we are what we hate
you say stop acting this way

asking why i'm somebody  else
whenever i start to shed my shell

i guess we really are exactly what we hate
and maybe really for me all i am is...

myself.

- end

i'm not scared of men with dark skin
creeping alleyways at night when they're vacant
i lose no sleep over masked liquor store strangers
or women we call ****** limping
lifelessly with red knees
feeling low and ever so shameful

you would feel the same way
your world would be rearranged

but you've never felt a ghost's haunts years later
yesterday is today, it still creeps your alleyways when you're vacant
and you've forgetten what sleep is yet somehow remember you need it
and it's the reason you and liquor stores never were strangers
they make it easy when you ***** around if only to convince yourself  
that women really just never were your thing

and that at least today you're limping
lifelessly with red knees feeling
low but never as shameful

- end

do you know
why babies scream
soon as their lungs
begin to breathe?

could you tell me
why old men smile
lying on deathbeds
exhaling life?

i think we gasp as
soon as we leave
our sole protection
that's when some of us
inhale hard, some
harder than others
and from then on
depending on
how much we let
into our lungs
we spend our lives
exhaling slowly
for days on end

until the end  
when we find ourselves
lying on deathbeds

we scream no more
no,
we smile instead
exhaling faster
because we know
we have nothing
to fear in life

after death.

- end

why don't you call me
just to talk
why don't you enlighten my eyes
with the electric sparks of your mind
why can't i find you
when you're near me
and why do you feel closer
the farther you are

the calm never did suit me.
                                                
           i thrive

on
      chaos

the ease i feel tonight
is so unfamiliar

            beware
                         tomorrow's
                riot.

it will be
a
      beautiful

              blood red
                 canvas.

two years ago
i picked up a book of poetry
i turned each page carefully

two hours ago
i picked it up again
i read its words slowly

i have never seen this book before

- end