those that value
a structure arranged and supporting,
housing community.
Community from its root of ‘commune,’
what exists from the efforts
of all those involved.
A building housing
opinions,
creativity,
debate,
and art.

What was once a poetry free-for-all,
now a pay to play disaster
crumbling down
at the swinging of a dollar-shaped
wrecking ball.

I said I took you for granted,
and I had.

It was how I've survived
being taken for granted.

I am sick of laying in the shallow grave
you have been forced into against your will.

I am still standing next to it,
my fingers spread,
beg you to take my hand,
pull you up
and into
my palms.

Don't
take
that
for
granted.

The flower bloomed
in fertile dirt
then pulled her roots up,
spat on the soil she grew from,
petals turning vanta black,
and left.

How could it not be
that this branch
I've clambered out onto
would hold me,
but instead it lured me
false pretense
to climb further out
until it has now snapped
dumping me
into the carnivorous jungle
below.

I can pretend behind this wall
that I'm okay,
tender little teeth
wear the truth each night,
grinding down to nerves.

I've not gained so much as recently,
as I watch it all
drain
away.

Expedite my end
bring it to a close
the new me that deserves to be
is something I'll keep close.

When I was sitting at home, considering suicide,
you were ******* someone else.
When I was too nervous to even go outside,
you were ******* someone else.
When I was staring down the barrel,
you were ******* someone else.
When I was needing love and protection,
you were ******* someone else.

And when I needed my
wife,
soul-mate,
friend,
lover,
more than ever,
guess what you were doing?

Can you see these words?
Stare down the barrel of this
alphabet soup,
broth of blood.

Touch my hair,
trigger,
and muscles
turn to puddles.

These sleepy little scars reaching from the back,
where numbness holds a noose, can your *** free this hangman?
I could leave palm prints on your skin,
like  ancient art proto-men left on a wall,
with just as much animal rage,
and just as much desire to create a lasting impression
on the world.

He was cursing again.
The brittle drops of saline etched
their ways down his face,
carving evaporation trails.

He just couldn't fight
the feeling
anymore,
like that stupid ******* song.

Lashing out, he destroyed it all.

Smiling, he died.

And I'm still trying to figure out how to say that without feeling like a liar
Making up a screenplay in my head: dead
lead from the real way I wish to express, again
Exiting into your u-turn I always ******* dread: descend
Melodies I learned to hum when young
To someone now no one, flashes of red

You hummed them to me; child-like: off to bed
Implanting this seed in me 
I don't recall a single syllable you said
But still memories are melting me like butter on burnt bread
Talking to a ghost
Pointless...end.

He's running to catch you, Marion
at the end of the dock
stretched out over cyan waters.

His hand arched out like vellum over dry bone
reaching for his dream
hoping that when he reaches the end
he finds something other than a requiem.

Of all that stood by,
he alone
ran into the water, fully-clothed
on that cold February day,
to pull her (flailing wet-noodle limbs) from the water.

He alone
recognized she was not waving,
but drowning.
Coincidence they had recently
discovered that poem?

He’d heard once that Bob Dylan said something like,
“When someone is close to suicide, they don’t ask for help,
by sending family a letter in the mail.”

He’d heard,
many times before,
How dangerous it was to attempt such a thing,
but love muted those mnemonic memories,
replaced them with muscle memories
(the heart is a muscle)
and he flew, wind-like,
into the ocean.

Neither ever felt the earth under
their feet
again.

I would have moved the very crust of the Earth
to save you from myself.

I could only want one thing for you and that's
happiness, even if it's without me.

I can stare into this bottle of
whiskey in the jar
until the end isn't different
but we play pretend,
like it's okay it's not okay...
...okay.

And so I'll release you
but I may need to release myself
as well.

I'm not asking for much...just a
sliver of something to
hold onto.

I only want someone to love me
when we are old,
for the things they loved me for,
when we were young.

The brown-eyed
green-eyed girl
has seeped in,
and my eyes
have never been
so yellow.

I'm the fruit you left
to die on the vine
so don't be surprised
when I don't give you my time.

My heights are like you've never seen,
I succeed where Icarus failed
and I touch the sky.

My beauty is
alluring,
but deadly.

I am higher than Everest,
and despite the many attempts,
none have survived.

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.

If I could hold you a thousand times
it'd never be enough
If I could kiss you a thousand times
it'd never be enough
If I could love you a thousand times
it'd never be enough
But if you could hold me
just once
and never let me go
it just might be enough.

I want to hold my breath
like I thought I'd hold you - forever

My brown-skinned dream
Coalesce my fever screams
Take the holy remedy
Bring me to my knees

All that is, once was, will be
And she can sing me
Sweet to sleep
Into finally-peaceful dreams

Oh, the being of,
"I'm homesick."
and home
is a person.

How
could this
be true?

This dream that binges
on my only source
of peace,
come true.

And all the times
you swore
that it wouldn't be,
have rotted to lies.

I am waking up in tears every morning
our songs echoing through my head
covered in sweat,
shirt soaked through,
hair on end like I've been swimming in the bath of
warm water and
memories
we drew over nearly a decade.

I'm spinning out of control and
I don't know if I can remember how to be a good husband anymore.

But mostly, I just miss you
like the desert misses the rain,
and just like that metaphor,
I am becoming a ******* cliche.

Do this?
Any of this?

****.

How can it be
that after all
you're just another
stereotype.

You've spun your pretty blonde hair
and now you just look away
and I'm left, stranded
driving off into
a neon horizon.

I'm sorry
I didn't show up
knowing all you'd been through
before.

I'm sorry
You counted on me
and were only let down
again.

I'm sorry
That I got comfortable
and took your love for
granted.

I'm sorry
That I gave you safe spaces
then slowly pulled them
away.

I'm sorry
I let my illness get the better of me
breaking your
trust.

I'm sorry
I'm sorry
Mija,
I'm sorry.

My pornhub
searches
start with
"loving".

And the wind is yelling
through the absent leaves
and like a child
I am afraid
and you are not here.

Just, endless
in my sleep.
Show me the way
to finally find peace.

One: 24 hour denial
Two: Tears
Three: Try to stuff it down
Four: Fail
Five: Tears
Six: Completely breakdown
Seven: Go to hospital because you wish it were you
Eight: Destroy all semblance of normal
Nine: Tears, fear
Ten: She makes you realize the sky has fallen in
Eleven: You realize again, a star explodes, you hadn't seen the light
Twelve: Love

Im huffing ether
to dream of you.

The edges were brittle,
the chip's corners itched
down like a metal prong into a filling,
nerve.

It squealed binary hemorrhages,
subtle as a battle axe,
my pleasure,
please
put it past me,
in the present
where I can now hum
electric.

Hush little babygirl
don't you cry,
Daddy's gonna read you
to beddy-bye time,
And if that story
doesn't work,
Daddy's gonna *******
until you squirt.
And if that squirting
don't make you sleep,
Daddy'll fill your ***
with His special treat.
And if that treat
don't make you swoon,
Daddy's gonna cuddle you
like a little spoon.
Cos Daddy knows
how to care for you,
and wash away all that
makes you blue.

Here I was,
writing
the beauty of you
the beauty of us.

The unwritten holocaust
redacting facts
written in
my mind
written on
my heart.

And like that,
the switch
in my head
in my heart
is, somehow, impossibly,
flipped to "off"

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.

Give me succor
Fill my heart
Let me pray here
where

the only thing more bald
than my tongue
is the *****
it caresses.

My Brittle Star arms detach in the acidic water of you.

I stir, and try to escape the gaping tremor or your teeth
uncovered face
free of meat.

Roaches crawl inside your skull,
the bone powdered with the years,
all that remains:
Toskavat.

You are an Incan Mummy, the sack pulled off,
as rosy-cheeked, young boys stare through misty bus windows
still spackled with flecks of mud from your wet road.
They smile -
their microbes shared unintentionally,
a condomless foam party.

I am not the one who will do that to you.
I am not the one who will twist the lines
around your body
until they form a noose around
your neck
until you
choke.

I am not like the others.

I hope you realize that
in
time.

I am reaching to you
through this endless space
so I can touch you
and take
it all
away.