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Yes she was a ghost
a vision in my sight
A delicacy to touch and taste
She appeared then  would vanish in the night

Just like a real ghost
Softly, she ventured into the violent night of May,

Where pitch-black winter soaked her bones.

The sea, full of teeth, bit and insisted as she stood there, unmoving.

It was full of music and empty promises; she let the vastness of the agonizing waves drown her rotting body.

The sharp smell of air reeked of bitter billet-doux.

It had been her three hundred sixty-five attempts to be silent; barefoot, she waited and waited and waited.

Under the moonlight, she appeared as a ghastly ghost.

For a moment, she wondered, “Only the wicked remember the sea’s harshness and stay”—a woman personified as storm, mirroring her rage.

She is a twisted soul; death sighs at the sight of her.

The moon exhausted its entire being. “She is full of herself,” he whispered into the dark, corrupted sea.

She imprinted the sands with her unnerving gravity—she walked, and walked, and walked,
Haunted by her visions and dreams, terrorizing the melancholic earth.

Months passed—it was now September.

She’s restless; all she could do was remember.

She kept bathing in the black sea, passionately driving herself to madness.

She kept being pulled and pulled and pulled,

Until survival was no longer an option—her hair slowly being grappled into the lake of fire.

Her last remaining thoughts were of long-forgotten, enchanting, sweet eyes of his.

She dreamed of him—those big, witchery eyes of his.


She remembered, and so the sea deciphered her yearning and pulled her in.
I’m sorry, I can’t help but remember.
I'm not as soft as a swan gliding into the poet's lake. I'm not as graceful as a ballerina waltzing in the arena. I am not as calm as the trees attending to your whimsical needs. I am built on ruins; I am something that has been running for decades, and I still think about the house keys I abandoned near the forest; they open the portal to your house. It was my favorite.

I am full of words,
Rotten poetry,
Full of work,
Empty memory.

"I don't know what to write anymore," I whispered. I was a romantic maniac. In me were growing daisies and burnt coffees, orange juices and promised salvation.

It's a funny little detail; now, it's all mishaps and mishandled poetry.

Through the shallows and the shadows, I screamed in horror, and then I felt the mockery of longing.
as I age, I spend less and less reading books that will keep me at night until dawn. I am slowly forgetting how to form words, and my love for writing is nothing but a fond memory kept inside my favorite box. now, every poem that I write is just as empty as me; it’s lacking. it’s boring and awkward. it’s a dream I keep repeating on and on. it was once my favorite escapade, a heaven; now, it’s all nothing but frugal chaos.
 
it’s cruel, isn’t it? I was once promised a salvation. silly little me. my innocence’s gone.
 
it can never be regained. unless I stupidly long and yearn and long and yearn.

if not for nostalgia, I would not write anymore. but I was just a girl who happens to be a slave, and it hurts to be the one who remembers.
Jack-o-lantern love,
stabbed by the autumn leaves;
bleeding all burnt orange and sienna.
And it smells like
cloves and vanilla,
and loneliness. Kaleidoscope confusion,
that dog bite pain
in my soul.
I don my navy blue corduroy,
as I bundle up for
the great void.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ur5pZxbd7hE
Here's a ;ink to my you tube channel where I read from my recently published book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, available on Amazon.com
In my night
terror,
I hear the pounding
of
your wings, ripping and
tearing
at my feeble heart.
It's beating,
but
barely,
bomb-blasted by your
attack.
your love is like
a stroke;
like a bloated toad.
I'm road weary,
teary-eyed like a
sunflower.
And you scream in
the darkness like
a lamb.

I long to *** in
you.
I'm like dentures
chewed on by a stray dog;
teeth missing,
jagged like a
jack-o-lantern.

Damage control is
your best bet.
I let you way too
far in.
No turning back now.
I'm like a dumb
cow led to slaughter.

I'm miles away.
You're on a
different
island.
Here's a link to my you tube channel where I read this poem and others.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ur5pZxbd7hE
Because your voice was at my side
I gave him pain,
Because within my hand I held
Your hand again.

There is no word nor any sign
Can make amend -- -
He is a stranger to me now
Who was my friend.
In her deadly
blue eyes, I fall down the
rabbit hole.
Down
down
down I go.
I hit the
earth like a
mock turtle on its
back;
with a smack;
like a shot to the vein.
She travels through my
bloodstream with the
force of a mad tea party.
Her hair is dormouse soft.
I touch it, and feed
her tarts, as she
rides me like
a guillotine;
sharp and final,
with a purpose;
like a porpoise with a
fish hook in
its mouth.
I hold on tight
and never let go.
Because I can't scroll, this is a repost.  Here is a link to a short video on my you tube channel where I read this poem.
https://www.youtube.com/shorts/uQvAa0t6VDw
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