I try to put on a front that
I'm okay,
but what they don't know is that
the image of you with a gun in your mouth
has never left my mind.
It haunts me, making sleeping difficult
and waking impossible.
While the days go by, I appear to be
more and more okay,
when in reality your absence is making me
weaker
and weaker.

Blossoms are the
Hopes and dreams
Attached to the thorny
Stems of life
We all have to climb
To smell the roses

pretty names, but you have the prettiest.*
angel's white dust pushed around by
the dingy desert winds dry meadow murmurs.

heated leather seats, **** smooth leather pants
and slender, skinny beautiful body with
a name attached to it, smoke smelled
of burnt raspberries

and the conversation burned like them too,
i feel things for you and perhaps
transparently similiar damage
bleeding rubies out like sap

the conversations dripped like sap too.

I would be a naive white lie
when all you need is dreaming,

and the secret words you mean
to say with silence. 

I would be the kind of things
you've never done before

and all the things you
would never have enough of. 



I would be the crossroad where  
you’ll always have a choice,

and your better half coming along
on all your adventures. 

I would be love running through
if you feel like dying inside,

and the guiding light if you get lost
in the darkest time. 



I would be kissing your hands
if you have to clench your fists,
and a drum to play your most
true inner self beating,

I would be white sheets of paper
to collect your thoughts,

and a blank canvas ready  
to embody your impulse.



I would be there if you're numb
to take you dancing in the rain,

and the weird and magic energy  
before a summer storm.

I would be a mirror for the sunset
if it's behind your back,

and the hot dry wind of a sin
you won’t ever regret.



I would be a thrilling wave
you can’t wait to catch,

and the conquest of creative space
inside your noisy chaos. 

I would be the thirst for life
you suddenly instilled into me,

both challenge and careless fun
and all you’d care to believe in.


I would be possibly amazing
as your wistful colorful voice,
and 
the call of the ocean
with its most delightful breeze..


If just once I would be ever heard
would you care I give you u my all?

All is a nothing, thanks to you
happiness now I came to know.

I doubt
material wealth
means anything
in the afterlife
on the off chance
that I'm wrong
bury me
with my books
and my plastic owl.

we are the masters of self-destruction
trying to numb the pain with wine
and drugs
and smoke filling up our lungs,
we write down in lines with no rhyme
all the things
that make our souls burn and die.
our poems bleed
we drink their blood
then we write again,
listening to stupid songs all night
wishing sometimes we were deaf
wishing we were dead.
we let the doors open
anyone with a knife can come inside
cutting our hearts in half,
any tear is welcome
to create the ocean around us
in which we deliberately drown ourselves.
masters of self-destruction,
our bodies are temples where dying souls hide,
we run till our legs are broken
jump off cliffs
go between sharks' cheeks
forgetting to sleep
to dream
we bleed
we drink
we love
and hurt
it's a madmen game we play
each day
laughing hysterically
while slowly taking steps to the graves
we dug for ourselves,
the masters of self-destruction we are
lunatics
worshiping what's not for us to adore
crying
hiding
falling again
and again.
legs broken,
hearts cut and eaten
flesh ripped from our bones
lungs full of water
ears burnt
our eyes scream
but that's fine
'cause we are the masters of self-destruction
and our life is just a mad game

If you were a rose & I were too
my heart would still long for you;
if you bloomed in the summer
& I in the spring
my petals would still search for yours
through thunder & lightning;
if you were to wilt and I were too
then my leaves would still reach out to you;
if you got lost in the shrubbery and I was alone, my thorns would break down garden walls and gnomes;
because if you were a rose & I were too
something inside me,
something I don't understand,
would still call out for you
would long to hold your hand

some days, when the pain is bigger than before, when it manifests itself into a coyote hunting down the prancing memories of the good days, chasing the sunset,
it's these days I ask myself if it was truly worth it?
is it better to have loved & lost; to have lived and died, than to be a spec of dust on the wind, washing the sky in colours undetectable.
we painted the clouds in rosy hues,
& loving you was like painting a canvas in every shade of red from every berry in every forest.
but when the paint dried & oxidized, & roses looked muddy like they had been stepped on out in the rain,
it was days like that I felt it was not worth it.
being shackled to the ground, sprouting from the soil and instant destruction,
this love was so young, so pure, so new and senseless,
yet agony awakened as your spirit drifted away from these leaves & thorns,
& I am just a small rosebud begging to blossom but you keep picking petals, playing a game of "I love her, I love her not"
how does this flower bloom if every day she fades back into the ground, trampled by the crash of timber from the shaky earthquake of your voice.
cowering in the corners from the thunder your voice emits, from the high heavens.
so holy you seem with your voice so high, so above and beyond the trees my petals could never reach.
& yet so terribly close you feel, how your voice carries on the wind, howling from dawn to dusk.
so I understand now why it hurts so much.
how you were once all of nature, but the forest burnt to the ground, ashes to ashes,
we, the remains of nature, scattered across the earth.
you're love was so short, a glimpse of light, a lunar eclipse,
& the forgetting is so long, a year of April showers, a mourning period where flowers don't grow, flash floods in my eyes & around every corner.
forgetting is all to difficult, but I'll take it.
I'll take the rain any day, to have felt your light if only for a fraction of a moment;
if only to have it vanish like the wind.