A haiku a day
keeps the devil away, but
now I’ve a problem.

High pitched, the musical shriek of your voice
causes my ears to
bleed.
A river forms, an ocean follows.
Fall to the floor and here I lie hollow.

You’ve killed me, don’t you see
the blood was life and now it’s gone.
Death
must be your name you're
what I’ve wanted all along.

Mind lost,
me following suit:
the land is barren.

The click of my pen
is all I can hear.
Indistinguishably mundane shrubs
and patches of itchy grass are all I can see.

So I walk—no I run,
trying to escape a wasteland
only feeding me desire.

I run, and I stop.
Hanging above my head
is a beacon of hope.
A fragile gardenia, white and pure
hanging from a bushel a thousand feet tall.

I reach my arms up to the gods.
I fail.
I am inspired,
so I sit, and I write.

Night falls, then dies.
Light returns,
morning birds following suit.

A crimson monster flies above me.
It stops. It sees my flower.
He loves my flower.
He mocks my inability,
snickering at my bare, ugly back,
wingless and base.

Aware of its power
he takes my flower.
Lost in a field
I give in to the hour.

~fin

warm and pretty, rose red, beauty flowing through your head
cold and ugly, violet blue, flowing thoughts I have of you.
silk and fragile, pearly white, suit that grasps your body tight,
rough and brittle, deathly black, heart that loves and dies and cracks.
long cascading, godly gold, laces Aphrodite molds,
short and haunting, monstrous green, envy thieves my dignity.
deep and endless, drowning blue, they glance at me, my stare ensues,
shallow empty, ***** brown, suit that hides a soul unfound.

You mesmerize
With eyes like the Sun; But
blind me, just the same.

For now I'm left in darkness, clueless
In Oblivion. The world
is now Invisible. So

You are all I see;
And You are all I can. So
more I stare in

Pain & Wonder

How you hypnotize
My mind. Now I stare and
wonder how I'm happy
Being blind.

Her smile will shame the
moonlight; her mind
will shame it’s
*gravity.

They scream my name but
I am deaf to all except
my own crooked brain.

I wanna write about your everything.
I wanna write about your eyes, and the way they look at me.
I wanna write about your smile, and the way I melt in the warmth of its radiance.
I wanna write about your freckles and how even though they are only ten and only a peripheral,  negligible  shade
darker than your skin they make my total of
things I think are beautiful about you ten more
than the end of infinity.


But you see, my Dear,


I do not want to write about the fact that
my ideas are a spectrum running from every color to white in comparison
to your blind opinion and to me your beliefs are nothing but entertaining myths I would tell to my children at night.
I do not want to write about your glare, and the way that I freeze in its presence.
I do not want to write about your leer, and the way you look at me.
I do not want to write about your anything.

This 
is
all
too 
radical.
I'm 
all
fired up
like a catapult.

Don't know why
I try 
to recreate the place and the time
I think I'm losing my 
Mind.