They will write entire novels based solely on your eyes, create depths of intangible intimacy that can only result in displacement.

You will come to know of death before death.

They will dip their fingers in your blood and paint diagrams of love across your chest. You will transform into artwork, a selfish inspiration.

On nights that end in benevolence, they will be too frightened to speak; and you will never understand.

You will learn how to break, but more like waves and less like porcelain.

They can feel agony far beyond your compression. Your silence will be substance for extinction, *and a poet never forgets.

Everything is so sweetly awful
I am sad for the dead and I am sad
For the living
It is so dark now with the sadness of people
We are the sickest of the breed;
Here you see this sky
This bridge
Empty spaces where people should be
Each mans hell is in a different place,
A circus of cheap and petty emotions
Threatening suicide in Deaths waiting room
Its not a nice world, we are all doomed!
But please have some cheer
There was never meant to be any clarity
The gods play no favourites
And the price of creation
Is never too high

every 28 days,
the human skin replenishes itself.
my hands are tired of building new homes
on top of old eviction letters.
I am aching for a body
that treats me like a cure,
and not the disease that needs it.

I live as a counterfeit version of myself;
I am a kleptomaniac who steals the breath
from people that would have found a use for it.
tell me how to refund
what I didn't buy.

my veins are a breeding ground for despondency,
my bones a shelter for malaise.
to try to be kind to myself
is to cauterize a wound
after the infection has already spread.

lately i've become good at hiding things
i hide my sadness behind toothy smiles and bad jokes
i hide my insecurities behind a bold mouth
but i hide you in a closet filled
with empty wine bottles inside my bones
i protect them no matter what
they will not break or shatter or strain or fracture
even though we already did

Too much thigh to go
unkissed
so wet-look fabric
has my tongue
in swollen lip bit
thirst..
A sunrise skirt
eased over arches,
modest drapes of stolen
passing showers...

Your pointed mouth
has come undone, to
curse the moon in
quiet hours, running
with the liquid thought
that through your thumping mind
becomes, the preaching
of the screaming sea...

Heels, held, high over head,
A bristled language empties
you of easy , urban drag....