A lost cause that doesn't want to be found
hunter in the wild tracking without a hound
tethered to slavery,toiling in vain for a pound
I'm the loudest noise of a world without a sound
I'm a dedicated preacher without a bible
a hopeless soul still fighting for survival
a journey man desperate and far from arrival
a ready fighter in a ring and life's my rival
I'm a wounded bird soaring with broken wings
the first light of dawn and the chorus it brings
a trampled bud which struggles as it springs
I'm those dumped sad engagement rings
I'm the lonely path that was never taken
the chocking inspiring words never spoken
the many charming promises that were broken
I'm the dead unburied hearts,the ghosts awoken
I'm those thirsty flowers struggling to grow
the wandering souls unsure of where to go
the deadbeat and shattered,those feeling low
the tired refugee expectant mothers escaping war
I'm the hunted nemesis, bullets seek my blood
the homeless who lost their home to the flood
the internally displaced and raggedly clad
everything grieving, dead and living betrayed by the world
I'm the bitter truth that will never be told
the beautiful country and its people cheaply sold
the wrinkled malnourished children trapped in cold
I'm everyone, silent or spoken, black or white,young or old

IT WAS 1712 IN THE PEAK OF JULY HEAT AND I WAS VOMITING INTO YOUR KITCHEN SINK THE BLOOD OF A SINGLE MOTHER. YOU LAUGHED LIKE I SHOULD HAVE ALREADY LEARNED ALL THE ROPES THAT YOU NEVER BOTHERED TO SHOW ME. “I THOUGHT YOU SAID IT WOULDN’T HURT,” I SAID. YOU LOOKED ME IN THE EYE AND ANSWERED, “WELL YOU’RE NOT IN ANY PHYSICAL PAIN.” AS IF IT’S SOMEHOW ANY DIFFERENT THAN THE CATASTROPHE BUBBLING AND BREWING IN MY DECONSTRUCTED BRAIN.

IT WAS DECEMBER OF 1827 AND I  HELD YOU IN SHATTERED HANDS AS I SNAPPED YOUR NECK AS IF IT WOULD MAKE A DIFFERENCE. I WASN’T THE ONE WHO KILLED YOU BUT I WISH I HAD BEEN. YOU WERE WORTHLESS TO ME.

IT WAS THE FIRST REAL DAY OF SPRING IN 1922 AND YOU WERE EVERYTHING TO ME.

IT WAS 2016 WITH SUN-KISSED SEPTEMBER SKIN AND I WAS SWALLOWING BUGS IN OCTOBER PRETENDING LIKE I COULD POISON MYSELF WITH SPIDER LEGS AND MOTHS. YOU’VE BEEN DEAD FOR TWO CENTURIES BUT YOUR GHOST STILL HAUNTS ME. I’M WAITING FOR YOU TO BE REBORN AGAIN.

IT’S 3275 AND FOR THE SECOND TIME YOU’RE THE LAST THING I SEE BEFORE I DIE, AN OLD SOUL IN A NEW BODY, ALL THE MORE DEADLY. YOU WERE WORTH THE MILLENNIUM AND A HALF OF WAITING. I’LL KISS YOUR KNUCKLES BEFORE YOU BASH MY TEETH IN, AND THEN I’LL SAY THANK YOU. MY BLOOD HAS ALWAYS TASTED BETTER THAN ANYONE ELSE’S ANYWAY.

His scaly skin slides across my tender flesh.
I never wanted this, but I asked for it.
His boney hands pull my hair
as his skeleton fingers slide across my delicate lips
and force their way inside my mouth.
"Hold your tongue, girl. Protestation will do you no good."

I close my eyes in desperation, waiting for the end.
Above me, below me, in me, I feel him.
Bruises blossom, dark beneath my ivory skin,
He feels no need to be gentle with a girl like me,
A girl who would sell her soul and body to survive.
The demon takes his pleasure and leaves his mark, ensuring his swift return, for his prey can no longer hide.

loving this **** ghost
who will never be alive
like drinking poison

only your essence
to haunt me every day
never the true thing

I want to feel warmth
not the absence of real love
paranormal dreams

They came by the hundreds
not thousands or millions
for millions had been vanquished
they came seeking some glimpse of hope
here at the shoreline
driven from their homes
by the fires that raged
seen even by those banished to Moon's Sector 9
airtight tears for those left to face certain genocide;
the cleansing
the great winged beast carried the Surveyor
to cross the Sea of Shadows
how many are left
he was to determine
how long before Earth is ours?
He delighted in their suffering
as he now hovered above them
just off the ocean's edge
'You can perish here or be taken to Sector 9
it is your choice
you are familiar with slavery
are you not?
So you shall adapt'
and with that he snorted and his beast whinnied maliciously
like some monstrous, hulking mule
while rearing it's hideous head
some tree limbs were moved where the beach front gave way to a patch of woods
revealing a crude catapult contraption constructed of wood planks,
rope and a leather pouch
it stood upon a wheeled platform with a handful of men surrounding it
one man held an ax
it had been adjusted and was now aligned with the beast
the Surveyor, upon seeing the weapon snorted louder in defiance
just as the ax came down to cut the rope
the boulder struck the beast just below it's long neck
it reared back violently, throwing the Surveyor into the Sea
then flailing and kicking as it screamed in agony
falling to it's death
One man stepped forward and pointed to the Surveyor
as he gasped for air, bobbing in and out of the waves
'This is our home and we will be staying' spoke Jodehon
a glimpse of hope

thus began the Battle of the Nines

conquered cities 
reduced to dirt, then
sown with salt so nothing grows. ever. 
assaulted senses bring fevered dreams of
caeser's dying breath escaping when I exhale. 

fate breathes as well; 

a single, ragged, pep-o-mint tickle on my neck 
so I know she's there... 
just behind me. 

I'm finding it difficult 
to keep the salt from my wound- 
to keep the sea from my door- 
to keep the plank from my eye- 
to keep off the moors at night 
  when the moon is blind to my indiscretions.

She wears the sea
in her eyes
and dances with the sand
beneath her feet

I would swear I could hear
the sun playing on the ivory
keys of her smile

and at night when the wind
is right across the sound

she runs her fingers
through my waves
and lingers while she plays

Für Elise on a black piano.

I am a ****** up poet
A starving artist
A punk rock Elvis
Sometimes you just gotta go all out
Because your the king
Man
And you just can't help it

Van Gogh died poor
And alone
In a field that was his last expression
He died by his own hand
And it wasn't even raining
When it should have been

I don't even see myself when I look in a mirror
And you don't see what I see when you look at me
You see a smiling lover
Enjoying life though all the struggle
I live life as Pagliacci
A ****** up poet

I put on a great show
And I weep during intermission