You chose the wrong girl
Even I can see I am perfect for you
I would have taken all your darkness
And swallowed it whole
If you needed a fight
I would have given it to you
And baby we both know
I am a pro at making you feel like a man
I could have stood in a room with your crazy
And we would shake hands
**** that
We would have torn each others clothes off
And ****** like animals
Like a mad symphony
In its chaotic way
It would have worked
You stupid man

When I die, dear Mother
don't give my body away
to science.

I'd rather have it given away to poetry.

I want people to cut me open
and observe
how my bones were riddled with
melancholic verses of joyful pasts.

They have to see
the scarlet of my blood was the hue
I stole from the sunsets of
wishful thoughts.

Dear Mother,
give my body away
to the art of writing:
for they have to look past
everything they have ever learned.

They must know
of how much I loved and I lost,
and how that made the twine of my ribs
a story to tell.

Heal thyself poet
let words be your salve
let loose your longing
set free your sadness

Let them run wildly
over salt-damp parchment
Let them wail at the moon
and weep silently in corners

Throw them to the wolves
that your pain may sustain them
For it has nourished you
long enough

Let it all go.
Let it wrench from your soul
with glorious abandon
Let it scream from your lungs
Let it bleed through your skin

It matters not that you are broken,
that your scattered pieces hold no form
Only that you are here.

So write, dear poet.
Heal thyself.

It takes more
than a stroke of genius
to create a masterpiece.
Thousands of strokes
on the Mona Lisa's smile
and still
she doesn't seam pleased.

The song took flight on whispered breeze
and fled the warmth of nest and home
infusing dusk with sorrow sweet
to soothe the village down below

swift passed the pious mourners now
that weep where beauty lays 
near crumbling stones of pitied souls
in decadent decay 

Onwards it soars o'er sideways streets
clean steps in tidy rows
dark windows lit with single glint
locked doors show no remorse

the melody it rests awhile
then builds again reborn
no joy is found
where sadness blooms, for she is here no more 

but death he will not linger here
his reaping swiftly spent
and in his wake on whispered breeze
the nightingales lament.

the wavy air dances its
part with pale sand now purple
with the passions bruise.
the stolen slumber now pulses
through the nerves and roots like beads
of water to quench the mind.
the bud closed holds bark
and dandelion though ash and fire shall
soon spark the nature open.

Drifting in and out of consciousness,
As the blurred images come to light,
The ringing of my damaged ears,
Greeted by the smouldering sight,
-
Rubble all around me,
Smoke dense, as it burns my throat,
Blood dripping down my fingers,
Stepping over winter coats,
-
My anxious screams for help,
Drowned out by ringing ears,
Tripping over unknown objects,
As I am faced with all I feared,
-
The dense smoke clearing,
Bodies scattered amongst the cold,
Light captures their innocence,
Drawing out their traumatic souls,
-
Falling to my knees I watch,
As his hand collects them all,
Tears run down my broken cheek,
As I await his beckoning call,
-
The ringing of my ears fade,
The pain no longer there,
As my soul leaves my chest,
To climb his awaiting stairs,

My bed is a mass grave
My toilet is a mass grave
My kitchen sink is a mass grave
Stretched out in lines of chrysalis coke, choking the evanescent life that could have been. Straight into the empty Coca Cola can you go. A litany of atrocity in every bed, futon, desks, truck stop bathroom, camera lens, attempting to capture the genocide on film.
Alas, the lens is Covered with white, bioluminescent death.
Choking the unborn in the ****** drain.
Coffee mug refill, for but a single dime,
sweaty palms connected to strained veins on wrists,
connected to thrusting elbows.
Firing wrist rocket, V2, V1, buzz bomb.
Unsuspecting future citizens, blocks of thousands at a time.
Tadpoles, rotting in murky basement suits the world over.
The war is on.
Auschwitz, Dachau, Sachsenhausen.
Arbeit Macht Frei.
Swim for dear life

I saw Orion rising
Upon the horizon.
Orion.
Horizing.