Crackle, sizzle, snap,
Fire burns intensity
Too hot to notice.

Red hand-picked cherries
leave behind a residue
on smudged, brittle lips.

My lucidity
fights alcohol like how glass
cuts skin like a knife.

The reason I'm here
is to take away your pain.
Don't you understand?

It's not pretty, and it's not kind.
It's the stack of laundry you've been meaning to fold,
that has now become an unyielding castle.
And depression is the impenetrable dragon guarding it against entry.

It's a feeling of happiness that drifts in and out of your life,
just long enough for you to think that you're not trapped,
even though your shackles are still tethered to an unbreakable prison.

It's seeing the dust trail gather along your treasures and your things,
knowing it won't physically go away until you do something about it,
but feeling overwhelmed by the sheer idea of sweeping it away.

This is depression.
It's not pretty, and it's not kind.
But it is me.

Hands carry burdens
that are meant for more than one
person to handle.

Her powerful grace, and her torrent of waves-
They collapse me onto my scarred knees,
bearing my head down low, submerging it beneath the surface.
She somehow willingly heals my past scars, and as she does,
gives me a warning that future ones may hurt just the same.
With bated breath, my mouth breaches the barrier, and I tell her that as long as I don't drown alone, I'm willing to take the risk.

Ruby red caress,
ceremoniously hums
melancholy fears.

The ocean is a powerful, all-knowing being.
She causes the wind to whip my hair over my shoulders,
while the salt stings my eyes, making it hard to see clearly.
She leads me along the damp sand and entraps me there.
This endless, all-knowing being whispers in a low gravelly hum,
to let the cold bitter waves soak my feet.
I bravely oblige and turn my body towards the water,
stopping to feel each wave gain new control over me.
I'm getting what I deserve.

My Victorian gold bordered mirror
shines the withered teal tides back at me,
wrapping my body in such a way
that doesn’t feel too loose, or too tight.
It's a comforting embrace that reminds me
of the swaddling technique mothers use
on their newborns, so they feel safe again.
Internally, I hope this finally makes me
feel like everything is going to be okay.

Stark shadows haunt me,
dark lies shudder and sweat blood,
maybe I'm alone.

Sadness has a taste,
It's bittersweet, a soft bite,
It makes you crave more.

I have awakened
a deep, drawing wanderlust
that yearns to break free.

I just want to be
the embodiment of light,
touching souls to bless.

Please resurrect me,
caress my brittle body,
help me become new.

A haiku a day
keeps all the voices at bay,
for that I'm thankful.

It has all been said,
a line, a word, a dull phrase,
yet you're everything.

I lust for his lips,
the cherry red pout that makes
life a bit sweeter.

Destruction of sin
meets an unwavering faith
that will not alter.

Grip tightened on me,
Strangers falling in love now,
is it not over?

The cut on my inner palm.

It reminds me of the night you told me that
you thought we'd be better off going on our own paths,
and how my blood didn't seep as deeply into life's cloth
as your longing for someone new was aching above the surface.

Succumb into me,
and hope for the gift of light
to shine from within.

Barely warm tea leaves
brew with a blissful wonder,
reminds me of love.

My lips are glowing,
color, reflecting dew that
illuminates rooms.

I'm staring out the window,
and the souls that stare back at me
seem just as lost as I am.

They all look like they've seen love,
and have lost it from their grasp.
I let that fact comfort me.

I fall in love with strangers on the street,
picturing a life with them as if the illusion
isn't blinding the way I live my life.

I imagine myself standing on the edge
of a skyscraper,
and we're holding hands
looking each other in the face.
The wind whips my hair
and the hard rain clears my senses.
We give each other a glance,
wondering if we'll let the voices win,
and then when we meet eyes,
we know that we need to jump together.

Each passing wave breaks and reassembles
without so much of a glance or stutter.
Why can't I be so gentle,
yet fierce enough with my words,
that you'd understand how I similarly feel?

Dim candlelight illuminates the mistakes
while the shadows envelop the rest of my thoughts.
Darkness never seems to end when it stems
deeply from within one's self.

You look at me
like you’ve seen God.

Your eyes are the greatest
depths of the ocean while
I’m afraid to wade up
to my waist on the shores.

It’s as if every care you
have in the world has been
replaced by your sudden
desire to touch my lips.

I know your heart is a storm,
but it thunders to know the sun again.

A godly nectar that is a
blessing only to those worthy
enough to have an encounter.

A golden hue making home
within the shallow depths of
the catacombs,
holding crystals of pollen's past
and honey's future.

A delectable dynasty
that oozes from the waxy,
permeable pores that are succulent
and luscious in nature.

Comb honey;
A godly nectar that is a
blessing to all those that
have been lucky enough to taste.

Milk and honey;
one is more luscious and inviting
dripping down your pouty, cherry red lips.
The other is warm and tempting,
but for some reason,
I can't stand to stomach it.

Here I write
a wistful thought
about the past,
as if there's a different
thought one could have
about a previous life's desires.

Here I think
about the times
and the places we have been,
and how there's no going back
except in our memories.

Here I wonder
if you're sitting alone
or if you're next to her again
longing for something different
or sobering up at the fact
you'll never get it.

Water drenched bodies
soaking in the rains from heaven.
Nothing had seemed more clear
in that moment than lips on lips.
Sometimes I wonder why
the passion and intensity burned
hotter than fire, and yet
the cool rain intensified the doubt.

Catching the wind
through my fingertips
trying to snag a taste
of open aired freedom
since it rings and rings
passing through my ears
like a singing bliss.

Hands almost touching,
I'm out of my **** mind, right?
How could we do this?

Blackberry kisses
form on my cheek like bruises,
but won't fade away.

Flecks of gold stardust
got caught in my weary eyes
and awakened me.

Wood floors underneath
my ****** and dragging feet.
Maybe you should leave.

Ocean waves cascade over my body,
drenching me in a refreshing brisk
reality and overwhelming solitude.
When I reach back through the surface,
hair clings to my face, and I clumsily
grab at it before the waves take over again.
The saltiness tastes like a bitter pill,
but I'd take it any day over the pain
you caused while I was with you.

With each passing day
a part of you in me lessens.
The pain,
the memories,
and lastly the little love you showed me
is all disappearing.
Thankfully,
someone else has filled your role
and is doing a better job
than you ever did.

There is something so raw and glorious
about being awake before the rest of the world.
When a new day is breaking through over the horizon,
and the birds are just starting to stir.
The air is a mixture of stickiness and solitude.
The dew lines up on the blades of grass,
wanting to be the first touched by the rays of the sun.

I blossom like a lotus flower,
resilient and strong, I rise up and out
of the muddy waters that have been
holding me down far too long.

The ocean is a tough judge,
granting no one a pardon
for the things they have done.
Sympathy is limited, and
floats on the surface of the waves.
Once you duck underneath,
you're on your own.

A castle made of glass, and
I'm surrounded by cutting glaciers,
and rocky tumultuous mountains.
How does one break the thinly
veiled tension that's so thick you'd need
a knife to cut it into pieces to serve to
others at your table?

I'm going to continue to spin
in circles, staring at the sky right before it rains.
I'll also trace my toes within
the opague veil of sand covering the fields
and marshes containing various
sea birds and rotting meadow grass.

The cake doesn't taste the same as it did
at noon in your apartment while we sat
naked on your countertops taking turns
feeding each other the frosting with our
fingertips laced with chocolate sprinkles.

The end was inevitable, but the destruction
of our love I don't think I was prepared to face.
At least, for my passionate and aching soul,
the calm after the storm finally arrived.

I'm young,
but feel like I've lived a long time.
My memories have been twisted
into many stories,
and yet I feel like I'm running out.

Sometimes I sit in silence,
and contemplate the world I once knew
while I stir the contents of my glass
and feel the burn of tequila grace my lips.

The sun sets in an uneven shade of red,
and unfortunately all I see is you
hidden within the ungodly gray clouds
that slowly pull the night upon us.

It has been three years now, and I'm over us.
But there's still a longing to know what
really happened, and why you left.
Do you ever stop and think about me?

The sea salt no longer stings
when I open my eyes under the waves.
I’ve cried more than enough tears to be
numb and succumb to this endless ocean.

I'm completely submerged with eyes closed
but I dream of your hands pulling me out
of the dark depths and untangling the seaweed
that has wrapped itself around my ankles.

As I gasp for breath when I finally surface,
it's only then I realize how alone I am.
So I dive back underneath the currents
waiting for the undertow to pull me away.

Our fingers brushed in the gallery opening
not so long ago,
we were in a room full of art,
which only made me crave you more.

It reminded me of your hands,
finger-painting like a child using watercolors
onto my blank canvased soul filling in
every part of me that was missing colors.

Now, everything is in black and white.
When our fingers lightly brushed again,
I felt the flood of rainbows and stars rush back to me
before disappearing behind me, following you away.

One morning with a tired mind,
I aimlessly stared into my coffee,
eyeing the cream as it swirled in circles,
and it reminded me of the time we danced
in your kitchen at two in the morning,
and you pulled me into your arms so close
that I could smell the whiskey on your breath.
The world passed by around us in pirouettes
of blurry madness and drunken bliss.
Sometimes it makes me wonder why
the rain on my window pane doesn’t echo the
words you last said to me while we stood alone.

My hair is an untameable wave that cascades
down my back and is an even flowing river that drapes
onto my shoulder blades and biceps.

As I sit in the swivel chair waiting for the scissors to
shear off the last dead ends, I think of you.
With these ends, you'll be disappearing, too.

You haven't touched me in over two years, now.
As wisps of hair drop off onto the tile below my feet,
I can be rest assured that a new beginning has dawned.