Your brittle calcium coated voice
slides down my throat like water,
little blue gods of poetry.
Nothing to do but **** and fight.
There’s a run on sentence in my veins
whole flowers framing my bruises.

My bone quiet bruises
wait five miles from your medical voice,
english coastline of veins
covering my anatomy like large bodies of water.
**** yesterday’s fist fight
you left your apologies in poetry.

My alcoholic poetry
a blood orange coated in bruises
a history of last night’s pillow fight
catching religion in your voice.
The swallows splash in water
quiet in my dessicate veins.

Fields of goldenrod veins
make my honorary poetry
a theory of cursive water.
Leave aching vegetarian bruises
on my calloused voice
from tearing open the sun to fight.

A polaroid water fight
rolls around in my open veins
a punctuation of your raspy voice,
hospitalized my skin in poetry.
A reckless consumption of bruises
with a mint leaf in a glass water.

Soft echoes burn across the water
silver scissors in a domestic fight
running away from bruises
and mountains of veins.
My second language is poetry
giving my fingertips a muffled voice.

Empty water pleads with your broken voice,
makes me fight against pleated poetry
and pomegranate bruises tighten in my  veins.

The deep sighs of fall
send chills across the daisies.
My compass is sick
and there’s a sense of urgency in my eyelashes,
feeling around for the blisters on my skin
searching for a bed to sleep.

Facets of sleep
encourage the rain to fall,
cold weather raising capillaries under my skin.
I wrote the history of the Holocene era on daisies,
microscope lenses tickling my eyelashes;
dim lighting makes me home sick.

My mind is sick,
I dream of oceans in my sleep,
medicine labels printed on my eyelashes
pill bottles coloured like fall.
Tattoos of purple fringed daisies
cover my shoulders like skin.

Teeth full of apple skin;
asking God how not to be sick,
wondering if a sacrifice of daisies
will get my blood to sleep.
My hair is like the leaves during fall;
I hope I get to keep my eyelashes.

There’s snow in my eyelashes,
landscapes of frost form on skin
the cold air begins to fall,
I decide to call in sick
preferring to hide in a hot sleep
until my breaths sprout purple daisies.

How to grow Gerber daisies,
without losing my eyelashes?
My fingernails are full of sleep,
hot tea grasps at my paper skin.
The panacea for the sick
is a perfect concentration of wool sweaters and fall.

You eat daisies in the fever of fall.
Through my eyelashes I am morally sick,
but yesterday I finally let sleep settle into my skin.

Sleep is timed to the minute,
my breaths let out lazy smoke
icicles make goose bumps into paragraphs
books written on my arms through yellow mist
bare feet in the morning on my rooftops
counting international planes in the sky.

My migrant bones take to the sky,
each moderate minute
that passes by on my rooftops,
increases the rawness of smoke
like lung-fulls of lemon mist
spewing a nebula of paragraphs.

In the murk of paragraphs
red papery ashes explode into the sky
leaving a cloud of syllable mist.
The last fragile minute
reduces my shivers to smoke,
a winter shell of shoulders on rooftops.

Double exposed film across rooftops
turn silhouettes into paragraphs,
a congregation of vapours and smoke
speaking soliloquies into the sky.
I am minute,
dissipating into canary mist.

Billows of ocean mist
make my fingers melancholy on rooftops
where a tidal minute
freezes salty foam paragraphs
a vacation from the sky,
my mossy perch and violet smoke.

Heliotropic smoke
spirals against dense mist;
fine rain blinding the sky
soaking lemonade rooftops.
My bed of paragraphs
curls into an illegible minute.

The lilac smoke in my eyes is almost minute.
A mustard mist wrinkles the paragraphs,
like the purple sky dropping over the rooftops.

For all of the things I did,
all of the words I said,
I meant it.

I hope to be
just like the eerie gleams of fireflies
reflect in the stream
beneath your moonlit night.

I would grasp every moment
to see your bubbly smiles
and make you feel wanted.

If only
I could scream out your name,
to the world,
and tell them
how much I love you now.

so much pain
in the heart's
broken treasure:

so much rain
in the night's
silent azure,

silvery mirrors
scream only tears;
eyes forbid, it mends

lonely lips
with voicelss words
and sudden ends,

bittersweet memories
of once somber past
left ashes in the chest,

your absence hurts
more than anything,
but then all is lost

The world is sleeping with gun
under its pillow.
Dreaming of fantasies
to shade its broken windows.
People against people,
souls against souls.

The world is sleeping in terror
beneath the moonlit night.
'Tis the coldest war of the year;
raining tears from the skies.
Yet every cloud has a silver lining;
tomorrow is never been frozen.

“Where did you get those marks on your arm?”
Instincts pulled the fabric down over the evidence.
I thought of giving my normal excuse:
My cat scratched the hell out of me.
Most people didn’t know that I didn’t even have a cat.
But they never questioned the lie.

I didn’t answer the girl’s question right away
And the silence that filled the space between us
Reminded me of when a stranger enters the elevator;
Neither of us talked or looked at each other.

I thought of telling the curious girl about my teenage years
And how it seemed a dark cloud seemed to hover about me;
Reigning over my head and sliding beneath my feet
Like a magic carpet, taking me to places I didn’t enjoy going.

I could have told her that often times I felt
That terrible cloud becoming stronger, overwhelming me
Like turning on a faucet, warm water covering the bottom
Of the bathtub, inch by inch, creeping over the surface like the tide drowns the sand.
I could feel it like that eerie feeling that comes
Before a big thunderstorm, starting near my feet and seeming to
Crawl up my legs as I tried to push it down and away.
But pushing it was like pushing a cloud of smoke, it swirled
To other parts of my body but still it lingered around.


I didn’t tell the girl that while growing up,
When it rained, it poured:
One thing went wrong and five others went wrong,
Like a design of dominoes. One tips over, and soon
You’re left with too big of a mess to handle.

I thought about telling the girl that I often
Laid in bed at night, a staring contest with the ceililng
As I imagined myself floating around the high walls of the church
Where my funeral shouldn’t have even been held
Because of all the sins I’d dreamt of committing.
Suicide is considered a sin.

I pictured my mother crying, my brother trying to
Keep his composure; my friends who’d dressed in black and sat
In the church pews, keeping hold of the secret they’d refused to do anything about.
I imagined a lot of hugging and tears, but mostly I heard lies
That they’d tell about me:
“She had so much going for her.”
“It’s really too bad.”
“What a beautiful girl she was.”

I saw myself lying inside the casket, one half of the tube open,
Revealing my arms crossed in front of me,
My fingers laced in between the spaces of each other
As if I were praying much too late.

After discovering the scars upon my wrists,
I would be clothed in long sleeves to hide what everyone
Had been pretending not to see.
I didn’t tell the girl that I’d already seen my funeral.

She continued looking at me, waiting for the answer
To the question I’d hoped would never be asked.

I thought about telling her how I kept a thin, silver
Razor blade hidden inside my purse so when that dark
Cloud of smoke threatened, I could slice my way through.
I didn’t tell her that there was a time when I depended
On such a small, dangerous object. And I didn’t tell her that
I often grasped the metal like a lifejacket to keep me afloat
Amongst the raging waters that wanted to drown me.

I wanted to tell her that late at night after I was sure the house
Was asleep, I cried huge, heaving, silent sobs.
My pillow caught my tears and the blanket served as a Kleenex.
It was all I could do to hold back the truth of telling her that
I grabbed my life preserver many times and would drag the blade
Across my flesh, creating a ripple of red ink over my pale, white wrist;
A tear in the canvas of my body.

I thought about telling her that many nights
I drank too much alcohol and digested too many pills
And cut too deep into a tunnel so far that I couldn’t see the light at the other end
And how I tried to climb to the top of the hole where I felt stuck
Only for it to feel like someone stepped on my fingers,
The pain making me let go and fall again, deeper to the bottom.

I thought about telling her that I’d been lost and I tried
Finding myself by drawing maps over my wrist with a
Car that had seen too many miles in such a short amount of time.
I wanted to tell her that I made too many mistakes that I couldn’t
Take back; ones that I couldn’t hide or cover all the time.
But she wouldn’t understand.

So instead, I pushed my sleeve back up to the middle of my
Forearm where it’d been when she’d first asked,
Exposing the lines of flesh that had healed over but
Left a permanent scar of raised skin.
I ran my fingertips over it, feeling the wounds
Like a train moves over ridges of the railroad.

The girl’s eye’s studied my scars that I showed her.
I took her arm in my hand and traced my fingers over
Her own skin,
Then I took her hand and told her to do the same.
She did, then repeated the motion on mine.
Her cold fingers touching what I’d never wanted her to see.

We made eye contact again.
“Do you see how your skin has no bumps on it like mine?”
I asked her. She nodded her head in response.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be. Don’t ever think about ruining it.”
I told her.
She nodded her head again, too young to comprehend,
And turned around to run down the hallway.

I didn’t want my daughter to see me as a victim, but a survivor.

Oh,
The places I have gone,
Into the gutter onto the street,
Regurgitated,
Every fiber,
Of my uneven being,
A little yin,
A lot of yang,
And the realization,
Of the cost of "freedom",
Is security,
And the lies swept under the rug,
Therein.

Where do I go?
In this world I do not fit within,
It suits me not,
Too corporeal, too moralistic,
Too judging, and a little bit too thin.

Always finding reasons,
To opress other human beings,
Even in democracy,
The masses lurk,
Judging, what is good men.
The young are chained,
Binded by systems and laws,
Signed to social contracts,
They didnt ask for,
and most will never understand.

All in the great,
revolutionary idea!
Oh, yes, as they will tell you with a smile,
You can be anything you want to be!
(If you get a 4.0)
You can love freely!
(Except gays and underaged)
And women let me tell you,
Yes how to get an abortion,
And when!

Always distinguishing,
Classifying people,
Alpha and beta,
And whatever else in bygone alphabets,
We are social animals,
Civilized only in lies.
And all men are not created equal!
Some are born to die.
We laugh in the face of this evil,
Because we cannot control our own existence,
And the only other option is to cry,
And self annihilate.
Of course, to the world,
This is so very wrong.
Such a crazy guy.

There is no freedom I say.
Only the mirror image,
The perception of such,
We make our own choices,
Sure,
Pre ordained by our genetics,
Our expereinces, our cultures,
The boxes of our very thoughts,
Ergo the very essence of who we are,
For if we were different,
We would go left,
And not right,
into the very clutches of Satan,
The demons men swear by.

I've got nothing nice to say,
Or contribute to society,
So I oft think,
I'd best stay silent,
And censure myself away,
I hurt my friends,
My family my loved ones,
And add onto the suffering list,
Still knowing the worst I got,
is better than a lot of men.

So, alas,
Mi amore,
I have a lie to say,
If you but love me,
Oh just one night,
I will love you,
Forevermore.

They call me the deaf reaper,
The not-so-slim teacher,
You want a lesson?
Here ya go, let me beat ya,
I'm the best, I'm the worst dressed,
Ill fight you over your address,
I got arguments, I've got lies,
I ain't hearing your *******,
I'm making my own, and I Direct,
I do not listen.
I scream, to others but not to myself,
I'm half as great to me, twice as awesome to you,
I pity no fool,
I look at ignorance with a mixture of disgust,
And admirance.
I wanted to be a leader,
not a professor,
But profess this, my dearest,
queer hater, oh not gay,
Just weird and unneeded.,
Who will follow, A modern day ******,
Living for greatness, for evil for death,
no matter what else has been heeded.
Who can scream with the anger and the authority,
Oh, that is me, the deaf reaper.
Grim, grim!
Oh, but what a grin,
Smiling oh so devilishly,
Too deviously,
that even in his now once brightly lit din,
now on the road to recovery, through the death,
of his dearest emotions, friends,
family and hearing,
Only now can he see the vision,
But the vision was sent a year too late,
How cruel then, is fate?
Now, left with one penniless gift,
Lovely, quite irate.
Poetry, boys and girls,
Like what you feed to the dogs,
regurgitated meat,
infused with vitamins and
milk straight from the teats,
of an unwanted *****,
come here, a little closer,
if you dare meet fear,
Ill eat you, oh i'll eat you,
and lick up all your tears,
until only one fluid is leaking,
and your lips then smear,
for me all for me,
For I am not myself,
Only the images and lies,
Of beings far incompare,
what does it mean,
what does it mean,
oh Ill tell you little bean,
bean bounce bounce for jean,
look at her eyes, lustily,
She is a hand, the hand on the face,
watch it as it shivers, just out of place,
still in control, if only she could see,
Her hearing clouding her vision,
Of the demons in me.
No, no, for ever devoid,
take away the rest,
of these worthless toys,
You call feelings, given to me,
To ruin my intellect,
And degrade my being.
I will not let the good win out,
Oh I hate the light.
I will change the definition of good,
I will give death real meaning,
My own.
Listen, listen closely,
Listen to my tone.
It is the whispers, the whispers,
of the subconcious untold,
That part of you, deep inside,
that when seeing the hero win,
Says "well it woulda been cool to see,
the villain preside."
So give me the world, mind control,
and more. Oh look into these,
deep blue eyes, these,
fragile snowflakes,
these *****, *****, charms.
Feel my pain and agony,
As I disregard them,
Legion, consuming evertly,
Yum, Yum, I say with a sway,
But it is not food that I eat,
Nay, Nay, for the Deaf Reaper,
It is on another soul, another mind,
Another worthless human body,
That I PREY.

“Where did you get those marks on your arm?”
Instincts pulled the fabric down over the evidence.
I thought of giving my normal excuse:
My cat scratched the hell out of me.
Most people didn’t know that I didn’t even have a cat.
But people believed the lie.

I didn’t answer the girl’s question right away
And the silence that filled the space between us
Reminded me of when a stranger enters the elevator;
Neither of us talked or looked at each other.

I thought of telling the curious girl about my teenage years
And how it seemed a dark cloud seemed to hover about me;
Reigning over my head and sliding beneath my feet
Like a magic carpet, taking me to places I didn’t enjoy going.

I could have told her that often times I could feel
That terrible cloud becoming stronger and overwhelming me
Like turning on a faucet and warm water covering the bottom
Of the bathtub, inch by inch. I could feel it like that eerie feeling that comes
Before a big thunderstorm, starting near my feet and seeming to
Crawl up my legs as I tried to push it down and away.
But pushing it was like pushing a cloud of smoke, it swirled
To other parts of my body but it lingered around.

I thought about but didn’t tell the girl that I often
Laid in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling,
Imagining myself floating around the high walls of the church
Where my funeral shouldn’t have been held
Because of all the sins I’d dreamt of committing.
Suicide is considered a sin.

I pictured my mother crying, my brother trying to
Keep his composure; my friends who’d dressed in black and sat
In the church pews, keeping hold of the secret they’d known about.
I imagined a lot of hugging, and tears, but mostly I heard lies
That they’d tell about me:
“She was so young.”
“She had so much going for her.”
“It’s really too bad.”
“What a beautiful girl she was.”

I saw myself lying inside the casket, one half of the tube open,
Revealing my arms crossed in front of me,
My fingers laced in between the spaces of each other
As if I were praying much too late.

After discovering the scars upon my wrists,
I would be clothed in long sleeves to hide what everyone
Had been pretending not to see.
I didn’t tell the girl that I’d already seen my funeral.

She continued looking at me, waiting for the answer
To the question I’d hoped would never be asked.

I thought about telling her how I kept a thin, silver
Razor blade hidden inside my purse so when that dark
Cloud of smoke threatened, I could slice my way through.
I didn’t tell her that there was a time when I depended
On such a small, dangerous object. And I didn’t tell her that
I often grasped the metal like a lifejacket to keep me afloat
Amongst the raging waters that wanted to drown me.

I wanted to tell her that late at night after I was sure the house
Was asleep, I cried huge, heaving, silent sobs.
My pillow caught my tears and the blanket served as a Kleenex.
It was all I could do to hold back the truth of telling her that
I grabbed my life preserver many times and would drag the blade
Across my flesh, creating a ripple of red ink over my pale, white wrist;
A tear in the canvas of my body.

I thought about telling her that many nights
I drank too much alcohol and digested too many pills
And cut too deep.
I thought about telling her that I’d been lost and I tried
Finding myself by drawing maps over my wrist with a
Car that had seen too many miles in such a short amount of time.
I wanted to tell her that I made too many mistakes that I couldn’t
Take back; ones that I couldn’t hide or cover all the time.
But she wouldn’t understand.

So instead, I pushed my sleeve back up to the middle of my
Forearm where it’d been when she’d first asked,
Exposing the lines of flesh that had healed over but
Left a permanent scar of raised skin.
I ran my fingertips over it, feeling the wounds
Like a train moves over ridges of the railroad.

The girl’s eye’s studied my scars that I showed her.
I took her arm in my hand and traced my fingers over
Her own skin,
Then I took her hand and told her to do the same.
She did, then repeated the motion on mine.
Her cold fingers touched what I’d never wanted her to see.

We made eye contact again.
“Do you see how your skin has no bumps on it like mine?”
I asked her. She nodded her head in response.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be. Don’t ever think about ruining it.”
I told her.
She nodded her head again, too young to comprehend,
And turned around to run down the hallway.

I hadn’t ever thought my daughter would notice.

We were young,
sitting on a couch,
playing legos and super powers,
faces with chocolates,
yes, those smiles melted my heart,
and I have no idea
I would love you since then.

We were lying on the rooftop,
watching the glimmers of the stars,
how they passed by
and fell from the skies,
I looked at you
while you were talking,
yes, those smiles melted my heart,
and you don't know
that just like those stars
in the moonlit night,
I have already fallen for you.

We were lost in the middle
like bottles in the ocean,
I sought you in every corner
of the streets
and found you crying
in your room,
you hid your face with pillow
and I was standing there crying too.

You never noticed me,
he broke your heart
for a thousand times,
and I was just your crying shoulder ---
just a crying shoulder.

After years of pretending,
I decided to tell you the truth.
I can't smile
without you in my life,
for I was drawn to loving you
with no love at all in return.

Yet you told me
you have loved me
even from the beginning
of our love story,
when we were young,
sitting on a couch,
playing legos and super powers,
faces with chocolates,
yes, my smiles melted your heart,
and you have no idea
you would love me too.

You caught me
looking on your eyes
while you were talking
about the future,
and like those stars
you have already fallen for me too.
And you only hid your face
that day,
for you couldn't take me
crying out of your pain.

We were supposed to be forever,
we were supposed
to surpass eternity,
but I was just mistaken
by my bewildered fantasies ---
I failed you dear.

I have been fighting this sickness
and I have never given up,
it's just that ---
I love you
and I hate myself
when I see your tears
falling on your sleeve.

I wrote this poem
for you to remember me ---
the memories we shared,
and when you read this
maybe that time I'm already gone.
I love you until my last breath,
I'm sorry but I have to leave ---
I'm sorry.

I wish I could be your prince,
the one who could ride with you
on a white horse,
and I would always whisper
on your ear
my sweetest 'I love you'.

I wish we could be something more,
that one day you'll knock
at my door,
and tell me
you love me too.

I wish one day
you'll open your eyes,
and see what's right
in front of you
so you'll realize how much
you really mean to me.

I don't know but I keep falling,
I don't know what's wrong
with this heart of mine,
all I know is that I keep
on falling,
falling deeper and deeper
in love with you.

You are all I've ever wanted
and there are words
in my tongue
that are left unsaid,
I've been waiting here
all along,
for a long time,
yet I'm afraid
you'll only leave me behind.

And every night I keep
on praying, wishing
that one day,
in a perfect moment,
we'll have our own happy ending.