Petals of mold on your heavy eyelids
remind me of the moment when I died among the kindling...

blood dew flowing with the choleric thorns of your eyelashes
feed the scarlet weeds of final bitter twitches,
and the harsh blades of the cardinal sun
burn my last too-naive sentimental nostalgias...

She would paint on a solemn face
to walk undisturbing into your world
of silver towers and streets of marble white,
yet in mine she could wear a clean sight.

She would file down her fangs
to whisper sweetness within your halls
of opulence and feigned delight,
yet in mine she'd bare them in starlight.

She would shut close her lilac eyes
to fool herself into seeing just the veneer
and not the rot beneath your noble court,
yet in mine she'd see the beauty in the dirt.

She would smother herself in lace
to blend in with the specters that lurk
within your entourage of pomp and nightmare,
yet in mine she could run naked without care.

She would drown her voice in vile liquor
to hold her soul from flying away in spite
from all that you've done in her name,
yet with me she would drink in the sky-flame.

She would be loved.
Her voice would soar.
No paint on her face.
No more.

So you blame the roses for the locust swarm
That eats away at their beauty
And drench their joyful fragrance
In misery...

Where the **** is the insecticide?

I look across the street
at the woman walking by.

Her slender form
in bright reds dressed,
a beating crimson heart
against the exsanguinated grey
of dry asphalt.

I look across the street
and dare not move.

Because my mother
raised me undeserving
of the time of someone
whom bleeds life into
an exsanguinated day.

I look across the street
and nothing more.

As my father taught me
to live unremarkable
and let all songbids
fade away from memory...

I could not walk with her.

I lay here
on ashen asphalt
and wait for the red
to bleed out of sight.

I look across the street
and exsanguinate
any hope of lasting love.

She saw him standing there,
looking at her, austere as a
cliff upon a shoreline,
unmoved by the sea.

Yet she knew that every cliff
eventually crumbles
against the unrelenting waves.

And she was unrelenting.

if I was the wind
I would cover you
in summer's warm embrace
and give your lungs
the cleanest mountain air
to take into yourself.

if I was the dirt
beneath your feet
I would shelter you
from the storms
and the turbulent ways
life shakes you.
I would hold fast
and hold you close
to my core
safe from the prying eyes
of the cold midnight sky.

if I was the river
I would wash away
thine sorrows and pains
and give your lips
the cool touch of
flowing water.
I would engulf you
within my essence
and clothe your body
in ocean waves.

if I was the flame
I would warm your hearth
and fill your chambers
with the golden light
of my all-devouring love.

eyes of rumbling fire
when she looks at me
with that burning desire
I walk the distance
and bathe in flames for a while.

lips of thundering waterfalls
when she beckons to me
with those Parthenopean calls
I swim the distance
and dance in waves for a while.

the way she claims me
and gives herself to me

skin of icy winds and hailstorm
when I look at her
with a thirst to take in her form
she glides the distance
and I drink her in for a while.

hair of dark shadow and stone
when I talk to her
with trembling voice and tone
she strides the distance
and I steady myself for a while.

the way she claims me
and gives herself to me

hands of red and teeth of white
when she kisses me
with a hunger so full of spite
she cuts the distance
and I give myself for a while.

cries of pain and howls of delight
when I kiss her
with an ordinary, yet ravaging bite
I cleave the distance
and she becomes ravished for a while.

the way she claims me
and gives herself to me
leaves no room for the scavengers

I'm not dying.
I'm not dead.
Yet I struggle with the sisyphean task
of resuscitating myself with every breath.

I'm not breaking.
I'm not broken.
Yet I must reforge my fractured psyche
upon the hephaestian anvil that is my mind.
With the strikes of the willful hammer,
in the golden fires of my rage,
a weapon fit for Damocles unbreaks.

I'm not losing.
I'm not lost.
Yet I see myself on freedom's deathbed
trying to resuscitate what's left of human kindness.

I'm not stopping.
I've not stopped.
Yet I must push my body and mind
through all these herculian trials
just so
that I may escape this Tartarus.

I keep breathing
as the deepest blue
fills my lungs with
the fresh air
of salt and wonder.

I keep breathing
as the golden flames
roast the succulent morsels
that fill belly and soul
with pepper and joy.

I keep breathing
as the wind takes me
to new and exciting
places that fill out
the mind with memories.

I keep breathing
as the soil beneath
fills every oblivion
with the emerald
of hope and renewal.

Should I keep breathing
when the depths
of despair
flood all around?

Should I keep breathing
when the fires
gnaw at the bones
of my childhood?

Should I keep breathing
when the stormwind
slashes away
memories of warmth?

Should I keep breathing
when the sands of time
drag my flesh down
into oblivion?

A taste in my mouth
that lingers on,
even though I have not
shared apricots with you.

A smell in my lungs
that soaks through,
touching my heart,
although I have not
shared hyacinth petals with you.

A tingling in my fingers
that radiates always,
in spite of the fact
I have not caressed your skin,
nor shared any pleasure with you.

A melody in my bones
that thrums in every part of me,
albeit I have not
shared any poems with you in decades.

A mirage in my soul
that dances forever,
yet I have not
shared my essence with you...

why would I love you, when you've known only the minutes between deep breaths and laughter?
why would I love you, when you've felt only the warm touch of summer rain through cotton fabrics?
why would I love you, when you've asked only the shallow questions and given answers that one can find etched on tree trunks?
why would I love you, when you've not lived enough to know me?

why would I want you, when your laughter barely echoes in my bones?
why would I want you, when your touch is as cold as silken gloves?
why would I want you, when your mind is satisfied with not knowing?
why would I want you, when your life had just begun?

why would I need you, when all I've known are the seconds between deep breaths and drowning?
why would I need you, when all I've felt is the cold touch of howling winds and hailstorms?
why would I need you, when all I've asked was left unanswered and I've still too many questions?
why would I need you, when all I've lived is epilogue?

Chasing moonlight
On rainsoaked tiles
Of fired clay
And
Soot stained dreams.

Running barefoot
On late summer grasses
Burned yellow
By
A heavy sun.

Striding bravely
On sharp edges
Of crumbling mountains
And
Eroded eternity.

Embracing stillness
On snowcapped peaks
Made sanctuary
By
Ephemeral beauty.

Yours.

The wise woman said
I should take a moment
to look at the birds
singing around me
and stay in that moment.

Yet my soul wanted to fly.

The wise woman said
I should take a break
and look at the flowers
growing colourful
and focus on that moment.

Yet my soul wanted to bloom.

The wise woman said
I should be more aware
of the small things and moments
that live all around me
and focus on the little joys.

Yet my soul wanted to express its immensity.

The wise woman said
I should be smaller,
think in moments,
and find sufficient
all the little things
she's willing to let fall.

Yet my soul hungers for a place at the table.

give me pleasure
and I will give you pain.

share with me your water
and my cold hands
will rip away
at your tender thighs...
you are nothing but prey
in the harsh sands,
awaiting the slaughter.

share with me you breath
and my dead heart
will drain the heat
from your lovely bones.
watch me as I eat,
as your eyes dart
away from your death...

offer me your light, sweetheart,
let that which shines
be forgotten and broken
under my dripping claws.
fade away unspoken
letting go of all whines
until your suffering will restart.

promise me your soul,
as I drink up your brine,
yet never let the ache diminish
while I wait to dry your tears.
from start to finish
remember that you are mine,
as I devour you whole.

give me pleasure
and I will give you pain.

feels like I've laughed through the tears
before anyone said any kind words,
before anyone looked at me,
before anyone remembered a very good joke.

feels like I've swam to shore
before anyone built the lighthouse,
before anyone sailed out to find me,
before anyone noticed I was drowning.

feels like I've wondered the land
before anyone drew the maps,
before anyone loved the skies above,
before anyone spoke the words carried by the wind.

feels like I've loved the sunlight
before anyone felt the roughness of my skin,
before anyone washed away the dirt I carry,
before anyone guessed my name.

feels like I've lived my whole life
before anyone showed me how to breathe,
before anyone told me how to walk,
before anyone reminded my heart what rhythm is.

you hand me
the extra loaf
of bread
and
I devour it
devoid of
thankfulness.
Is this not a meal worthy of the greatest man on Earth?

I am hungry still.

I take your fingers
still wreathed
in dough
and smelling
of hard work
and tradition.
In my mouth
they are but morsels.
Is this not a meal worthy of the greatest man on Earth?

I am hungry still.

I take your daughter;
my teeth and
my nails
penetrate her flesh
and I swell up
with hunger
and desire,
as her body
drips like
hot bread
sunken in
sweet summer wine.
Is this not a feast worthy of the greatest man on Earth?

I am hungry still.

I take your dreams
and grind them up
into dust.
A dust that stains,
a dust that erodes
and oxidates
and rots away
at your future.
Is this not a feast worthy of the greatest man on Earth?

I am hungry still.

I devour your hope,
just like I did
your child,
just like I did
your future.
I turn it all
into rust
and biofilm.
Is this not a feast worthy of the greatest man on Earth?

I am hungry still.

I take your land,
your home,
and the breadcrumbs
of your failing
dignity.
Is this not a meal worthy of the greatest man on Earth?

I hunger still.

I eat the sky,
the sea,
and the mountains
too.
Is this not a meal worthy of the greatest man on Earth?

I hunger still.

I take it all,
for nothing
seems to
fill my gut,
and nothing still
can ease my need.

I hunger still.

I devour the nothingness,
for there is
nothing left
for the greatest man on Earth
to eat.