You always come to mind
when winter rolls around.
I can't help but to recall the time
we spent burning marshmallows
by the bonfire in your backyard
or how your mother would make
hot chocolate and beckon to
our hiding place underneath your comforter.
I remember the winter of freshmen year,
after we had grown up and apart.
Out of jealousy that was unnecessary,
my heart ruined everything.
It took so long to get Us
back to normal...
Nearly two years.
Now here we are,
closer by heart than by body.
A little bit older, a little bit colder.
Let's see what this winter brings.

I am a half-smirk grinner
an addict and a sinner

I am lonely and broken
a screamer yet soft spoken

I am dead serious
could be delirious

I am not one to eat food
on words I'd rather chew

I am a running joke
the fire and the smoke

I am the forgotten
lost and unwanted


I am the last one picked
I am twisted
And I am sick

Your words melted from the heat of your mouth
and dripped from your tongue.
The syllables sounded like gunshots firing from your lips
dropping against the ground with a metallic thud.
How many times have you performed this execution?
Deep down I knew you were a fox and I was a rabbit
but I never thought you would stop my heart in such a way.
My heart stuttered when you said my name
but now the mention of yours freezes me
like the cold that creeps into a lifeless body.
You always said you had no soul
but with every death you leave in your wake,
you collect yet another.
I remember begging you to stop speaking
to stop reloading your bullets.
But what's the point when you already planned
to leave me behind, struggling to breathe?

Inn-Sum-Knee-Ah (“Insomnia”)



I throw words at the ceiling fan

to break them apart over

the bleeding sheep on the carpet.


One. Two. Three. Four.


Pepper it over the bodies

while the fur is still waving

to the wind of the artificial air.


Five Six Seven Eight


My back cracks more than the

tocking insanity of the creak-squeak-squawk

crocked blame of the spinning blades above me.

I still can’t breathe.


Nine ten eleven twelve


The purple spot on the wall wanders between the bitter

clouds and the rocking streetlamps that wink,

as if to welcome me with “We are not sleeping either.”

But we will watch.


Thirteenfourteen.


That might be a good thing if I didn’t have my eyes closed,

burning from the inside out.


Fifteen. Sixtheen. Seventh

Sleep.


...

Viktor Aurelius read four of my poems on Whispers in the Dark Radio, a horror poetry show.

i hear the voice of my goddess
i will pass through the silk scarlet veil
and walk down the hallway  of memories
where each room i laid down my soul bare
to the sacrifice of pure pleasure
and to the joy of everlasting love
or so i was told
and on those nights alone
looking out my window
i will light a candle
and make a wish
that a golden  voiced goddess
would just say hello
and have a cup of coffee
with me