I have never heard grey more grey
then the words which you say to me so
condescendingly.
Never endingly.
Black and white means naught
in a world of (k)nots and (flattened) cans.
And dressed up in blue, you’re always beautiful.
But crude and **** we stand in the sun;
every pockmark illuminated, tungsten bright.
The light of night to never shine again against
the delicate steel door that closes like your hand
around the flitting, panicked moth.
Magnesium smiles and pain pill duplicity,
the simplicity of a (remote) controlled world.
I am trapped between the clean street signs
and the signs of a dead language.
Where is the line of your back and what
is the time?
Have I lost the only things that
made me sigh with relief?
(Who is the real thief?)

Yes, the black hole within my eye is the only thing keeping you close.
A stance of grayed jeans covering the scarred legs holding me up.
No: hold me close and pour that familiar bile from
your mouth to my ear.
I know that you, my undead love, has cried more than
any angel ever could.
From your eyes, your liquefied heart has spilled upon the floor.
Upon the floor, we have found our hands in erogenous zones.
Rend my soft body into ****** flesh and drops of honey
as I gather your arteries upon the luckless tiles
and place them gently back upon your tongue.

It is in my fate as a stone upon the sand
to be smoothed and embraced by the ocean.
My only desire is to eventually become
a part of the soil that holds me close;
I wish to dissolve into colorful pebbles
and scatter across ocean floors and beaches far.

To fill the empty spaces in this universe,
to be eternal, evermore, and reformed-
Back into the elements that gave me structure.
Perhaps I will be ingested by some plant,
who is, in turn, consumed by the fishes.
Forever, in cyclic fashion, I will remain.

But yet, I cannot dream for any longer.
A yellow sundress is my keeper.
Hands as small and smooth as my surface
carry me far from my disturbed resting place.
And I am placed on white, a blind white bureau.
Admired once, and then forgotten.

Violence; the smoky air has
become a white tornado.
The violin of nature releases
a chord of dark romance.
The other side is there-
from what I can see-
she just wants to be free.

A sparrow jumps to and fro
between city skylines and
colours in black.
She is talking smooth-
an impression in a sunrise.
Onward, onward-a floral circus.
I cannot work this.

Speeding drops of rain become
the final goodbye of summer.
She is building a bridge of chimes
to aid her in her deafness.
Teacups fill with sunshine
and a stranger dressed in silk
is made of honeycombs of milk.

The crystal has broken up
into thousands of tiny stars
Hopeless nostalgia fills the sky
and ivory skin is revealed.
She is on a crash course of
late night manipulation.
She has witnessed salvation.

Because I’ve never felt anything else.
My hands are always cupped towards the sun, the moon.
The seasons always seem a little more intense,
But that’s the price I pay for drinking deep
From every cloudy light that touches our naked forms.

And every speeding red car seems smashed against cement
Like the blood smeared against the shower tiles.
And we’re traveling down the riverbed, waiting for reality
To hit us square between the eyes and every finger but
reality could never hit me as hard as you did.

I’m flipping through old poetry, and like a slideshow
I see every living origami unfold beneath me.
Dangerous, dangerous, as my breathing slows,
Suffocated by the darkness that I had once succumbed to.
The multiple ‘he’s’ that I never knew.

And beautiful sunsets don’t have that kick anymore;
Not that they really ‘kick’ anyway, it’s more a kiss.
A gentle, soothing kiss that has lost it’s spark.
The gold and red has been exchanged for cooling blues
And purple clouds that sigh in anguish.

I fell in love with a blackboard
and the beauty etched upon it's surface.
(A shallow love, indeed: to only love what is written and to never understand.)
But my hands can never touch it, never,
for it's texture makes me sick.

I fell in love with a train,
and all of that thrill and wind and speed.
(A dangerous love, please: to only love a fleeting feeling, the never calm.)
But that scent is so appalling, crawling
upon my knees to escape it's grasp.

I fell in love with a princess,
and her eyes, stance, and *******.
(A quick love, sick: Her hands seemed to bandage my heart so nimbly.)
But my ears are bleeding, always pleading,
at the sound of her treacherous voice.

I fell in love with a peasant,
his smile, his heart, and his arms.
(A beating love, fleeting: His face tear stained with stress.)
But he had no time for me, no dime
in his pocket could feed me.

I was alone. Never quite in love enough.
The polymer casing on my blood seemed to break.
The walls had yet to rise with the celibate gathering.
Take away a lifetime and give away a second.