The wall came first
then ivy grew.
Him wrought from stone,
her suckling dew
between the crevices and cracks
of broken brick and tattered slats.
All separated were their lives,
yet intertwined to hypnotize
all but a masons’ knowing eyes—
a wall of green, the best disguise.

A hundred years could pass and see
that verdant slab so beautifully.
Yet time ticks on;
reveals what’s true—
when he does crumble,
she will too.

The slow fizzle.
The long-winded let-down
like a broken chord
fallen from the heavens to the grey midground.
This is not the Hell you're searching for,
nor a pleasure
like my pierced lips pressed gently
against the porcelain of your skin.
Purgatory is no sin
when neither party wins.

This life of dampened poetry's
atrocious, slowly killing me;
a poison, psychologically.
I see my life as preciously
as any schoolboy prodigy.
Alas, the eyes of poetry
see beauty oh so dismally,
and absent from my memory
is all the joy that's come to me;
the blackened soul I've come to be
is drowning in insanity.
So in this life, my only plea's
please spare me from my vanity.

Eyes meet
shuffle feet across the hall,
inject him with the needle of your eye.
Have a kiss, have candies
because what's it going to hurt?
Shroud yourself in mist so thick
that it blinds you and binds you
to the hiccups in your heart that
never stop
never stop
never stop
the pink-cloud kiss you had to take
the clichéd heartbreak
has no place here.
These days I'm sure that
vials of liquor tossed from the rooftops
of the places you once shared
crush easier than candies
but the ego doesn't care.

I open my eyes
on Sunday afternoon.
My dumb dreams imply
that there are two of you.
I try to not think
of irrational things,
but whenever I blink,
you are what my mind brings
to me.
But this you is a fantasy.

It's monday night
and my head is swimming.
A subconscious fight,
and the fiction is winning.
I try not to let
these old lies let me down,
And I try to forget,
but I think I'll drown.
You see,
I miss what you'll never be.

Tuesday is through
and you're stuck in my head,
memories of you
are on all accounts dead.
I try hard to sleep,
but there isn't a chance.
So I lie and I weep,
'Cause I want you to dance
with me.
Under the willow tree.

Wednesday is here,
and I think of your voice.
It's been a whole year
but I haven't a choice.
I try hard to live
but I've lost all my trust,
'cause I was your captive,
All I want is to just
be free.
Of you and our history.

Thursday at dawn,
and I'm hardly awake,
With every yawn,
my whole body shakes.
I try hard to go
without thinking of you,
but I want you to know,
that revenge is due.
You see,
I actually believe in me.

Friday at noon,
and I enter my mind,
where you sit on the moon,
and it's making me blind.
I try hard to curb
all the feelings I store,
but you pluck at my nerves,
you're a ******* *****,
baby.
And it's all that you'll ever be.

Oh, why
Were you living that lie?
Was I being a creep?
Is it something more deep?
Can I ask you again,
if I **** as a friend,
why the hell did you stick around
until I shut down?

Saturday now,
I'm asleep in my bed,
Not dreaming of you,
but myself instead.
Don't try to smile,
I don't have to run,
'cause I know that you're vile,
and I'm havin' more fun,
clearly.
Have a nice life, honey.

not

Everything Is Meant To Insult You,

darling.
not

Every Word That Is Spoken;
Every Word That Is Written;
Is A Legitimate Trigger,

honey.
not

Everyone Is Out To Get You,

sugar.
it's not that

You Should Feel Worthless,
Because You're Female, Black, Or Gay,
Hispanic, Muslim Or Trans,

sweetheart.
you just

Never Read Between The Lines,

do you love?

It tipped me off to the merry-go-round

under the smiling sun.

The gumdrops stained with honeydews

were taming them for fun.

You quivered under frosted light

just like a Christmas tree,

and twisted in a merry shape

with quiet harmony.

I cannot risk it being known,

however red I bleed,

that standing there before my soul's

exactly what I need.

And so I scribe this turnabout

with flick'ring eyes askew,

As snow falls on my eyelashes

I'm waiting here for you.

The thought of high school sweethearts to me always seemed so out.
You have a life ahead of you
with ample time to scout.
Yet here I stand, my here and now,
not knowing what to do;
not knowing where I'm going,
not knowing when it's through.
I'm seeing now that others are discovering themselves,
and some are putting memories and demons on the shelves.
I wish not to be consort when acknowledging these two--
naivety's a virtue and I know one must be true.
And finding now that time is ever-fleeting of control,
I'm losing sense of what is right while looking for a role.
I have nobody here with me to lend a blushing rose,
A spell upon which mind & will could melt away all woes,
woes which the other fellows, happy now,
have never understood.
That virtue later haunts me when I realize that they could,
no, surely have been tried by this most villainous cliche,
and I'll cry until my vanity is slowly burned away.
The tricks of time are scaring me.
I'm not sure what they mean,
but the time I thought I had is feeling null at seventeen.

One,
I've heard it said that heartstrings can be tugged,
Jostling not only what dignity we may have left
But also the hope that any lies ahead.
A better word perhaps would be something more cutting,
Strings that are tugged can be shrugged,
Mine were nearly ripped.

Two,
As my sanity starts to kick in,
I hear it spoken and I give in.
My heart starts to cry and I want to shout "Yes!"
But they're right by my side and tend not to agree.
And I wish that my life had a storybook ending,
Before grasping the end of the line.

Three,
Again, it's asked of me,
And this time it's almost spoken.
They're beside me again with their smug little grin
Shattering what has been broken.
And I know that in time we may be in rhyme
But for now any rhyme is a shadow.

Four,
I hear those words that trigger the clot in my heart.
And what did I see?
Opportunity.
And they're not there beside me today.
So I whispered to him, with a smug little grin,
"Yes",
The correct thing to say.

Now I'm waiting for five,
But if I'm correct,
It's not even worth waiting for.
With approval of three,
And approval from me,
I feel like we've opened the door.

I let you blame me
okay, just kidding
I blamed you, I guess
but that didn't happen either
you say it's no one's fault
but in public
at parties
in private
your eyes glaze over
the dead part of your heart
makes itself present
only when I'm around because
I yelled at you
you cried
I apologized
even though you went home
with him
the night we ended
I yelled at you
you cried
I apologized
even though you came to our home
with him
every night for four months
I yell about you
I cry
I can't apologize
every time I come home
to myself
when I try to **** you with whiskey
you hurt me
where is my apology
**** psychology
I'm sorry
you think I'm not but I am
I shouldn't be
it kills me
so where is the fire in your eyes
that you promised when you said
I would always have a place in your heart
ah yes, it's dead
but do not tell me it's no one's fault
It's mine? Fine.
I'm sorry
please scream at me
please kick me to the gutter
please gut me like a frog
I'll cower then run away
into my self-hatred
and I'll finally know why
I can't be yours
I'll leave you
I'll learn
I'll change. But if
it's yours? I know.
not that you did anything wrong
not in that moment, at least
but look at you now
a monster
letting the holes in your soul
sting until they're numb
because you think it hurts me
and it does
but my heart no longer beats for you
baby how could it
yet here I am
a victim of your pride
"he must have done something awful"
they say
and you nod silently
because you cannot tell them
you have stolen this city from me
you have collapsed my conscience
I am not the evil person
you want everyone to see
can somebody please agree?

My ivory gave breath to earth as it once gave to me,
How empty and how dismal would my life without you be?
My heart has put my soul to bed and still you cannot see,
How empty and how dreary would my life without you be.
And so my poisoned tears have begged the earth to set me free,
How empty yet how happy will my life without you be.

A sea of serpents slithers dead,
Across an emerald plain.
As children step upon its bed,
It leaves a vivid stain.

Teeth and tails of vipers bound
And buried in the earth,
Holler loud yet make no sound
To weep for what they're worth.

Hush the hissing howl now,
Drink wind and water sweet;
And savor serpents’ scowling brow,
As silent sounds retreat.

I quarrel with him
He does not understand.
He loves me but cannot see,
I am as he and he as me.
We are reflections of each.

Can you feel me through this poem?
Can you hear the metronome;
my heartbeat pulsing, calm but rapid?
Words on pages— simply vapid
glimpses to the depths of me
with fire-fed intensity,
and every line revealing more the
faulty fervor in my story.

Is it true or am I rambling?
Babbling synonyms while gambling
reasoning and rationale
to find the words to tell my tale,
with each new word confusing more
the moral that I’m striving for?

So slit my wrists and drag me bleeding
through the depths of hell, repeating.
Break my heart and bring me, wailing,
seeking comfort unavailing.
Show me beauty, gouge my eyes,
feign the truth in webs of lies.
Crush my legs and make me walk,
then stitch my mouth shut, make me talk.
Find my soulmate, **** them quick—
I’m the window, you’re the brick.

Am I sane or am I crazy?
Spewing darkness, sitting lazy—
cozy in the life I lead,
all snuggled with the cup of tea
I’m sipping in my favorite chair,
not blissful nor in great despair.

So take my hand and lead me, beaming,
through the twilight, stars a-gleaming.
Look me in the eye and slightly
bite your lip, then kiss me lightly.
Tell me secrets, hold me tightly,
whisp’ring nothings daily, nightly.
Take our picture, show your friends.
Say you’ll love me ‘til the end.
We’re both the ones we both admire,
You’re the fuel and I’m the fire.

You cannot feel me through this poem.
You cannot hear the metronome;
The pitter-patter of the rain
so calm upon my windowpane.
Words on pages— seldom stating
what I’m truly contemplating.
Am I content or rife with pain?
Is truth in words or in the rain?