Carry my body
To its resting place.
The gun to my head
Was my only escape.
The drugs didn't work
Nor if I drank.
The more I indulged
The more my heart sank.
Carry my soul
To it's resting place.
Killing this body
Was my only escape.

Sitting in a waiting room,
I envied the young
With children,
Reading.
The door opened
To an octogen,
Who looked at me
And remembered when.

You play with my head
and you **** with my feelings
but my presence you dread
and my face sends you reeling

I'm not your fool
I'm not your tool
I'm not some *****
that you can just lead on

Just leave me alone
take every last stone
and every last bone
I won't be your drone!

Sometimes,  somedays
I just want to fade away
to sink into my poetry
among the lines for all to see
my soul to rest on every word
such dreams, such nonsense it is absurd
but yet I hope to dare
That my work spread everywhere
filled with soul and loved with grace
pushing darkness from this place

I am dying slowly
leaves fall, branches dry
and soon the trunk will hollow
and I will fall
my love, the wind calls.

Cracking, breaking
then a thundering crash
and I will be gone,
down on the earth
whispering to the grass
tales of love
from the wind.

Wind, my beloved
made love to me,
gentle and caring
rough or demanding,
but it was life
sharing his game of force
with arms wrapped around.

On that fateful night
he held me tight.
too tight, too many kisses
with bodies entwined
he raged and raved
exploring my being.

While the hurricane sang
in the name of love
he uprooted me
to carry me away
to be his, forever.

Now I die slowly
betrayed on the way
he left me tattered and torn.

But my lover comes
again and again
making love to another tree
just beside me,
how crazy love can be
I wonder as I fall.

im clenching the edge of the skyscraper called life.
you are the only thing keeping me from death.
I hear the angels call my name
and I hear the shadows whisper
I just beg you.....please dont let me go

I wonder what you would write,
If you had the inclination to dissipate such woes.
What would be on your paper?
What if my persisting persistence and boastful amount of
hyperbolic word arrangements could be yours?
I would love to read your writes and write your wrongs,
Hopefully your wrongs are just writes
And not a totality of havoc carefully spaced between blue lines,
Whilst chaotic linguistics tend to rise from a certain muse
I guess what I'm saying is,
That I am curious to visually participate in a what seems to be
Something near impossible.
Unless you are me and I am you.
Then my job is complete and I can happily say,
Its not half bad.