The photograph fits perfectly
On that blue wall,
It fits in my heart too.
It has a place to rest here
It has a home.

That smile, with is crooked corners,
Is no more.
Those eyes,
With reflections of a time nailed
To the past: they're gone.

I have your hair and I love you
For that. It is the pieces of you
That have made me.
It makes me a convict of the past.
I am there. Always in the past.

A bandit took your photo.
I can remember it still, just not you.
Oh how the moon won't tell me where you are. Oh how the sun burns when I stare at it and I ask it: have you seen a missing angel today?

A lack of a reply is a reply: no.
That picture is gone now.
Although I Still have pieces of you,
I cannot truly remember you.
That photograph was a time machine.

although it had a home to call its own,
It lacked a purpose.
It lacked a reason to exists.
It lacked you.
It lacked you.
It lacked me.

I felt these words bouncing
Inside My skull; I laughed.
The tips were razorblades.
This is my burning soul.

I felt these words come out
Of me.
They are dancing on the floor.
This is my blooming heart.

I felt your lips on mine, and I
Sighed.
I knew June wouldn't let me
Keep this.
It would leave, like you.

I felt these words bouncing
Inside my skull.
Tap, tap, tap.
Tap, tap, tap,
Tap, tap. Tap.
They're nothing.
They're everything.
They are names, faces, and senses.

I felt these words bouncing
Inside my skull.

I know now what they mean.

He doesn't believe in you the same
Way you believe in him.
Those battalions, in his honor,
Spill the blood of a deity.
Half man, all knowing,
He whispers death, death, death.
Those rampant vultures fight
For a fight not needed.
They ****, not for one,
But for those who enjoy
The spectacle that is your death,
My death,
Our death,
His death.

Maybe I have this dance?
There's suicide in your eyes.
Now I stand no chance.

I am put away in the brown cupboard,
Like a brave Greek soldier.
Those battles with love and
Longing: I'm there.
This constant stillness though;
This is a death.
I wait with my martyred eyes
Clutching at my leaders tiny pinky.
I'll never let go.
I am yours.
Till the death of me.

I have sawdust in my
Pockets.
That is enough for this
Bewildered soldier.

What is now and what was are
Irreconcilable to me now.
I am your brave Greek soldier.
Play with my when you need.
Kiss me when you're lonely.
**** me when the moon disappears
From your Vantage point.

Over time though, my chiseled Greek
Body will rust.
It to will become black
And then,
Only then,
Will you realize those brave grunts
A brave soldier has mastery of weren't cries of bravery, but of black Pain.

"This hurts" I'll say.
"I thought you loved me" you'll reply.
My queen, my leaders, my killer.

These scars are your scars.
This blood is your land.
Conquer everything in sight,
Except my heart.
That died a long time ago
In that old brown cupboard of yours.

I better remember your kiss
Than the taste itself.
Perhaps it was purple velvet:
It was a death worth dying for.
I better feel your hands that
Must have just returned from a trip
To the north pole:
It was bright red.
I better smell the sulfur from
My wounded heart.
You've must have just returned
From those pits.

None of this is fair though.
I made you, without permission,
My warrior with Greek blood.
You were my Achilles.
This way and that.
You were all and null.

I better write you a midnight sonnet.
It will survive where our love didn't;
With honesty.

Death has nothing to
do with
the end of my earthly body.

How those maggots will
feast at my innards!

Death is a collection
of the things that fear
lets us see,
but not touch.
Kiss, but not love.
Forgive,
and lie that we forget.

Death is all of this, and more.
It is everything and nothing.
It is That lover you should not
have loved.

I thought I would try though.
October is the time of hurt;
death.