-- when I have the tenderness of a writhing dragon,
he will paint flowers across my throat

as though to remind me that fires are indelicate,
and that I writhe in a prison made of open space.
-- this man will not smother me with his skin
when we sleep.
-- this man will unhinge the door of my mouth,
and kiss out the bullets stuck under my tongue.
                                                                ­               ---
whatever thousandth day I awaken beside this man,
realizing I have become the flowers he painted
across my throat, by braving my throat,

I will, unchaining myself from the draconic worry,
bring him his coffee in bed, with a smile.

Walking home
ripped I tripped
on a dead dog
half-in the ditch
hard as a log
and stinking.

I said *Scoot over bro,
come morning
there won't be a spit
of difference between
you and I in the eyes
of the buzzards
and the beholders.

By Arcassin Burnham


Walking Through a lot of dead shadows,
Dirt covering the coffin leaves a dry rose,
We-don't-want-no-one-to-know-we,
Exist..

The troubles of the world creates a wormhole,
For the fears that you posses and brewed up on a clean stove,
Theres-no-need-to-worry-we'll-be,
Okay..

Might Have dealt with some issues in the pass,
Girlfriend left you for a guy that drives fast,
You-hope-they-just-both-end-up-in,
a crash..

But There is no need to be so hateful,
In a world of sin and people raised shameful,
Why-don't-you-just-be-your-own-man,
today..

I do not like it here
I do not like what we have.

Take the shovel,
here.

Pigeon-toed,
austere.

Dig deep in the earth,
big capable man.

Plunge through that dirt
until you reach the other side.

I'm
restless
as desert dust

the steps on me,
heavy.

Plant in me
the rose

and garden
the romance.

Won't you
resuscitate
the dear
in my tongue

tighten
the clutch
of these arms

soften
this face,
unalarmed

out of its casket
into a smile...

Take the shovel,
here.

You’ve been cold too.
Your body is quivering

so
dig
through
that
dirt

Dig deep in the earth,
big capable man.

Bring us both back
the last breathing rose.

But the man with the shovel
never came back...

However
I did hear he reached the other side.

Silence...

Except for my fan.
All that I knew,
was sadness back then.
but these days are brighter
and bolder and more lovely,
back then I never would've guessed
I could be this happy.

I only wish I could tell the old me,
that things get better.

I've worked so hard
to blend into the woodwork
I knitted myself
an invisibility cloak
and I wear it
everywhere I go

because if they can't
see me
then they can't hurt me

one of these days
when my nightmares
stop killing me

maybe I will begin
to reappear again

Yes, tell us
of your Trump love,
your tough love;
shout it from the rooftops
while encouraging ******
in a mosque.

Tell us how poetic you are,
you the rearguard
of fascist *******
as worshippers are showered
with bullets from above.

You want to talk about cowards,
or standing with the Sioux
at Standing Rock?

Let me hear your hypocrisy
little miss sunshine,
just one more time.

And you, the defenders
of ignorance,
can kiss my po ***
along with the *******
wannabe poets
who hate the truth
when it shines.

I've been having moods lately. Not good moods either. These are the moods I hide from people. Moods where I snap at a harmless comment. Moods when I cry for no reason. Moods when I cry for a dark reason. I hide these moods so you won't pity me. When it's late at night and I'm crying and I feel so alone. I start thinking then. Thinking when I'm in these moods are never good. I've never acted on these thoughts but these thoughts are still there. When it's late at night and I'm crying and I feel so alone. You assume my thoughts. Where could I feel hurt and no one could see? What "great plans" are supposedly in store for me? What am I supposed to do with my life? Will I amount to anything? The pressure sets in then. It sits on my chest and creeps into my heart and lungs.
I have to remain strong. These thoughts and moods will pass.