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...

There's beauty in sorrow,
if you don't let it grind you down.

I wanted freedom,
But I have been trapped
Between a rotting lemon
And a hard place
For my bones of glass
To bask in the sun.

There's beauty in sorrow,
if you don't let it grind you down.

I wanted shelter
From the acid rains
That came spitting out
Of their ignoble mouths,
Pattering upon my rind
And souring the lemonade.

There's beauty in sorrow,
if you don't let them grind you down.

I wanted love,
But there wasn't any rainbow
At the end of that
Cursed *** of gold
They're all chasing feverishly.

There's beauty in sorrow,
I tell myself, lying as I see nothing else.

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?

Tell me
Screaming from the rooftops
And I'll swim to shore,
Out of the salt desert of swirling waves,
For to drown in your arms
Is better than anything.

Tell me,
Saying it with your eyes
More than with lips or teeth,
That breathing would never
Be as sweet as kissing you
Until my lungs fill up with laughter.

Tell me,
Whispering among the pines
And I'll brave the wildfires,
Blind and breathless in the choking dark,
For to burn in your desire
Is better than anything.

Tell me,
Voicing it with your every heartbeat
More than with tongue and cheek,
That breathing would never
Be as vital as kissing you
Until my lungs fill up with joy.

Tell me,
Shouting from the shoreline
And I'll climb every mountain,
Up into the ice desert of gleaming stars,
For to hold in every breath shared with you
Will keep time still for awhile.

To try to sing when all your rhythms are loneliness and decaying forests.

To try to speak when all your words are fragility and pungent mires.

To try to write when all your rhymes are complacency and murky waters.

To try to get those thoughts out when all your mind can shelter are words without rhyme or rhythm...

To try...

Starlight, you are my starlight,
when you shine I remember the world,
when you don't I forget myself.

Starlight of my dreams,
you light up my hopes and heart.

Starlight, you are the only light
that breaks through the darkness
when oblivion descends.

Starlight, you are all I need,
you make the world silvery.

I've such a secret
to share
with you,
yet all I can do
is whisper.

In such a cacophonous world,
my whispers are
no longer melodies,
but the tapping of
ant feet in a field of green,
under the twisted steel
of man-made birds.

I've such a secret,
but no one
to listen
to me
whisper it.

I went down those stairs,
And through that door,
Between the ancient columns
Of old and forgotten stone.

The air was made of crystals.

Hope danced above,
And around,
Flickering golden and silver
In the cold winter lights.

The air was made of crystals.

I could feel again,
As if the numbness thawed
In that single moment
Spent by the fireplace
Of someone willing to
Listen.

The air was made of crystals.

And I went down those stairs,
And through that iron door,
And past those frost covered columns.

And the air was made of crystals.

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.

there's green all throughout
the silver droplets,
coiling about the warmth
of powder-blues and roaring magentas.

there's green all throughout
the golden threads,
winding around the jubilee
of cream-whites and vibrant citrines.

there's green all throughout
the copper clays,
swirling between the renewal
of xantic petals and extatic lilacs.

there's green all throughout
the joyous weeping
of spring.

Ice is cracking
Under the immense
And unforgiving
Weight of lead skies.

The world is falling,
Plunged into
The vast and punishing
Waters below.

Her lips dissolving
With the cosmic
And unwavering
Chill of the void.

A last breath reverberating
Below the colossal
And vengeful echoing
Of a final word.

Uttered in mourning
Of a momentary
And fragile
Life.

darling,
it hurts too much
to watch
as you chase
someone else's dream,
as they chase
someone else's dream,
and no one's
chasing their own.

darling,
it hurts too much
to watch
you pass through
the valleys of life,
as the shadows
stretch further
with every step,
and the valley
stretches too.

darling,
it hurts too much
to hear you
say to me,
in that crystalline voice
that warms my heart,
"the only way
is through",
while I stare back
and whisper to you
"the only way
is through".

darling,
it hurts too much
to look up
and face the sunlight
with eyes
that've only
tasted the dark.

darling,
you love
sunlight.

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.

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.

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?

Barely seen,
Barely known,
Barely understood,
Barely remembered.

Why did you have to go before
Eyes could see you,
Hearts could know you,
Compassion could understand you,
Love could remember everything about you?

Why did you have to go
In spite of the fact
That I do and will
See you,
Know you,
Understand you,
And remember you?

Why did you have to go before time could do the same?

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?

Can you write with a broken pen?

Can you send out the words that reverberate within your soul if the inkwell has dried out?

Can you scribble away at your own thoughts if the paper has been hollowed out by grief?

Can you author a better future with nothing but your bleeding fingers?