I'd rather be a villian by standing up for myself than the victim Who silently cries for help.

They said she looks like art
But they could not see the thorns in her heart
Neither could they see the hidden storm in her eyes.

Am I a stone, and not a sheep,
That I can stand, O Christ, beneath thy cross,
To number drop by drop Thy Blood's slow loss,
And yet not weep?
Not so those women loved
Who with exceeding grief lamented Thee;
Not so fallen Peter weeping bitterly;
Not so the thief was moved;
Not so the Sun and Moon
Which hid their faces in a starless sky,
A horror of great darkness at broad noon--
I, only I.
Yet give not o'er,
But seek Thy sheep, true Shepherd of the flock;
Greater than Moses, turn and look once more
And smite a rock.

You are still there,
In photographs,in the back of my mind
I can't extinguish;
You are the song,stuck in my head,
I can't rid,these annoyingly pretty sounds,
Your volume tends to blare,full blast,
I can't set it aflame, because
It's so cold,impossible to grasp.
A hallow cup of poison, with it's
Cranberry juice taste, that's
So easy to swallow, that's
So hard to spit out.
You had to make yourself into a monster,
Just to scare me away,
But running away fixes nothing,
Nothing at all
Well,at least
Not for me.

Jamie F. Nugent

Filling in the blanks,
The spaces on your mouth,
That have not seen a kiss before,
That space nobody knows,
That place nobody goes,
Shinning candle night-lights on the floor,
I suppose I will just have to do,
I did not believe in anything,
But I believed in you,
Sing to me,sing to me,
Like a ghost burning and bursting
With a long love lost,
Of a 1000 years,
Just give me something that
I can hold on to,
Something I can believe.

-Jamie F. Nugent

I raised the thermostat in my bedroom so you’d lose your last layers.
It’s a cheap trick, but I cannot stop the lust we’ve brought into this place.
It’s not love, no no, it’s not the sweet slow tune that stretches towards forever
we’re the rushed murky club bass that leaves you deaf and blind
but I won’t say dumb, because at least we used protection.

It’s been a lifetime since I pinned a woman to my canvas
and painted a series of moans and gasps across my bed
gentle strokes down her thighs
building color in her chest
mesmerizing forms and shapes created by her body on mine.
this is an art form I’d forgotten needs no practice
deserving of its own spot atop the Sistine Chapel.

At dawn, when we both list and drift towards the door,
there is no lingering last look, no awkward pause.  
We’ve both given up on the idea of a truly immortal feeling
preferring instead that sensational build to a beautiful ******
and a gallery of gorgeous midnight memories.

Your greatest teacher is your past
But you must make THIS moment last
No matter if you win or lose
To be here now is what you choose
Experience the bliss of living
Never stop your constant giving
Spread your joy and light and passion
Sport it like the latest fashion