There's a searchlight in the sky,
Casting watchful
Yet pock marked eye
Upon the weary wanderers
That roam under the light.
Suspect by nature
When you navigate the night.
Guilty by virtue of where you
May retire,
Or not as the case may be.
Under streetlight
I follow foxes.
Or do they follow me?
Among dreams of clocks
And mirrored razor blades
Rusted by the sea.

I went looking for God
but I found you instead.
Bad luck or destiny,
you decide.

Buried in the muck,
the soot of the city,
sorrow for an appetite,
devil on your left shoulder,
angel on your right.

You, with your thorny rhythms
and tragic, midnight melodies.

My heart never tried
to commit suicide before.

I tried to forget you with someone else.
but when he smiled (and he did it often)
I remembered the serious face you have most of the time, like you are analyzing what surrounds you, taking in every detail and how your smile is like a shooting star, only to be seen once in a while.
And I forced myself to kiss him,
foolishly thinking that would keep you out of my mind, so naive to think I could take out of my head someone that lives in my heart, and that those strange lips could fill the void of not having yours.
I came back home. I broke down once again.
This morning I picked my pieces and put them back together. My lips that kissed you, my hands that held you, my eyes blinded by you, every piece of me that has had you and glued it all to go out and try again.

Some nights I’m not filled with words,
I’m just filled with so much of you.
You’re making more space in this ribcage;
it was always saving a spot
for your heart anyways.
You give the moon light to reflect,
and I swear the stars would fall for you tonight.

Of the five senses, touch was the first to go
When the rot set in.
Necrotic from disinterest; disused and numb,
A disconnected *****, a colony of one.
.
Then sound; your messages left unheard.
Just the tap tap tap of some manic mind.
No pause...just repeat; the eternal rewind.
Sleep starved, all words stick frozen in time.
.
For leading me into temptation; my gluttonous sins,
Taste and smell succumbed, then withered and died.
Staunch as a deacon, control finally mine.
The harvest ignored, bloated  on the vine.
.
Only sight eludes my metal fatigue.
The mirror much stronger, it haunts and it taunts.
Its warped funhouse images all I can see.
The bully I made...this cruel double of me.