It wasn't a smooth journey,
Twists and turns at every corner
And there were whispered words
Of a premature death among the discord
Of his selfish persona, he wanted to
Know what it's like when you die.

Along the extreme elongated portico
Held in captivating glory of falling sun
Attached to a man sitting on sunsets
Alone in a chair with an empty coffee cup,
Dedpoet wrote his final verses:

I am not the harmonious fluke,
But the orchestrated chaos of the soul,
I flee no challenges, save life, whose teeth
Have sunken deeply as two rivals
At once, I am the coronation of effigies
Whom laughed behind their masked
Intentions, I sit on the pedestal of irony.

I strung magic words like pearls
And spoke like winged creatures through
Gentle air, both volatile strings pulled
Because the violins were in tune,
Alas, I am the curse to mine own life,
The fool who believes in love,
Both lovely and perverse,
My soul is a crystal pale glance
With moist and starry eyed conflicts,
I destroy the flower with regrets.

And now at the precious end
I gallantly provide a word of lasting torture,
Meet me at the gallows,
A sun with a court of stars
And let us fade into the light
As though into the shadows.

Bones kissing
Flesh weave sunlight
Into steamless streams,
Of noone and nothing.

Your hands freeze
The distance of us-
To my chest

--And I-refuse to open
Spring's flowers
For fear of missing you-



Glass whispers escape...

forget me not?
no, forget me knot.
tied like a noose
around your neck
because you suffer
from every regret

as you enter my mind
i think this and feel left behind
because you look away
from my endearing glances
you kindly listen to my bold
romances
but im alone
in this entrancement
i need you like
i need to breathe
and you look away
like you want to leave
and it hurts
i want you to forget me
so tie a forget me knot around my neck
tighten it till theres no one left
death would be merciful
compared to this.

Last night
You kept your words
To yourself and I kept
The ones with me to mine
They kept tying themselves
Into knots
Now they're so into each other
That I can't find a way out
And I'm beginning to slip
Into a plethora
Of dry ashes
And cold feelings
My fingers moving on the edges
My soul rejecting the claustrophobic nature
Of your cranky behaviour.

Fragment* s
Of  a  riven  heart
              Sc attered  on  th e  floor
   With  battered
            Smi t hereens  which  can
           Nev er  ever
       Ameliorate  whilst  stars
    Scintillate athwart ­the
   Gorgeous d*ome  of the heavens

I was not blessed with rhythm,
Was not born to set things free,
Still working with the wine and the ****,
No longer dancing cheek to cheek.

She was the puzzle piece that did not fit,
The sound of the rain, the snow, and the sleet,
The white-noise lullaby that permeated summer
And invaded all my dreams.

Now I’ve given up on love and war,
I have nothing left to fight,
No reason to stay sober,
It keeps me warm at night.

It gets me loose in the crowd,
It keeps me spinning in my place,
Think I spoke to a beautiful woman last night,
Only, I can’t remember her face.

I know you feel it too, my friend,
On your phone in a crowded room,
Checking your exits everywhere you go.
Yet you stay for the company,
You stay for that minuscule chance
Of a late-night spoon.

You stay out for the hope
That you will not miss out,
You drink to forget,
To white-wash self-doubt.

You hear the beautiful music
And although you’re set free,
There’s an ache in your heart, saying,
No beauty could come from me.

I was not blessed with composure,
All the subtlety I lack,
But no man is perfect-
We’ve all got a hideous *******.

I’m a slave to my *****,
I’m a slave to my cravings,
Cigarettes, *****, and late-night food,
until I've spent all my savings.

I’m a slave to the working day,
To the white-noise thoughts
That rattle my brain,
To the chemical feast
And the paltry remains,
The scratch-card defeat,
The guessing games,
I’ve grown up now
And I’ve grown up strange,

I am not blessed with charisma,
I am not blessed with a tongue
That can say what it means,
It just runs and runs and runs...

I’ve been walking in circles and complaining
That I will never find my place,
So many fruits to pick out from the tree
That I stop and stare,
Watch them all go to waste.

I was not blessed with rhythm,
Was not born to set things free,
But you’ll come to like me
If you sit a while
And spend some time with me.

What hurts me most
Is not knowing
Your heart has no desire for me.
What hurts me most
Is not the knowledge
That I will never have you.
What hurts me most
Is knowing
That the one who has you
Will never truly love you
Just for who you are.
Oh I know she will love your beautiful parts.
She will laugh at your jokes,
She will live for your body,
She will smile at your crazy, carefree antics.
But she will never love your ugly parts.
The parts you hide away from her.
The parts of you I know.
What hurts me most
Is knowing
That she will grow irritated
By your bizarre, obsessive habits.
What hurts me most
Is the knowledge
That she will learn to hate
Your shaking, angry lip.
What hurts me most
Is knowing
That there will be nights
When you fall asleep
With the person beside you
Never telling you
That she loves
Every dark part,
Every lovely part,
Every strange part,
Every joyous part,
Every monstrous part,
Every part of you that makes up you.
Every part of you
That I love
(And I love,
And I love,
And I love)
Behind my silence
And pleasant facade.