As a poet,
I have some
sort of “sickness”.
A “disease” that
makes me cough
cold, raw, inky words.
It forms sentences
you never heard
out of me before.

On endless hours
of sitting in a
room alone,
my throat
hurts so badly.
Someone sliced it
open with a knife—
I lost my broken voice
in the process—
But not my soul

The young woman strikes a vending machine
minutes after seeing her test score.

The young man enjoys lunch under an evergreen.

Her previous night, nothing but a smoke screen.
A new substance leads to a new door.
The morning after, she strikes a vending machine.

He drinks cool water from his canteen.
Not a care in the world; therefore,
the young man enjoys lunch under an evergreen.

More distressed than she’s ever been,
she makes her way to a liquor store.
She treats it like a vending machine.

Brushing the dirt off his shoulder since nineteen,
and sure of what he stands for.
Enjoying lunch under an evergreen.

The distressed girl finds her way to a guillotine.
While collected young man stands up for an encore

After many morning afters, she sells herself
like food from a vending machine
While the young man enjoys lunch under an evergreen

In the bliss of a given chance
there are heartbeats in a trembling rhythm.
i ask God why he gave me these hands
when i can't even help myself with them.

My reflection glistens,
in the hard-edged mirror,
No one listens,
when i mention the scissor.
The tip of the sword,
meets my skin,
not a single word,
replenishes the sin.
Drowning in tears,
my heart sinks low,
with blood red fears,
my heart rate, low.
Guilt lies near,
with regret and despair,
not a single thought clear,
i melt completely bare.

I envy the rain,
for it can touch your pretty face,
trace your lips,
and rest upon your skin
ever so gently,
while I was never allowed
to touch you
as intimately as it does.

I was only fourteen,
and you were the first boy
to ever compliment me.
Then I blinked,
and suddenly, I was twenty-four,
and you were the last man
to break my heart.

when people are in love
they often say
they simply fell
tripped over their own two feet
face forward
and into the arms of their beloved

i did more than simply fall
onto the ground of your love

you, for me
were an ocean
and i dived
headfirst
roughly
harshly
almost painfully
into the waters of “you”

i knew i could not swim
but i did so anyway
i was drowning
entangled in you
surrounded by this being of “you”
engulfed in this feeling of “you”

and i did not know what came over me
but i let myself drown
i did not try to swim back up
because if i went back to land,
releasing myself from your grasp
that would mean losing the feeling of “you”

and after
submerging into the depth
the love
the passion
of “you”

how could i ever leave?

i won't miss your dumb hair,

i dont care about your nails,

i'd rather read books,

and dream about rails.

every seat you can't fit,

that i fake my upset,

but your soul is the point,

and your face is a mess.