There's nothing worse
than feeling transparent
In a world
that stigmatizes
the thoughts


**that radiate from the dark.

Let's talk about the girl,
who wasn't ready for the nights events,
ashamed of the fact that she didn't know the right words, or gestures to prove herself worthy.

Let's talk about the boy,
keeping a pace comparable to roaring waves,
inviting himself into a place he wasn't welcome.

Let's talk about the word "please",
how it fell off his tongue like cinnamon; coating the surface of her uncertainty with promises of a tomorrow.

Let's talk about the street lights,
radiating like a warning,
whispering: run.

Let's talk about regret,
humming her to sleep,
reminding her of the view from a dark street
screaming: you deserve more than this.

My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.

Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.

While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and ****,
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.

The feelings are all too familiar,
as if the first time was practice.
The fear of pain.
The pain of insanity.
The sound of the drum beating to wither away
the final moments of a healthy heart.  

I cannot believe I am here again.