Sworn in secrecy,
a language that only we
could read, understand.

A promise we wrote
with our lips on our bodies;
The world would be ours.

We'd start at the stars
and work our way back inside
one sun at a time.

We'd lie other nights,
and we'd never get downstairs.
We'd make our own dreams,

and we'd fall asleep,
full of dreams and promises.
Gone when morning comes.

Make it about the
desperation and ego
of the modern man.

Disappear into
something thinner than thin air.
From the sides, inward.

"Contemporary"
is too nostalgic for the
days of typewriters.

Serve me my meals cold;
I could have expected this,
but didn't from you.

I'm a modern man,
as lonely and scummy as
the last modern man.

Your body like text,
writ in a foreign language;
Something I can't read.

Wrestling my mind,
trying to get my tongue near
the sweet parts of you.

I'm a selfish ****,
and if we both end up hurt
I won't give a ****.

The space between us
too casual anyways.
Too mediocre.

Sometimes I go in
too deep just to see if you
still feel any pain.

The wince on your face,
the sudden drawing of breathe.
Timeless everything.

Sometimes lovely and
maybe just another kink
to get through a night.

It's walking by you;
remembering you is worse
than seeing you now,

and I'm so *******
happy I could **** myself.
Waking up alone.

A message written
so small it barely even
is said to exist.

So when we're alone,
we'd likely feel it this time,
and more than hardly.

Lipstick and teeth marks
on my **** remind me that
there are still good days.

The way you laugh as
I coax you into *******,
the sun hanging low.

Hell is above me,
I'm the **** at the bottom
of the universe.

Half heartwarming smile,
half blood curdling charm, and
lack of self control.

Message sent and seen,
sinking in histories of
single sided talks.

Emotionally;
Contorted, flexing, bending.
Stretching at the seams.

Trying to love you,
slipping, slipping, slipping, and
falling like feathers.

Softly. Like whispers;
too close to miss anything,
or too far to catch.

Bleeding in your sleep,
we are closer than our skin.
Flesh inside of flesh.

I’m lost inside you,
I run deeper than your veins.
You scream in pleasure.

I’m dead inside you,
losing grip on the magic
once held between us.

Months later I think,
or I hope, that you’re alone.
I’m bitter for you.

Worshiping in vain;
Touch something ugly tonight.
Touch yourself tonight.

Recurring nightmare;
I bleed from the mouth and you
slowly disappear.

Love manipulates
as formless desperation
seeking an answer.
I say, “I love you.”
Healing the old scars to pave
way for the new ones.

I say, “I’m leaving.”
Opening the new wound to
breathe finality.

A suicide king,
too heartless for sadism
but once was human.

I once was thoughtful,
I believe in two heavens
that burn like candles.

Slowly, dull, gently.
I believe in two heavens,
laying down awake.

Princess, come take me
in my home and  far away,
give me something sweet.;

A kiss or a look,
a hand to hold tightly or
a smile to receive.

Watch the sky with me.
I'm dizzy on this planet,
moving so quickly.

I need something sweet
to pass the time between now
and whenever, please?

If I could scream your
perfect **** out of my brain
I'd do it nightly,

or every morning
right before brushing my teeth
[or probably not].

Lay in your textures;
I'd live on a seat of noise.
Quiet to myself.

You were surprised I
didn't *** in two seconds
and then stopped trying.

The next day? Silence.
You attempted suicide,
got in the psych ward.

You float like a cloud,
and disappear like they do:
All of a sudden.

Paying attention,
you'd still see nothing at all.
Just clouds and blue skies.

You'd never realize
how deep my heart is until
you're drowning in it.

Never saw the sun,
though bathed in sunlight daily.
Blind on the first day.

We stopped talking but
you've messaged me four times now
to say I'm worthless.

I decided that
we weren't good as friends, and you
did just what you do.

Jay, I'm not asking
for your forgiveness, just that
you keep your silence.

I'm tired and longing
for a peace of mind you seem
eager to ******.

"Manipulative",
you texted me to say that
you were in Cleveland.

I read that message.
I waited three seconds and
I deleted it.

A long time ago,
yet so close to yesterday
I really loved you.

Your friends told you to
cut me out of your life, like
my friends said I should.

Neither were wrong, and
this is what it has come to.
This. This is the end.

Your interventions
always came up to protect
your own interests.

I said, "I love you"
while expecting nothing back,
and I got just that.

Silence, then, "I know."
Meanwhile Cleveland is on fire,
as I hold you close.
~
You ask me to stay,
but your kisses are so short
they fade on contact.

Like butter in a
hot skillet, or water, they're
evaporating.

Yet one is sweet and
the other is so common
it hardly matters.
~
I'm remembering,
the winter we first met, where
I had first kissed you.

Then you disappeared
for three short years or something
pretty close to that.

Reflecting winter,
the sun came up, you started
evaporating.
~
I'm leaving you at
the greyhound station when you
kiss me finally.

The finality
hangs on my lips for so long
it's hardly ended.

And just like starlight,
it takes billions of years.
It shimmers, it fades.

Cosmic suffering,
rattling of constellations.
New shapes in the sky.

Small in their own lives,
but creating new cultures
in ******* for us.

Volumes of white lies,
tenser deafening quiet,
and bright like a star.

Built as mountains are,
dense as the passing of time;
gone when morning comes.

Guys getting faded,
losing at Street Fighter 4.
I am among them.

I scream from passion,
and realize the sickness of
privilege congealed.

Less sleep, more caffeine.
Secondhand smoke and curse words,
trying to stay cool.

Keep it together,
breathe for just one second and
settle down tonight.

Irrelevant, but
today is just tomorrows
obscure reference.

They might be giants,
but you’re just one man, and it
slides right out of view.

I want to sleep in
a bed of sin and wake up
completely guilt free.

I wish I could get
baptized and wash all of the
**** out of my soul.

You tasteless morons;
Gnawing at whatever is
pandering to you.

Swallow your morals.
You eat art alive and you
consume artists whole.

******* cannibals,
devouring the message to
feel accomplishment.

Satisfied by trend
and over indulged by your
ideology.

This hole is a farm.
It's where we cut out our hearts
to feed our egos.

"You are killing me."
"Only in self defense", I
banter back at her.

A massive *******
but it's in my gene pool and
therefore my nature

****** choking,
pulling her hair and pushing
her throat in my hand.

Tell your boyfriend that
you want to **** someone else
but you still love him.

Branded with bite marks.
I let her tear me apart,
inside and/or out.

Listening to her
short breaths between my tight palms.
just like an angel.

I'm of the angels;
horrific, unnatural.
Gorgeous, but rarely.

Nothing in this ****
mistake of an existence
is flinching at me.

-She believes in some
value system that merits
her 'good" behavior.

-She has a conscience.
The notion seems so naive
looking back I guess.

I have great secrets;
I get away with ******
(Metaphorical).

Typical *******
with a heart made of copper
but so close to gold.

Sometimes I feel like
I know all of the sad girls
in the whole wide world.

They call me crying,
or text me in the middle
of panic attacks.

They want attention
but only for themselves so
I disappoint them.

Morally bereft;
selfish for not suffering,
or not like they do.

I am an angel,
but only by default, or
just for being here.

Only for staying
a stationary angel;
to suffer with them.

I have grown heavy,
from their tears and loneliness
and their jealousy.

I can't fall asleep,
at least easily, because
of all the sad girls.

You craft your own sins.
Do anything; whatever
your heart desires, babe.

Three days later and
I decided I'm wasted
through stranger methods.

***, coffee, cheap food,
sleep deprivation, music
[loud to keep **** out].

Dark sunglasses, or
general debauchery.
Keeping it simple.

Keeping it stupid,
no reason for the format.
Meaningless to me.

I exist in their
sins, held responsible by
association.

They are crafting me
out of their foolish mistakes.
Eager accidents.

I drown in their filth
and come back completely whole.
The resurrection.

"The Lovely *******;
innocent to innocence/
No stranger to loss."
~
On resurrection;
Die once and live forever?
That's not sacrifice.

Christians are insane,
but I am too in their eyes.
It gives me comfort.

That's no martyrdom,
nothing selfless in the flesh.
They still consume it.

Hexagonal yet
fashioned into a pattern;
process of dying.

Sleepless before day.
"Sunlight"; a curse for vampires,
not wretched function.

-Not impurity,
the presumptuousness of
those who point at us

and call us sinners.
They pray and sacrifice their
children [pentagon].

-We preach free speech, but
stab the tongues of fascism
deliberately.

Gaslighted by a
genocidal culture, we
fight back [pentagram].
~
Carving sigils in
frantic vanity eating
death incarnate, whole.

Hell is paradise,
and here we relish the filth
built up in corners,

where history fears
to show it's face and be struck
back into darkness.

Back into process,
simple pattern of dying.
Machines that grind flesh.

War machines by name;
"Liberty", "Freedom", "Safety".
Sleep can be wicked.

Where it interprets
the death of the innocent
as "necessity",

or claims tradition
is inherently wisdom;
"That's just how it is".
~
Sleeplessly in night,
I tap my finger against
a cold damp window.

Mass paranoia
for doomsday ticking downward,
not to zero though.

We wait for midnight.
Perpetuation of fear
is hexagonal.

Alone on Sunday.
It means; "to procrastinate".
means, "time to reflect."

I  actually
expected you to do this,
and that feels ****** up.

I expected this,
and I should feel *******, but
it's just whatever.

~

Jay texted me, "hey"
and I  felt my whole body
sighing in relief

as I messaged them.
Things are to be okay.
Guess that's how it goes;

Can't predict these things,
but if you tried you'd be close.
I'm not clairvoyant,

but I know enough.
Enough to see where this ends.
Things stay as they've been.

I hear her wake up
and begin mooing in pain
until she’s crying.

I’m incapable/
entirely useless to help.
So I’m listening.

I grip my bedsheets
and ponder how blood ecapes
the white of my fist.

Everything I’d ****
is somehow intangible.
Magically and

Invisibly, it
drifts about these halls, crying;
Hate turning to fear.

Grip something solid,
and wish it were the throat of
that **** ghost, haunting...

My dreams are empty,
my greatest fears are realized,
my sleep is disturbed.

I am alone now,
listening to cries of pain.
My knuckles are white.

My acting debut
was recorded at midnight.
My starring role, "Guy,

tripping on acid."
My fifteen seconds of fame.
Eating rice paper

and looking "spaced out."
I also got to look bored.
It was pretty cool.

It's been hard to write.
Things are mostly okay now.
Guess I'm not sorry.

A woman on the
Street told me about how her
Boyfriends probably

******* a drag queen,
And they stole fifty dollars
From her. Wants advice.

"Remember you have
Yourself", I say; a rehearsed
Piece of half fiction.

She lights up something,
mysterious and inhales,
Then exhales and sighs.

Think for a second,
What would my mom say right now?
I try to start fire.

I can't tell you why
He holds your hand in public,
Ignores you at home

Helps his drag queen friend,
But leaves you in bed alone.
I don't know that much.

But these things tend to
Work themselves out in the end.
I have faith in that.

Not god, religion,
Choice, free will, karma, and such.
Just this natural

Push for balance and
The results I've seen so far.
I believe in this.

I don’t go places.
People find me amazing;
I’m mediocre.

I stay in most nights,
I have company, or try.
I have long mornings.

I watch Youtube and
play video games alone,
or sometimes online.

I love what I like,
critically, but shameless.
I can tell you this;

I am amazing,
God, I love my simple life,
and I do it well.

I wanted to die.
I want to hate you for this.
Beating a dead horse,

but you taught me love.
You taught me to be patient.
You taught  me to care.

To have empathy.
To be unconditional,
and unrequited.

To give hope away,
to wish the best for someone.
To turn a light on.

You left me behind.
If you are alone, I hope
you remember me.

Remember I care.
I still cared. I don't hold pain.
I hold these fragments,

and offer them to
something in the wind; asking,
"Can this be whole again?"

******* white people;
hide their racism behind
vapid "opinion".

******* white folks will
argue you can't argue with
results and numbers

because white people
can strip race from the issue
and swear it's "equal".

White people without
culture or identity,
strip it from others.

Call you naked as
they strut in stolen clothing.
Full of silicone.

**** with white people,
find out they know the struggle
by the article.

They can sweat big stuff,
but their racism is in
the cracks and seeping.

Disappointingly,
you can't trust white people for
****, not even me.

Not Bush, not Clinton,
Donald Trump, Bernie Sanders,
******* Macklemore,

Not Bill O'Reilly,
and not Jon Stewart, and not
viral feminists/

white feminism,
Taylor Swift's white sisterhood,
their artists, music,

writers, poetry,
actors, authors, painters and
sculptors and bloggers,
their politicians,
obviously, but also
their lawyers, doctors,
their engineers and
scientists and businesses,
economists or
pastors, preachers, religion,
programmers, products,
video games and novels;
They will let you down.

The rich or the poor,
it really doesn't matter.
They will let you down.

My mothers between
light skin and dark skin, blacker
than two of her kids.

My face is her face,
yet people ask if I am
adopted because

they don't see her here,
in the pigment of my skin.
Her love runs deeper.

Her conflict is mine,
her quest for satisfaction
frightens me closely,

like personally.
She breaks down and everyone
treats it as okay,

"Well that's just cookie."
Her family, her husband,
all call her crazy.

But her love runs deep.
I was looking for myself
here, at home. Christmas;

She says, "There are ten
people out there you don't know
who love you. At least."

I float away like
a paper lantern in night;
new fire inside me.

I am on the ground,
with my head up in the clouds.
I am crying now.

I am nothing now.
I am building something new.
I am still searching.

I seek ten people.
Ten people I do not know.
People who love me.

I break down sometimes,
but I have my moms wisdom.
Her smile is my smile.

I put lights in them,
and if they float away I'm
here when they get back.

I'm trying to be
gentle and compassionate.
Honest and caring.

Her face is my face.
My quest for satisfaction;
my love will run deep.

I abandoned you,
and we are still not talking.
Maybe it just hurts;

I fall in love fast,
but this distance was hard to
acknowledge at first.

I knew we couldn’t
satisfy each other so
I had left in shame.

Then I was *******
strangers to fill a void where
I tore out all love.

Someone read my soul.
You know I don’t believe in
spiritual ****,

but it was gorgeous.
I read myself as something
that you wouldn’t want.

I tried to find me,
but getting closer to me
was further from you.

I acted like it
was okay to keep you on
a string, just because

that’s how I felt too.
Second hand, second rate, I
wasn’t good enough.

But now I can see.
This fight to be important,
to feed my ego?

Rotten perfection.
I offered you something I’m
incapable of.

I’m hurt and sorry.
I’m not a lover… **** I’m…
not even a friend.

I’ve never been good.
My father, my mother, you,
I just cut things out.

My ex-girlfriend, or
my oldest friends, my brother.
I’m cut full of holes.

I’ve kept people here
Long as I could lie to them.
I’m not lying now.

I was happy to
pull a new honesty out,
but I lied to you.

You attacked me and
I deserved it completely.
I had just forgot.

Maybe it still hurts,
I’m numb in my fingertips.
I abandoned you.

Was touched by a witch.
Clawed at me while in her mouth,
but didn't draw blood.

Music in my head
too loud for a simple pain,
I'm begging for more.

Grabbing her wrists and
placing them where It's painful,
and nodding gently.

"More. Please, more.", I sigh.
She laughs, or giggles, I think.
Pleasure spiked with pain.

Yeah... she enjoys this.
Pure energy on her tongue.
Electricity.

The deliberate
Movement of the mountains, and
Flow of the ocean.

My hurricanes clean
My face of humanity/
Inhumanity.

I am barely man,
Only flesh on the surface.
Something of this world.

I am stone and sea,
Heart heavy and longingly
Dancing with eyes shut.

Trading in our hearts,
unemotionally here.
Turning to the sun;

We don’t find answers,
we don’t even find solace.
We dance like they do,

like impressionists.
Our art still has clear borders/
Performances end.

We take our masks off.
Pointing out our own flaws, yet…
hmm… Something like this.

Talking at myself
again and learning nothing
new of importance.

So, dance flower dance,
tear your roots and die trying
to amaze us all.

I got hickies from
an absolute angel, and
I feel like magic.

All the sleep I've missed;
she wore no bra and still she
pulled off her sweater.

Pulls my face to hers
if she desires to kiss me.
She said she'll be back.

Been ****** all weekend
by angels with brain damage
or cleanly shaved heads.

Could not sleep when she
was riding me to heaven,
so stayed up longer.

Finally trying
to catch up on missing rest
when my head grew loud.

Now is not time for
day-dreaming ; it is late now.
We sleep in silence

Dream of tomorrow?
We rest in the future and
wake up in the past.

Stare into their eyes,
run my fingers in their hair.
Mistake this for love.

She has cigarettes
in place of **** to be said.
She does not say much.

I don’t think I have
people happy to see me
and all these “artists”

are impressionists,
somehow living alone has
become a statement.

I consume myself,
and am neither satisfied
or disappointed.

I have given you
all of the wisdom I have,
now ******* will you?

Stop acting like I
owe you something, or that you
never shut me out.

I saw you and I
opened every door, but
you were “too afraid”.

Leave me alone then.
You hesitated and lost.
Your chances are gone.

Keep close what you have,
and cherish that in my place.
The doors are closed now.

I am using them;
Their bodies constellations,
to fill my own void.

Exploring them, I
might find something nostalgic,
even romantic

to fetishize or
mutilate haphazardly.
Accidentally.

******* problem solved;
Fill in your holes with nothing,
to slow the bleeding.

Bleed from the mouth as
you kiss their own deep red lips.
Hold hands as you ****.

Mercy, mercy, I
pray for something to stop me
as I go deeper.

I empty my own
empty self into their voids,
as they place their stars

in my otherwise
empty skies, begging, begging
begging for fresh light.

You are... what? Thirty?
I'm twenty three and full of
******* and pure charm.

You were drunk enough,
didn't care about *******
on your period.

Barely there, yet soft,
so soft you felt like velvet.
Grabbed your stomach and

asked, "Do you like this?"
Sober, sober, sober, I
said with a smile, "Yes."

Do the trees just die

every season out of

a sense of habit?

An iconoclast.
Destroyer of images.
Executioner

of text worshipers.
Without a star to guide us,
drifting aimlessly.

The unworthy gone,
and banished from existence.
Crushed into splinters

under the pressure
of their reflections, much too
heavy to carry.

I saw heaven once.
I clawed at an angel's wings.
Almost beautiful.

I feel as if I'm
some terrible sea creature
woken from slumber.

A Leviathan,
a Kraken from the locker.
An evil intent.

The will to rest. Sleep.
For one thousand years or more.
Stay under the waves.

Until they are gone.
Until the faces are new.
The will to sleep. Death.

Princess sleepyhead;
secretly death, from below.
His hand is fast like

how planets may spin.
You sit on a projectile,
unable to see

anger and fury.
A tiger yawning before
it may **** it's prey.

Unpredictable
/impossible to predict.
Quicker than a thought.

I met this girl and
she’s absolutely perfect.
No ******* so far.

Has brain damage from
a past suicide attempt.
“Parkinsonism.”

A real survivor.
I can’t keep my eyes off her.
Hands are guilty too.

Took her to my room.
Asked her if she was single.
Smiling, she said yes.

Asked her to make out.
Asked her if she wanted to.
Smiling she said yes.

Without our clothes on;
played street fighter alpha 3.
Dramatic battle.

Laughing as we lost,
M.Bison wrecking our ****.
Kissing when we won.

Kissing as we fought.
Kissing as we fell asleep.
Kissing and dreaming.

Depression is;

One day you wake up and decide you don't deserve to be happy.
One night you try sleeping and remember you don't deserve to live.

One day you cry in the bathroom.
One night you try to see how other people have successfully killed themselves.

One day you want to get better.
One night maybe you won't ever again.

I almost spent the holidays alone this year
until I whispered
"I want to be very alone and die"
about 4 times instinctively
under my breath.

I read, "Honest Helix"
and realized nothing has changed.
This **** is ******* maddening.

So ******* for what I did,
and I'm going to make it
through this season,
and ******* for reading this
because I never wrote
**** for any of you anyways.

I hope you're either ecstatic,
or you suffocate when you
think of me.

*******. *******. *******.
And a Happy New Year.

Like peas and a plastic cup of cyanide,
release me,
please.

I'm a mess that can get up,
that scream the taste of you out of my
******* mouth.

I only live for one second,
and nobody sees me at night.
If they do they see something
beautiful at 3AM;
Something gorgeous and
wounded
like me.

Got the box in the mail,
tried to cry myself to sleep.
Stood me up 3 or 4 too many times,
and all I can do forgive you.
I'm not capable of much,
but I swear it's just
because I'm a princess

and no one wants to sweep me off my feet.

No one wants to face getting wounded for me.
They all want to test my armor,
but I'm dressed to impress
&
They stabbed me so many times
I was nearly stabbed to death.

I'm a mess and there's nobody here
quite wounded like me.

You are a maybe that made me say
"what if"
And passed by like a hurricane
&
I thought I was trouble,

But I hold my immorality tight
And they call it "honesty"
And I lose sleep because;

They say I have a beautiful soul
(I don't believe in)
Gorgeous eyes,

They say I'm wonderful
I hate that.

Would they love me if they knew my secrets?

Would you kiss me if you knew I'd been kissing gravestones?
Knocking on their front doors,
Begging for superstitions?

I live in a hurricane.
Something tumultuous.
I wonder if the trees also
die habitually,
seasonally.