if the moon fell down tonight,
i swear to you my dear,
i'd spend my last few minutes
dreaming you were here.
we'd lie in bed together,
your hand upon my cheek
as the world goes cold, oxygen fades
and our bodies; they grow weak.
we'd hold each other tightly,
drifting into space.
if the moon fell down tonight, i vow
to spend the last few minutes
staring at your face.

you're the only light,
and the only warmth,
i've ever needed anyway.
if the moon fell down tonight, my love
i pray you'd come, and that you'd stay.
but if the moon stayed tonight,
up there in that sky,
i'd do what i do everynight;
i'd lay in bed and cry.

I am floored.

She teaches me with brown eyes the youth I've forgotten.
Every breath I take in thought of her pulls heavy on my lungs.
I can't stop.
The blankets I lay on turn to flesh and I firmly grasp what I'm able.
Her scent still lingers from our last lay.
Inhaling these moments only intensifies our time spent together.
****** ******* frenzy.
This woman rewrites what I claim of passion.
I know nothing now - she must lead me and I follow.
Her lips secrete the sweetest wine, her tongue uncorks me.
She wants me on cold kitchen counters and wooden floors.
I can't keep count.
We are sinning for the worse, the relationship founded on ***.
Reckless turns us on,
we push and pull and pinch and grab and bite and nibble and lick our way to the next line.
Whatever it takes to get off - she & I must have it all.

These storms of passion return a calm to my chest.
I'm reassured of who I am - why I am.
She has floored me, and I ******* love it.

Sometimes I have to take a moment
just to focus on my life
Because I know not a single struggle
is to be solved with a knife
You see there are much easier ways
to get through difficult times
I myself, like to write
I am at ease with my rhymes
When I find myself really struggling
or life's getting rough
I collect my thoughts on paper
that for me is enough
So if you remember anything dear
please remember this note
Nothing is to be solved with a knife
life was meant to be wrote

Where tears are all she knew,

and from this day forward she flew..

to be no more; she mourns

simple white roses,

tangled and torn

in her golden hair that poses

her crown of thorns

bloodstains that disclosures

her angelica face of bedlam dreams

so torn to be free, oh so free

angels fall sometimes  even cry

and maybe just maybe angels die....*



Debbie Brooks 2014

Drip, drip.
The lovely red.
Drips from the veins.
Inside of your head.

Drip, drop, drip, drop.
I think your dead.
So much blood.
The pretty red.

Onto the concrete.
Blood stains on the walls.
Drip, drop, drip, drop.
Heard in empty halls.

The pleasant drip.
As your heart stops.
Like rose petals on snow.
Such lovely red drops.

Blood let's us live.
Blood also can ****.
It delivers the poison.
Brought in by the pill.

Dripping, dripping.
None left inside.
Without anymore blood.
Your carcass is dried.

We are young men buried in books
Shoveling words every day
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Ours minds drained deep in the pools
Of knowledge. So they say
We are young men buried in books.

We find ourselves caught in hooks
Of wisdom seekers shall we pray?
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Exhausted, some will turn into crooks
While we proudly remain grey
We are young men buried in books.

We bear fruit of hope from the roots
Of pain so follow the rules we lay
As we are gradually shaped into tools.

Are we zombies in schools?
In our paths we never stray.
We are young men buried in books
As we are gradually shaped into tools.