you were the first snowfall in winter
your fragile soul
broken from a haunted past
like a rose amongst thorns,
teaching me how beautiful
it can be to bloom after the frost.

Just
A body
A chore
A problem
A violin

For
A knife
To play upon.

Testing the wind of
erotics on moons. I was
still stitching my wounds.

*

The strange longings,
surge towards waning ego
to grab intimate.

*

The mentor grieves
after the parting of pink lips.
Words would never come.

I've heard stories
Lived some stories
And hated most stories

The regrets of being human
Follows me like a shadow

I've felt everything
now I feel empty

Tired of being
Tied to my own thoughts

I slowly try to crawl away
But to where
to whom
to why