january 11th, 2014
i feel like i'm getting bad again.  my head constantly hurts from all the thoughts i have going through it. my mind simply won't stop racing, i think it's because i miss you, but i'm not sure. it's hard to say. write again soon, promise.

january 20th, 2014
i'm getting bad again. i think they're worried about me. i told them about how i missed you. they said to try to forget about you, but forgetting your best friend and your first love is hard to do. i've been biting my fingers to the bone to try to keep myself from thinking of you. it hasn't been working. write again soon, promise.

january 24th, 2014
i'm bad again. i miss you. you told me not to worry about you, that you're doing just fine. but she's going to hurt you. i know she is. the nausea this is causing me is something i didn't know I was capable of feeling. it's honestly terrifying to know your body can put these kinds of ailments upon you all because of a gut feeling you have. write again soon, promise.

january 28th, 2014
i'm over the edge. she kissed you and hurt you. her lips were like daggers against yours and she ended up stabbing you, just like i said she would. but you didn't listen. write again soon, promise.

january 31st, 2014
i don't know where i am. you're sad and so am i. my empathy is unnatural. i feel your vibes from 3,800 miles across the ocean. i miss you. it's hard to keep a grip on this pen with the blood lubricating my fingers. don't know when to write again, might be soon, might be later, but i'll try, promise.

february 2nd, 2014
i'm sorry for the blood on the paper, it's not easy to control it when it's constantly pouring out of the self inflicted wounds that for some reason they've refused to patch up. i told you she was wrong for you. i knew that you'd be leaving and i knew you'd find someone else but i thought you'd be smarter than this. try to hold the pen soon, promise.

february 4th, 2014
i can't stop shaking, i didn't think you'd get to me this much. my vomiting is uncontrollable, even though there's nothing left in my body to throw up. my veins are exhausted from me constantly prying them open with the same pair of scissors you once took away from me. i told you she wasn't right for you. i told you what would happen. you knew this is how it would end up. my selfishness has taken over and convoluted compassion for you is no longer there. you did this to me because you were never there and you won't ever be. you knew how much i thought i loved you and you know how well i take these things. but my feelings don't matter, they never did. you said you'd be there for me but you weren't anymore after you met her. she changed you for the worst. i can't even fathom to say goodbye to you, so i'll leave you with a final story, since you love them so much.
"i'll sit here in my hospital bed in this gown they've dressed me in that's stained with lines and spatters of blood and smoke my cigarette and think of you as my last thought before i go. sorry to worry you. goodbye, my dear."
last time i'll write, promise.

I'm not brilliant, I'm just winging it'
'Cause life is a song with black and white notes,
So I'll write you my song without singing it

I'm not beautiful,
though I'm flattered you think that,
And though the feeling could be mutual,
I'm not sure I could say the same back..

It's not that I don't think you're beautiful..
I've never really called a guy that before?
But your poetry helps me get through it all,
and for that I know one thing for sure,

You're a risk taker,
not a ****
nor a heartbreaking piece of work

You're a poet finding his muse,
but unfortunately this muse is bad news

I'm a mess of a dreamer,
a heartbroken fool
and my mentality could drive you to the brink of insanity,
and though you say I can't drive you there 'cause you're pretty mad yourself,
Maybe we just need time to learn how to love ourselves..

In the half-life half-death
of cold capsule prison cells
The shaken but unstirred synapses
of my sedated frantic grey matter
are left cruelly seduced into dreamstate contemplation
Forced induction into comatose hypersleep
all systems shocked and slowed
Reduced to internal monologue
debating tranquility and frustration
captured amidst nurturing seas and predator skies
Life support machinations online
so that I must deal with life offline
My interlude thoughts in full control
as they run amok
through the living dead dreams
forever frozen and framed
in iced over glass
floating through the black nothing
of all encompassing space
alone

Go broken:
Succumb, surrender.
Who knows why you’re broken?
Maybe an accident
Slipped from clumsy, drunken hands
Maybe you were broken intentionally
only so one day you’d be fixed.
But none-the-less,
Go broken.

Your color is dull
and your shape asymmetrical.
You’re untouchable.
The clutch that dropped you into the tortuous waves of the night
trails blood down its fragile fingers
As they curse you for what you have done.

Go shattered:
Forget why; as she will when she finds you.
No one will see your story,
only your beauty
Once left shattered.

The light will reflect off your surface:
beautiful, translucent, and pastel.
Your color now sun kissed and weathered.
But the most beautiful of all is your touch.

When she finds you,
resting where the white crashing foam meets the dark hardened sand,
her finger can trace your once lethal edges
over and over.
She can seal her hand around you,
as she closes her eyes and breathes in the ocean air,
the sun kissing her pale face as it once kissed yours,
feeling only smoothness in that hand.

Can you feel the warmth,
where you were once cursed at and discarded?

Go:
Go to a new life
Where she can see your beauty
and feel your beauty.

Go:
And thank the sea as you go

In love, nothing exists between heart and heart.
Speech is born out of longing,
True description from the real taste.
The one who tastes, knows;
the one who explains, lies.
How can you describe the true form of Something
In whose presence you are blotted out?
And in whose being you still exist?
And who lives as a sign for your journey?

we're alive too
too alive to die
and we're in love all the time and my sister says life is a movie
and every movie has a love story
and life is about love

which is why I
will starve my ribs to Adam
will return to dust
will Eve your lips, the darkest hue of moon I've ever met
insomniac hips guide constellations to lucid dreaming
constant smoking and distraction
we gather in sheds and houses

in shreds the ways we forgive and forget
and weigh decisions, the weight of responsibility nagging at my shoulders
ripples of anxiety
curdle in my throat
it is Thursday
i let an infant pull my hair
i rub your sick back

I miss my blood/ my brother
detained
by four walls of injustice
know
one
knows
the
truth

but I
believe you
and now your family
in various states of uncertainty
holds the threads of stories that you weave
stolen money and crimes against humanity
repossessed cars
bottles of liquor
sisters in law
above the law
held up by the law
interrupted
interpreted
and moment we spent was precious,
we laughed and were normal again
the satellites in yr eyes
who knows what they've seen
what they choose to believe
their is such madness in our blood
it runs
thick and rampant
galloping in our genes
and we
live for a living
you alive even when you dying all the time
swollen tears/dynamite boot you/hungover father/ surprise maker of cigarettes and smashed porcelain
born again/seventh day sinner/ come clean out the water/ baptized coffee
working class hands hung the rhythm of the drum in my chest
the tornado of my soul

too big
energy contained not mine anyway
for you i would unlearn so many consonants
i would forget to speak in sentences
for you make moonly gestures
move me to guessing in 14 degrees with ward of the state AWOL passenger seat
spill yr worries sister
we are not alone tonight

you are so much of my blood when i forget what we are made of
we come from the same stardust
however toxic

If I were a painter
I would craft a goddess, hung
Immortal to some museum
or midst the the dusty collection of some baron
With body, flawless
Form, divine
And all of her admirers
Turning the muses flanking Apollo, jealous
But the real fire, the life giving spark
Would flare mad passion in her eyes
And the thundering, A call;
Theodora, freed from the patriarchy of old Byzantium
A bearer of the old magic, ghosts dancing from another time
Her beauty would be harmonious
To the glittering brown-gold of honeydew
And bursting,
Like a symphony loud and tremulous
All the true aesthetes, trembling
That a painter got to meet a woman so
To set his heart afire

And if I had been born a sculptor
If I had been given the power to shape
My crowning achievement
The great anthem of my time, spent
Would be a face;
A chin, gently tilted skyward
The eyes, sparkling with that unknown sea
Hair disheveled, parted, smoothing the cheeks
and the glimmer of lips,
Softly pursed;
But the eyes, the doorways to that tidal force
All of the dreams
All of the feelings, trapped and rolling, the ocean beneath
Would burst forth; A thousand church candles,
Or a gathering of street lights.
If I were a sculptor my greatest achievement would be cast in Lady's Dream
Not for the skin, but for the glittering eyes

Or if I were a composer
Working on my symphony
I would have the brasses buzzing,
and the strings
A chorus of thought
And the melody would be defined not by the loudness
But the silences
The gaps of deep thought, juxtaposed
Amongst the roaring
The soft gasps of tide being pulled back to sea
and all of the sweet undulations, the rivers of a mind
If I were a composer the audience would get a glimpse,
The briefest moment,
Of the beauty
Of quiet
The deepness
Of thought

But I am merely a poet,
A poor shaper of words
Strung out on hope,
Gambling on luck,
Trapped, eternally, to the brightness of the sun
And lost to those whirlwind emotions that govern men so
And for a moment, smiling,
I got to know the wildness in another poet's eyes
The softness of her smile,
And if I could spell love in her heart
I would
But I am merely a poet,
A poor shaper of words
And with these powers
I can merely say this:
When I say beauty
and the thoughts fall loosely on the page,
hopefully bringing forth a smile
When I say beauty,
When I say beauty
What I mean:

You.

Confined to the minds barrels,
trapped inside four white, wooden walls
that wash me with light;
creating eternity. An eternity
where your face is forced forth
with splintered teeth, wood grain whispers.
Air evades my lungs
breathing in, panic, locked
away. To stay and rot. My tongue
may become a meal; I don’t need words in here.
This chambers grand design
is an endless emptiness.
My mind’s faced with this shameless
white graceless space which
aggravates my dark creativity.
This great sin in me is great and willing me
to spill the hate hidden deep.
The rays rebound perpetually. The silence
perplexes me. Perplexes me. The silence
confined to the double barrels.
Your face, perpetually, stretching its imprint
across these walls. Blurring, screaming terror.
Eyes open, burning, comfort in the darkness
learning the eyelids inner charms.
Not the vastness. Eyes open. Terror.
Tear away these fantasies;
isolations imagination identifies with my demons.


The blank space is filled with cacophonies,
agony, smiles in the emptiness stretch beyond capacity. Silence.
Whispers, these wood grain whispers splinter my eardrums.
No matter how I try to pick (axe) them out,
this imaginary pencil doesn’t dig deep enough.
I hear no calligraphy. No beauty
finds me in here, this box of light
holds my plight and creates a world where I know no night.
I hold no right, I cannot wrong,
there’s nothing left, I hold no rite,
there’s no day to escape for sleep,
no knight to bring me dreams, no left to take me to the right place,
I am so bereft of time. Am I dead?
Dying? Lying here in wait, lying  to myself,
declining in health. Declining life.
The silence is hexing,
dissecting each piece of what’s left of me.
The canvas screams, it wants to know my nightmares,
to feel their bloodied paint on its flesh.
I’m the worm in the water.