I was drunk—
and I made you my muse.

Now that I’m sober—
I wanna marry my poems.

Like an amphetamine fiend
Clawing through a winter storm
Trembling and dawning laborious scars

I trek passed the bars and cars
In search of you and the memories
You left, trying to trace a past life long

Obscened

the earth shifts
feet cling to ceiling
knives dance in my chest
up is down
but down is not up
silver drips off of my fingers
a sheen falling up
or was it down?

a deer is on the ceiling
or is she on the floor?
she whispers
"you cannot be what you wish to be
if you do not first wish"
the earth shifts
her coat gleams
her eyes shatter and repair
the earth collapses

she is gone

i put my fingers to my lips
all i taste is metal

Fear affords a shallow life
of hesitant connection
and wearying wariness

Delusions in all
of our great minds
blind us

to these quiet moments
of great beauty
reading poetry

Whilst whipping
across time on a galaxy's
flung out arm

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  to is what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

What a waste it is—
to be human
and be contained.

Light bounces from
the wing mirror housing;

for a moment, a window
into the universe opens.