What if our thoughts were controlled
and original thought was all but done
if it were illegal to ask questions
for example this one

what if there was no future or past
and only the simultaneous
time was only another tool
like a meter stick or others, miscellaneous

or what if those with life
instead of just being
break away from the grid
giving their own life meaning

without fear of their ideas being chased
hunted down, gathered up and erased
built up in great heaping pyres
and ceremoniously fed to the fires
  
people could extend their ideas
through-out the ages
merely by putting their words
on a few blank pages

influencing people
generations apart
simply by creating
a little bit of art

There's something about the night
That brings out raw emotion.
Maybe it's the moonlight,
Somber and sad
Or the quiet loneliness
That leaves you with your thoughts.
But for some
Unexplained reason
The pain we carry
During the day
Spills out of the cracks
Of the broken heart
When the sun sets
And the moon
Takes its place
In the sky

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.

On the right track never tasted quite right.
Remind me again what I should have done?
Usually, a smile or two for the accomplished
brings my morality back around.
She's always fleeting though.
A sip of coffee here, a few plans made there -
all these THINGS take up limited space.
There's a dream where everything gets finished,
floats up and checks itself off the list.
Actions speak louder than words,
reap what you sow,
early bird gets the worm,
but I like cream in my coffee and the snooze button.

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.

Skinny feels
Not like people think,
Bony, awkward, too lean
Bones protruding,
No more curves
Thin limbs, skinny hurts
Eat like a bottomless pit
Look in a mirror
Feel like ****
Skinny means no *****
No ****, no hips
Skinny isn't muscular
It's the opposite if ripped
It's slouching in the hall
Pointy elbows and knees
Loose pants, shirts
No matter how much you eat
Skinny means
Feeling like a stick
Skinny can make anyone
Look small and sick
Skinny gives the impression
Of weak, shaky frames
Skinny makes me regret
The middle school nicknames
Skinny shouldn't be a goal
Thank God
If you look full and whole
Making feel as good as dirt
Everyone out there,
I promise. *skinny hurts

Missing you feels like,
a cold, empty hand,
clamped around the lonely shadows of
my heart, in the crevices of the sheets,
Cradling myself at four in the morning.