Sadness is all.around
From early morning news
To nightly news
Yet in some
Deep hidden corner
Happiness is shared
Where no one .broadcasts

My music box out
Tinkling sounds of Christmas play
As I turn the key

i don't feel very poetic

and i never thought the ceiling i stare at each night
was worth a poem
because i'm sure you'd rather hear about the star splattered sky
with it's infinite universes that envelop beating hearts
and tear things apart just to make them novelties once more

but the white stucco above my head has constellations of it's own
that have kept every secret i ever told
on nights that i'd rather cut off my hands than write a
single godforsaken word

maybe the ceiling is it's own kind of sky
decorated with daydreams the clouds could never carry
it's not poetic by the usual definitions

but neither am i

Truth is brute and it's a brute necessasity.

i looked into the abyss
so much weight and rot in my pockets
ready to meet the terror that made me
        
but the abyss looked back
so i stayed

I told you so,
But you wouldn't listen,
You never do.

i feel sick.
i feel tired, and empty.
i feel my eyes moving in their sockets.
i feel the blood coursing through my veins.
i feel my lungs slowly filling.
i feel me.
i feel every piece of me.
im sick.
and im tired.
i dont want to feel.
why do i feel anyway?

like inferno my love is radiant ‘
my charm is luminous,
It burn with lust ,
with a soul so bright,
It  with light with energy  
It ignite with pleasure,
My lips so furry
They’ll strike like thunder
  To love so timeless ,
  baked with valor ,
    
flow within me ,
let me edify your philia
I am shelled with sensual
There’s tender within me ,
It flames my epiphany,
it arouse my sanity ,
with splendor ,
It gravitates ,with serene ,
To the thriller’s of life
It colors with spark
Its flares with appeal
Its beyond glory

____

To wallow in and under drown,

To shape a tear, to form a frown.


Exaggerations embracing pain,

They weave a spell to summon rain.


A heart to crush, a mind to flood,

And veins that throb with rivers blood.


Confusion swims where soft truth flies,

A cauldron to mix a concoction of lies.


These fires scar, yet sear no flesh,

While times slow healing turns souls to ash.

In the cold, dark
        of January,
         I remembered
              you
        the most.
  As the chill
      snapped bones
              like branches,
     as the afternoons
   bathed themselves
in gray,
     as the birds
and the backs
      shook,
so did my lips
   around your name.
I'm so happy
     January is almost
over now.