When his hands dance in the night,
the moon quiets down to sleep.
Maybe he's awake at this hour again,
who knows what the day will bring.
I'm in love with the absence of hurting;
like this; my shins splitting with dancing
so much with my own insecurities.

i've written you in and out of all my poems,
every single part of you expressed in each of my delicately placed words.
but it's not enough.
it's never enough.
i have an insatiable hunger to let the world know how i feel,
not just about you,
but i guess, sort of, about everything.
i've learned that it's easier to just write about your eyes.

By Arcassin Burnham


Do you know all that peace brings in May?
Love you give is strange , gives much malaise,
If every word you say is true , mark the words you say,
other than that I do not have time to waste,
My life never goes anywhere but in flames,
could your douse my fire , I don't wanna escape,
Or we could lust til the sun comes up in this open space,
then after you hate my guts and then delete my page,
And you know,
we only got one and one is not enough in a system
and country corrupted with minimum wage and a half
decent plate of food that could be poison,
how can you maintain?
only with the words you say and you know.

It comes
The tempest
Blowing slow to fast
And goes down
Leaving the ships
Shattered on the shore
And some of them
Capsize in the sea

I searched inside myself to realize
there is nothing left to find.
A heart of stone and eyes that never cry,
a confused and twisted mind.
My soul is cold and black as starless nights, never meant to shine.

I know i am just a no one born on forsaken lane.
Belonging nowhere except to the house of pain.
There is no peace within me, no compassion i can claim.
A ******* of the world is my bane.
Will someone tell me my name?
I am a man without a name.


I searched inside myself to realize...there's no one left to find.

Twenty-nine belts bravery from a bottle.
It feels like all talk and no game.
Twenty-nine has thighs that don't lie
and a finger that motions you
to come closer.
It relearns each facet of love
and finds beauty in its own reflection.
Twenty-nine betters the invention
instead of reinventing it.
It imagines kissing strangers to feel alive and
gifts the pearl to the jewel thief
with no words- only smiles.
Twenty-nine strikes a match
in the middle of a pitch black nowhere,
only to see the smoke twist up and away.
It cracks and hisses when it feels its been forgotten.
It smells like pine needles, orange peel, and sun bleached cotton.
Twenty-nine forgets those who have forgotten it
but thanks them for the lessons.
It likes church but only for the music, architecture, and sociology.
Twenty-nine won't apologize for passion or pity,
but it will drip with empathy at inopportune times.
Twenty-nine steeps itself in scalding water
only to discover its true flavor.
It finds no comfort in the opinions of others
but will only rest at the signal of a nod of approval.
Twenty-nine looks down into the neverending
and can't decide if it wants to jump or run.
It handstitches a parachute
as it dangles one foot over the edge,
says a prayer to no god
but writes hymns that bring tears.
Twenty-nine keeps breathing.
It keeps breathing.