True love,
Who love?
You, love.

a letter unread is left outside the door
like a snare of anxiety
left to uproot all security in bone.
hanging heads-
hung themself;
what difference does it make
when choosing different hells.

what can i do?
a poem lamenting their anguish
so i can feel proud
to have whispered a word:
justice to the oppressed and undeserved.
what power lies in my hands
to give to those with none-
a transfusion of privilege;
one couldn't even dream it to be possible-

once diversity is blanketed in white
like harsh winter,
we will starve of life itself
and weep for days void of color.

There's six of them,
near the dock shore,
and their thumping
and their smashing
and all I can see
is the light house
shining.
They tie me in ropes
and good tied knots,
carry me out to sea,
and they are thinking
this will be my death,
but not a cradle cough.

Yes, I died,
2 minutes
with tangling
about 5 times,
10 minutes of death

This is more of an ignorance,
than a declaration for war-fare.

Those who are born in night,
Fear the sun.
Those who are born in light,
Fear the sin.
Though, I fear them both,
For I was born amongst the twilight.

Every forest harbors secrets.
The bark and branches are the keepers.
The abandoned house towered,
in a paralysis of time.
The only thing alive
was the strangling of the vines.
It stood in dilapidation
with a menacing expression.
Inside the air thick with voiceless confessions.
Heard somewhere in my shaking soul.
Hollow window eyes
possess the shatters of time.
Who were the inhabitants?
And are they alive?
It's time to go inside.