My heart doesn't skip a beat anymore
when I see you, it pumps twice faster
ricocheting to my throat and suffocates me
and sometimes I think you can hear it
a familiar beat you held to your ear before
you look around wondering of this nostalgia
your fingers cold to the touch it used to bring
craving for the sear when they touch my back
once, your eyes found mine in the sea of people
and they play our happy memories
and they smile at the thought of it
and they slowly realise, the hurt
and they become blank again
and they were the last I've seen of you;
reminding me of what we once had and how
we'll never get it back.

Born at midnight
An odd sight
A baby carried out of a motel
A mother’s best pal
Into the hospital she went
Her time with her baby spent
She was on drugs
Couldn’t keep her
Put up for adoption
Adopted by her nurse
Almost snuck out in a purse
By her mom on drugs
To give the baby to thugs
At 6 years old she found out
She was adopted
She started to shout
Why me
Why me
Why not her
At 12 she started asking
She was starting packing
What she didn’t know
Started to show
All that went on
At thirteen she found out
Her mother had died
Hopefully she had gone
To heaven and beyond
On January 18th
In the year 2002She died of a blood clot
And has never caught

Another cold
Under 6 feet of dirt
Wearing the same shirt
She lies cold and dead
For all eternity
No pictures of her daughter
All that’s left is memories
Except for her daughter
For she knows nothing
About her mother
In denial
For months on endS
he will never see the bend
The destinationThe end
How tall was she
What did she look like
Did she know how to ride a bike
So many questions
No answers yet
Now I can bet
She misses me
As much as I miss her
What did she sound like
What did she wear
Where was she from
How did she style her hair
Who was my father
Why even bother
He didn’t care
About me or her
He never did meet me
I never met him
He should climb out on a limb
For me
So I can be free
From this mental prison I'm in
I can’t go anywhere
My minds behind bars
My feelings are getting
Run over by cars
He doesn’t care
He was never there
To support her
In her time of need
To stop her from smoking ****
Or shooting up crack
He’ll never be back
She was alone
She had no support
She had to get rid of me
She didn’t abort
Me in her womb
A perilous tomb
Forever locked
In a glass jar
Thank god that’s not me
She saved my life
By taking me there
That is the place where
I met my new mom
Who will be there
Forever with me
She will support me
And give me help
I still have questions about her
But I will meet her someday
I see her in my dreams
But that’s all it is
A dream
An idea

You have become an illusion,
Weaving round my senses like smoke,
Curling and drifting, teasing my memories.
Was it real when you laced your fingers through mine?
Squeezed mine as if to reassure me.

I want to bleed out all the things I felt.
Trickles of darkness and hope,
That it would get better.
The days it did get better and i thought it was over.
But we remained in a rut,
Trapped, broken, hurting.

I wish I could push my hand through your chest,
Hammer your heart till you feel again.
Tie you to your favorite memories,
Until you remember what we had.
But forcing you to remember scalds,
Leaving wounds I can't heal.

So am going to write you away,
With words and verse and prose.
Write you to infinity and beyond.
Trap you between pages of a book,
seal your essence in something beyond you.
So I can purge myself of you.

An image painted on a canvas
For the whole world to see
Is the image what they notice
Or is it what truly lies beneath
On the outside there's beauty
Radiating a hint of happiness
Filled with life and enthusiasm
Enjoyed by all who see, or notice
The hands that created this masterpiece
Must have been solid, and stern
For the wall that holds this canvas
Has a black lining the eyes can't see
Bitterness, shallow, and heartless
Covered with a coating of gold
To the human eye to seem like perfection
For there is no happiness within
An abundance of repentance
that grows under this image,
stretching high up along the walls
The image of everlasting beauty
Trees swaying in the background
Beautiful flowers blooming abundantly
The sun shining as though just ripened
Birds soaring through the air,
chirping this magical, mystical morning
Dew lying upon the image
leaving a sparkle to catch the eye
The image seen as it is wanted to be seen
Painted from the mind of someone
needing perfection taking nothing less
Knowing you can't cut a stone with scissors
Or fly like a bird without wings
You can't even create perfection
When there is no such a thing.
Minus all the beauty that this image holds
Would your attention be captured the same
If by fascination you could see with it
Without it what would you see
A canvas hanging on a wall alone
No beauty within or without
Black walls that line the canvas, no image
Empty, rebellious, alone
Fascination is taken away by reality
Once the image becomes clear it is no longer
an image, nor perfection you see
Though now noticeable the canvas
rests on the wall that is lined in black
Plain as the sky on a glorious day
The canvas holds no image of beauty
No image of any kind
It was merely what someone wanted you to see
Hoping that in reality the image
would always be there, stay the same
Beautiful, happy, loving
Speaking a thousand words just
from what your mind captured
It is now faint to the eyes, clear
That this canvas is nothing more
than a dishonest piece of work.

I'd write a sonnet with impressive lines
if I had impassioned things to say.
I'd make a stab at sweet designs,
But that would very soon betray

My lack of poet's license guise,
And dearth of any flowery phrase.
In truth, my awful stumbling tries
Would surely bring dismay, and raise

A question why I dare pursue
A phantom dream I can't fulfill.
No doubt by now you know it's true.
I am no poet. Rest easy, Will.

My sonnet is no masterpiece.
I hope it's not a disaster piece.

Turn off the light,
Force my eyes to adjust  
So for a brief point in time
I don’t have to deal with the world.

The roués of an instance
Pressing and compressing
Ideas once held so dearly,
So close to the chest,
Fundamental morals that are nurtured and grown to define who I am, to determine what defines me,
to know what best explains who, what, when, where and why I become ‘I’;


...Has warped.

We are all required
To develop an acquired
Taste of territoriality
Over who we are, and what we have
Or,
Who we have and why we are.

“She is mine. From the second I laid eyes on her I knew.”- The Landlord

That determinism,
That ‘I am who I am, and the only thing that changes is time’
Is flawed.
Time does not change!
Who we are changes!

Change only comes from within.
The unfathomable amount of people I can and will be,
Stems from me and myself alone.
However poignant this is,
The matter arises that,
No question how much responsibility I have for why I am, who I am, and who I need to be;
These people will never meet.

We are told to dream,
That we can be whoever we want to be,
Though we never want to be who we are.
The closer we get to the carrot,
The more we realise
It is dangling from the pole taped to our heads.

Never live for the dream
Just be existent in the present,
For the vision does not exist.
And never will.
It just changes.



*And I am sick of dreaming… But I lack sleep.

…Oh god, what have I done?

Summer came in like a heat wave of everything new
In control, so sure, so cool against the heavy air
I believed it all
Then, just as I thought I had it together (untouchable)
Your touch reminded me of what I’ve desired
And your lips matched mine as if they were designed for this
And your words were a song I had forgotten I loved
And each movement was like a dance, choreographed by strangers who had the same idea
Every breath perfectly placed, we could’ve made a melody
Finally in a bubble of bliss, floating off of your energy (ours)
And suddenly it was cool, and there was a breeze, and it felt perfect
Until what I knew I already knew smacked me in the face, so hard the bruise is still there
Have I made this up?
Or gone too far?
Your lips didn’t match mine, that’s impossible
Your words are meaningless, how could I forget
And our movements were rehearsed, like a beautifully unoriginal ballet, all for show
While exploring your body I had forgotten your soul wasn’t attached
But while exploring mine I had given that all to you
So, sorry baby, I didn’t mean to be so open (I thought that’s what we were doing)
But how come now that it’s cool out, I feel like I’m on fire?