This body is really his body, you know.

I'm just keeping it busy for him until he gets back.

I really ******* hope he comes back.

I miss him.

A girl has bright eyes, smooth thighs and a perky disguise.
She's been shy and never made much of a try but no word of a lie she loved a man long before she was of age to die.

A girl had long hair with tints of blue.
She wore a dress a man couldn't nearly see through but a man needed no clue as to what lay under the zip he desired so badly to undo.

A man was nothing special.
He in no way had it all.
Dark hair and he stood six feet tall but when it came to a girl he would repeatedly stall.
Never sure what to say should he pluck up the courage and call.

A girl knew she was under the view of a man.
It wasn't entirely new but this strange sensation grew as if she just now felt it too.
Not sure what to do when a man leaned in she withdrew.

A girl began to cry upon the sight of his failed try.
In the midst of confusion a solution arrived when she spied the edge of a knife and a vein which so diligently pumped her life.

A man kissed a girl in a Christmas ball, drunk as high hell and stumbling though he didn't fall.
She whispered "I love you too" only half way through removing her shoe when a man lifted her against the wall, too eager to merely watch the remainder of the clothing removal.

A girl was surprised by a man's advance.
She often scried a  future in which a knot had been tied.
A man treated her as a precious doll, protecting her from the demon's who'd call.
A girl enjoyed this time and began to find she could unwind, however, the knife and a vision of a man's advance kept clinging to her mind.

Only a few weeks later a man lies with a girl.
A girl begins to cry.
A man apologises.
A man and a girl remain together.
A man loves a girl.
A girl loves a man.
And a girl is suicidally sad.

I am a poet for those who make a meal of corpses.
For those who write a sonnet in their blood.
And fill their wretched stomachs with rot.

They dress in black feathers.
With piercing eyes
And ****** talons.

They are the only crowd who will listen to me.
Their focus is on me.
They will be useful.

I can't make a ****** out of sparrows.
They can't stand the taste of me.
I can't teach them anything.

When I rot crows will pick at my bones.
I'll fuel them to **** on humanity.
I'll die and they'll carry me to the cemetery on their wings.

My audience is beautiful.
My audience is dark.
My audience loves death.

I love my audience.
I am food for scavengers.
I am a poet for the crows.

What Are We?
I look into your deep brown eyes and I wonder with every fiber of my being, with every touch of Eros, what in the world is between us?
You'd probably chuckle and say air, or, in those moments you let your guard down, nothing, but for a moment be serious. I know you hate it, I hate it, its hated like Pluto. Yet for a moment, just a moment, we need to accept there is something, not nothing, between us.
What Is This?
Your words melt on my tongue like snow, our lips bringing the sun in the middle of the storm, yet still I look at you and wonder. I'm not Alice, so I can't wonder long, and its killing me sitting here listening to my errant thoughts just screaming.
What Are You?
You're like fire and rain and hatred and love and belligerence and impossibilities and shattered glass locked up in this fleshy body with a beautiful smile. Sometimes your glass juts out, or your fire burns me at the wrong time, and sometimes I don't see enough of your flesh and being for my liking, but you are you and with each stumble you catch me and I'm amazed by you.
What Am I?
With each whispered word you insist I'm beautiful even though I know it must be a lie or a trick upon your eyes. I think I am someone you could care for, and it terrifies me, thinking you might care, because I am the queen of heartbreaks and I either fall so hard or chop off their heads. And I don't want to lose, or ****, you.
What Are We?*
We are everything, we are nothing, we are the world in two people reflecting what every fears and dreams and spends they're whole lives searching for. And maybe, just maybe, we might be falling in love.

Rose.
Do you remember the tale?
You think you know how it goes
But what you knew and what I thought never coincided.
We've ran our course and deception should end
So let me tell you how we really began.


Standing silent across the bar I spy a rose.
But by this dark and these glazed eyes all I can tell is that the petals are more red than black.
As pretty as she is,
I am more beguiled by thorns than a rosy red leaf.
Thorns that I will only find if I can caress her neck for a while and trace my fingers down her spine, Slicing my palms and pretending that our hearts are of the same shade.

If I pressed this thorny soul and it's black heart to your window would sanctuary be offered with open arms and pitying eyes?
Is there safety in those walls that I shan't be part of?
I can't miss what I've never had
And I will never have her.

But will she know the difference?
Do I look like the rest?
If I sing the song and dance the dance could I be ignorant and happy like them?

I've seen their kind a million times
I've seen the flowers dance and entwine their stems to grow together and die with each other.
Roots can be poison.
Especially mine.


You see I love me more than you ever could because you never met me.
Bloodshot eyes and a ***** filled disguise are all you've ever known
I am not what you thought me to be.
I'm a rose darker than the lies.
Now I've wiped away the ****** disguise to reveal to you a simple ruse to no end.

This letter meant goodbye.
Goodbye Rose.

How about her?
Is she the one or do we differ in that she will die alone?
It may be she will find a man
She may marry him and bare six kids but when she dies she leaves them all behind
I plan to leave with my arms firm around what is mine.

She mightn't seem the kind
But we never know until we try
So let's finish up the wine and read her some poetic lines.
And just for her I'd write something ****.
Tales of how we'd toss and tumble
Drunkenly around corset laces and belt buckles fumble.
Tell her as I wipe the hair from her eyes,
lean in real close and whisper of a passion to envelope a night.
Watch her lips tremble and muscles quell at the thought of just me and her and sweat and love.

Soon I find that her eyes shine too bright and full of her ignorant life to be what I'm looking for tonight.
The lust we share is just a body talking
But I won't deny it it's thrills,
after all it's barely mines.
I'll just use it to say 'St. Adam was here',
Like the marks on my back say that you were there.

If she would arise to watch me leave I can honestly say she was worth my time.
I could have been out searching for love and all the finest crap,
But sonnets are written for more than one great theme
and I'll find mine in debauchery and a most sensual kind of treachery.

Love for me will never be easy to find
For I have created a foul depiction of Aphrodite.
Should I propose she wouldn't hesitate to find her prettiest ****** robes.
We will race through forty floors laughing and crying till the summit
Where she will whisper, 'I love you'.
We will walk.
Each step another vow,
Closer and closer,
Hand in hand,
Eye to eye
And lips to lips.
She is everything I desire.
She is a bride to hug as I watched skyscrapers rise
And they watch me fall.

Love and immortality run parallel for me.
So I'll stick to wine and pretty girls
Who under my words take the place of ******
And I'll never die.
For they'll applaud me for years.