don't let me in.
i'm old scratched plastic cup, the color daffodil,
sitting overnight in the blue kitchen sink.

don't let me in.
i'm too far gone; i'm tightrope walker of leftover hairs
stuck inside the hairbrush on your nightstand.

don't let me in, ever.
my thoughts are caught inside themselves
where they play the role of both inmate and guard.

do not let me in,
you'll jus get hurt. seriously.

im a ******* *******
******* bastsrd ******* bastaed
*******

i am dis.sociat.ing
bit by bit.
bug. stuck.
glitchy.
i will never love.
loveloveluvl0vel00v1.
i am coded to grow old alone.

i will bottle the sound of rain
and fold it
deeply
into the quietest recesses
of that muscle
just below your breastbone,
and make it beat chartreuse
soft taps slithering wet yesyesyes's

a synthetic wave of feelings,
you appear out of nowhere,
like a hologram.
i reach out to be adored by you,
but the virtual illusion creates a
retrospective,
a nostalgic thought,
perhaps a ponder.

05/20/15
r.z.w.

May the gods look back
On our rotted destroyed Earth
And see only harmony.

The sun burned to
Destroy darkness, the
Moon sought to swallow all light.
Yet they lived peacefully
In the same skies.

i guess poetry can be used
to inspire optimism
and make people feel good,

but i'm looking for the kind of poetry that
eats the air
from my lungs and
sifts my holes
with a fistful of dead flowers.