I am a gypsy wanderer.
The only home
I have ever known
Is my body.
And I destroy it.
Those like me
Can never have a home.
So I fill my lungs
With cigarette smoke,
My skin with scars
And my blood with *****.

freedom, you wild thing
coursing through my bleeding veins
*pulling things apart.

The tornado hit  without a warning.
I ran to my basement and huddled as I waited for the worst to pass.

As the sun peered his head from the clouds and rain...
I climbed from my bunker and stepped outside.
The scenery was quite charming.
Mother Nature Cleaned the dreariness from the day.
A smile formed on my face
I then was able to laugh and be happy.

I assumed that, in my bunker, that the  storm would wipe my  existence
without a trace.

The "worse" that can come, from life,  our mind creates.
Making a "mountain" from a "Molehill" is an easy way to
cope  with "Fight or Flight."

Only when we can train our mind's to stop and process proper "escape routes"
Can we prepare for what storms lie ahead and enjoy a better "sight."

we're safe now, my sweet. love has come dangling jewels that have no frogs. and our temples are makeshift and dandy, but our gods are ******' nuts ! it's like the same thing that made you is the same thing you deny. but we're safe now, my lamby lamb... and the harps float in the web of their tyrannies, as the clock strikes a dashing figure in the window of our placid riot. and none of us are cool.

Some months ago
I could find myself figuring out
I will stop thinking about you

And I did

I don't think about you
not anymore
And that's okay,
at least I guess.

And I even figured out that
I don't love you
anymore
But, what's more important,
it's that I understood that
I have never loved you
I was deeply in love with
the idea of us
you and me

Now I'm out of that.

What I'm still in love with
it's the part of you
grown in me
like colourful flowers

I won't water them anymore.

She says the ghost of you is insanity,
that your soul is welcome breath
upon my loneliness,
a manifestation derived from
a mysterious noise
or a distant calling of my name.

The breeze makes me cold
sitting here on the porch where we last met.
I feel like my soul is lost,
whispering words into the darkness,
thinking you can hear me.

There's a streetlight on the corner
that shines dimly upon falling snow,
disguising it like piles of diamonds,
or fragile tears made of glass;
shed only upon release of knowledge
too full of truth to be denied.

Passing cars are seldom,
people clutch their coats around them
tighter,
walking through the alleyways.
Reminds me of the way we hide
ourselves within ourselves
clutching, grasping
holding on,
folding our feelings around us like coats.

And my only consolation
is the sharp intake of oxygen and nicotine
merged into one
to live and to die all in a single breath.

This lingering ritual of watching
nights pass,
like a shuffling of cards front to back,
blows away the memories
in dusty swirls of smoke,
leaving the entirety of your essence
instilled in one moment.

She says the ghost of you is insanity,
that your soul is welcome breath
upon my loneliness,
a manifestation derived from
a mysterious noise,
or a distant calling of my name.

every time time you
Tell your daughter
You yell at her
Out of love
You teach her to confuse
Anger with kindness
Which seems like a good idea
Till she grows up to
Trust men who hurt her
Cause they look so much
Like you

i see you again waiting for the man
***** dollar bills crumpled in shaky hands
your veins would collapse if they weren't running sand
high risk life, low demands

unaware with a vacant stare
of your surroundings, like you even care
there's only one reason as to why your here
and it's not to admire yourself in cars passing mirrors

with the man running late the time ticks lunatic fringe
not knowing he's laying dead in some junkies den
the life style he lived finally did him in
and you with no idea soon you'll be following him

because the life of a ****** is no life at all
one step from the ledge with the needles drawl
milk blood to make sure you get it all
one last time before last call...

to the girl: how many analogies about the sea can i come up with until you realise i cannot love you anymore.
    how many more nights can i spend popping pills as if my stomach lining can take that ****.
     how many more times are you going to keep coming back and taking parts of me with you, like you're oblivious to the fact that i need my heart to live?
     -Q.M catharsis