I can afford the luxury
Of forgetting
When near a man so rich in
Personality and taste.

Admitting to faults
is a hard thing to do
when you've been taught
to bury them.

I have discovered myself through the pieces of poetry.
My soul is scattered
across a field of
words.
Worry and doubt rain from the heavens
and nurture poems.

The darkest days bring the best poems.

And now the sun is out.

And a field of flowers
is here
to greet me.

Was it worth rain?

I cannot answer that.

I stare at my field
and wonder the same thing
over and over again.



Was it worth it?

You need not throw away
depth or darkness for beauty.
For it is the oceans vast depths
and its mysterious darkness
that creates a sense
of wonder
and
beauty.

Stop milking your pain,
acting like blood is still pouring
when its been dried for years.

You hold onto the slightest of things.
You keep the stitches in even when the skin is all healed.
Let go of the pain from your body.

Well I did.

But what you failed to realize
there were broken bones
under skin.

I may have healed,
but they have reset themselves
in painful positions.

And I'm terrified of breaking them again,
even if it means
less pain
in the future.

But my mistake,
for wearing my heart on my sleeve.
I apologize for the annoyance.
I shall go back to
silence.

Do not wonder the cause of my death,
for poisoned words of yours
will be the
only
culprit.

At least
I will never have to
hear
them
again.

Freedom is maddening
I would do anything
For a taste of
Choice
On my lips and
The promise of unhinged dream
Doors in the horizon.

Freedom is maddening
For with its release
Comes endless possibility.

Freedom is maddening
And is as much of a trap
As restriction.

Are pure moments
Of fleeting freedom
Worth a lifetime
Of just the promise
Of just that?

The familiarity of home
Even when Hell
Is a fleeting feeling
Of comfort
And excitement
All in one.

Travelers know it too well.
Nostalgia painted in stains on the walls
A crimson crayon catastrophe
That left us in tears
But God, did it bring back
Memories.

Hell

But familiarity.

It's incredible how we forget
That the warmth
Comes from flames
So quickly.

And how welcoming it feels
When you've been cold.

Home.

God forgive me
For taking comfort in
Forbidden fruits.

I cant help
But adore the nectar
That drips off her
Soul.

Dribbling down her chin,
A smile sweeter than honey.
Eyes matching sweet deception.

Her personality a seed,
A pit of solidarity.

Hair finer than
Ambrosia's droplets
Streaking down the golden
Goblet
Body.

Oh forgive me Lord.

For partaking
In a woman so sweet.
And taking a bite
Of her forbidden fruit.

Its been so long
since I've poured myself
truly and fully
into a poem.

My soul is not something
you can portion into pieces.

I refuse to be cut up with kitchen knives,
a meal ready for you to devour.
What am I to you?
But a quick snack,
but a cheap bite?

No, I refuse.

I refuse to be your side dish
any longer.

You've bitten off
more than your small mind
can chew.

And now you will choke
and spit it out.

You get my scraps now,
and have the nerve to complain.

So I stopped feeding you
pieces of myself
anymore.

I have become a complete meal
once
more.

The depths of your soul
Are an ocean blue
Beautiful clarity at the shore,
Delightful surprises in the dark.

My demons hide in Angel's skin
A disguise I know all too well.
Deceive me with their hopeful feathers,
Familiar claws so loving in touch.
I know it's a trap.
But I crave intimacy.
Sweet eyes that burn hellsfire
Bring me warmth in a look.
I wrap myself
In the cloak of their promises
And hide deep
In the crevices of their costume.

The familiarity of chaos
Will always be more welcoming
Than the idea of
A stranger's happiness.

I am live wires in water.
My circuit of thought has been broken
Left me short-circuiting in the ocean.
Electrical bursts escape me
names thoughts
so incoherent
But almost spastically beautiful.
I need no one else to complete these wires
But I must find own current once more
Before I run out
Of
Power.

Hellfire remains on display
Of the red rose.
No longer for her destruction
But now, for her beauty.

The gentle petal
Knew thorns and brambles
So well she grew her own.

Fear the gentle one.
For those with soft souls
Where made in
War.

Whoever said circles
under eyes were unattractive
clearly never held their's up
with pride.

Dedication, the endless hours
of studying and writing
etched on lines of paper
and lines on skin.

Control,  to not fall into
the bags that grow wider
underneath eyes.

Energy, making a millimeter
go a mile.
A long day of work
then no sleep.

I hold my undereyes up with pride.
I have passed the tests needed to obtain them.
And I refuse to let anyone
Anyone.
Take away that pride.

My eyes display strength and control.
I earned them.
Dare not disrespect them.

For they shall not accept it.

Another nameless face
and another faceless lie.

If you have the courage to
twist the truth
in front of my face,

do it with pride
and look me in the eye.

Lie again and perish.

You are an angel
yet mortal wounds stain your skin.
You reach out to me like
I am heaven,
when all I know is sin.

You are faced with two roads.

One leads to eternal peace,
a longing,
a need,
from the chaos of your life,
it is a constant promise
as steady as the sun
and the moon.

One leads to adventure,
excitement jumping off
the edge of a bridge,
mountains tilting their snow caps
in your respect,
danger is a wide grinning gate
yet
it is so tempting.

Given the choice:
Which would you choose?

He wears a coat of flowers,
suit and tie
complete
with thread
made of vines.

Buttons are stones
covered in mossy delight.

He is a rotting corpse in a field
made of flowers.
His presence mighty deceiving.

W a t c h     o u t,

He wanders the Earth.

He is a trickster,
someone dead inside
that seemed so promising...

Staticed rain falls
outside window panes.
Blurred sound
of droplets hitting
greenery
is a lullaby
from mother nature.

B e a u t i f u l.

The word love is tainted
with the stain
of your memory.

I crave serenity
when surrounded by
this noise.

Not even music is an indulgence
that blocks it out.

I do not know quite what it is,
but it lurks everywhere.

Unintelligible noise
never telling me
what
it
wants.

She's got a baseball bat
filled with ambition,
and a sharp light to her eyes
full of survival's will.

She's that hard to love
kind of bad ***.
The kind that will muffle sobs
with liquor.

She's the kind of love
forged in the depths of Hell
and *******
rather than
fluffy romance novels.

She knows what its like to be trapped.
So she holds the shackles
above her head.

She didn't realize she broke her arm
and lost pieces of herself
getting out of it.

It was not her fault she was born in chains
But it is her fault that she broke out of them.

For better or worst now,
the cracks in her soul
were filled with attitude.

And God, did I fall for it all.
The careen of her smile,
made me stay for a while.

She's the hard to love kind of bad ***,
and she's on the run again.

From problems to police you name it.

But she will laugh like her flannel soul
hidden in the wind.

And she will drown in her liquored ambitions
once more.

I have an insatiable
hunger,
yet I cannot taste
your presence
through the sickness
on my tongue...


even when you're close to me.

I want to be tethered
by your presence
to the Earth.
Be the roots
during my hurricane.

You keep me grounded,
and I keep you moving.

Late night walking,
basking in the glory of the moon,
and contrasting street lights
with midnight escapades
are blooming in
morning glory again.

Me and my problems
are like glass stained rain.
With clarity they show themselves,
soaking the glass
but there I stand,
unamused,
watching and doing nothing.

I've been acting like
who I want to become
more than
who I actually am.

I dream of clarity.
An uncluttered mind,
without trash can thoughts
tossed on the floor.

Without clothes of memories,

spilling sleeves of old summer days,
ripped jeans of schools return,

spewed in the floor.

I crave the feeling of
pristine handwriting
inscribing perfect letters
onto patterns of speech.

Instead I speak like doctor's handwriting,
occasionally intelligent,
but rarely discernible.

I lay my head on
the tangled bed of lies
I  built,
and dream of clarity
once more.

My dad started smoking again,
my mother is yelling again,
a sister so distant and in tears,

and I have to wonder
if my chaotic return of energy
was the reason for dispute
and not
the other way
around.

Bodies like cigarettes
with cherry red kisses
are a summer time treat
we all await for.

To go against the institution
one was raised in
takes bravery
that is unbeknownst
to man.

Girl you know
writing down meaningless words
will not dry your cheeks
and will not cure
your ineffable
sadness.

I'd rather die
than be in remission
for sins
I committed
that I never asked
to be forgiven.

Your skin is stained glass,
all different colors.
Where one vibrant red ends,
a shining yellow begins.

You are not broken, shattered on the floor,
but rather,
separate pieces of stained glass,
set separate to behold;

apart they are meaningless beauty,
together they are fruitful art.

A stained glass soul,
where art blooms at the color of her skin,
and realities blinding light
becomes diluted imagery
once more.

There is something
so wildly broken
about her.

Ah,
and here we meet again
the soul ******* ghost
of your company
reminiscent of
the sun after the rain;
only to be missed.

I have lived my life faking warmth
my soul is cold
in the best way possible.

I embrace it now.
Cold smiles refreshing,
cold hands coddling,
cold love blossoming.

All things cold
are not
all things bad.

I think I found myself again
but I don't know
whether or not
I missed her soapy scents.

Melancholy smiles
hide scenery so nice.
Blooms of clouds
rain heavenly drops
and Earth's greenery
is watered once more.

Cool night cold and wet.
God's tears roll down Earth's cheeks,
and hide in the ***** past.

Once more I am here,
admiring wet, cold, moonlight
once again.

Teary eyed skies,
and drowning sadness seas
come together
and clash
so blue together
that they feed
on each others
sadness.

There is wonder and trouble amiss
the sea speaks to storms,
rain becoming war
between what can drown better
the sound of the storm
or the ocean's waves no more.

I have reconnected
with Earth's deep green presence
once more.

Drowning me in dewdropped
darkness, no longer an enemy.

Take me into the stormy sea,
and let cold pale skin
Drown
once
more.

I know it's getting bad again,
because I'm writing more again.

Better to hide in the moonlit scenery
I can create, cold dewdropped skin,
rather than face
the heat of the day.

I escape in my cave of magnanimity,
until I can face the sun
with new unhurt skin

once
again.

Your words are taken
by listening ears,
and thrown out of
unlocked mouths.

Paper holds ink promises
staining it forever,
for attentive eyes to see.

Phone's hold secrets
with cryptic passwords
until a friend strays from
the playground of your games
to the notes of your misery.

Nowhere is safe, hide all you wish,
the only place where secrets hide deep
is the mind.

Plain and simple,
keep it all in
until it escapes
or let it all out
before the world
pries in
to
see.

Familiarity strums melodies
on my heart strings.
Now beating to the beat of the song,
immerse thyself,
body whole
into the music.

Silent escape,
through earbud tunnels
on places between the journey
allow for relaxation.

Now floating in calming sensations,
a touch I know by ear,
allows me comfort.

The familiarity of tiredness,
blur fuzzy lines at the edge of my vision,
eyes shutting down
like a computer that's run out of battery,

unexpectedly.

Limbs fall loosely leaves to the bed
and crumple into a pile
of the scraps of a human.

Whatever life eats and wastes,
the leftovers always end up
sitting on the bed,

sleeping now, refusing to
embrace the cold refrigeration
of the night.

The stars eat up her light once more.

Melody,
oh sweet sweet melody
a familiarity
closing in on me.

I cannot but adore the silence
in the same way these notes hit,
anxious for its presence,
yet calm in its arrival.

The deja vu, of tunes so known
that the lyrics come out
as if we had wrote them.

Here all along,
a touch away from comfort
is always
something to be treasured.