as frail the flower
the petals are power
a melody not yet scoured
the sunlight much devoured

pick the petals, one by one
save or throw until you've won
as dismay it seems, do not run
for a blossom may stun

be careful to remember the thorns that groove the stem
they ***** blood or lust, whichever appears within the gem
confide in this mayhem
whether or not displayed condemn

lastly, lovely leaves line before the rest
swaying slowly but together, a cozy fest
within seconds an unexpected guest,
arrives to thieve potent pollen inside the nest.

My taste buds paint a picture so vivid
I have to say grace before I let my mind wander

It’s two hours before dawn,
  and I’ve slept through the night

The rarest occurrence,
  but her footsteps come light

She let me sleep soundly,
  and she let me dream free

Before entering my bedroom
  and calling to me

"Kurt, it’s Laura, she whispered,
   as she got into bed

"Are you happy in the solitude
   alone in your head

"Your spirit’s been truant
   but its voice I recalled

"Wake up from your sleep
   and follow me down the hall

"I’ve something to show you,
   so rub out your eyes

"And see what you looked like
   as a boy about five"

She led me straight down
  to the end of the hall

The door was half open
  and my voice I heard call

“Aunt Laura, my crayons
  have broken again

“Aunt Laura, get ready
    I’ve new words to begin

“The ones that you left me,
    I now know by heart

“And to Mother and Father
   I recited each part”

The boy smiled at her,
  and she smiled back at him

Before walking me back down
  to my room deep within

“I’ve always been with you,
  you know it so clear

“As your Muse I’ve been charged
  with your care all these years

“You were young when I met you
   and took you by hand

“Then to never abandon
   your voice as a man

“Your days may come easy,
   and your days may come hard

“But each night I’ll return
  —with new words from afar”

(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)

Young heart
Trying to fix a mechanical monotonous machine
It’s rusted
But the gears keep turning
Getting it through the tunnels
Blinded by flashes
Plastered on the face of every magazine

The masks move closer
Close your eyes tight
Don’t give them the satisfaction
They can’t shatter your shattered heart

She’s perfect.
It’s plastic.
Just tragic.
You crave her victory;
The affection of faceless strangers staring
On the other side of the glass
Snow white shackles
But it’s written on your grave

You think you’re in control
But you’re walking on a bed of nails
They’re pulling your strings, Puppet
If you fall from the tightrope you’ll disappear into emptiness

And the fear of ripped up teddy bears
Rejected to the shelf
It’s too much to bear

The possibility that what you want is a shadow you’ll never catch
You’re eyes, plastic immersed in porcelain
You’re falling apart at the seams
And no one seems to care enough to stitch you back together
You’ve forgotten how to smile
And pushed away those who used to care
Told them to stay out of your business

You’re drinking arsenic
Walking a narrow path with no doors
And every step forward erases another piece of you

have you ever gotten your heart broken?

i have,
it was terrible.

it was so unbearable that i shut it off.

i turned my emotions off.
i gave up happiness to not feel pain.

i couldn't handle feeling.

so i thought,

the best way not to get your heart broken is to pretend you don't have one.

i am yours
until my heart
forgets your name
i am yours

s.s

you will never be forgotten.
ever.
your name twisted into metaphors and colors and distractions will forever
be painted across pages and pages of her favorite brand of notebook,
no matter how many she burns
there will always be one she forgot,
and she will only find it once she had almost forgotten you.
she will find the one Papyrus notebook
and all of your metaphors and colors and disractions will come flooding back,
just like how the ocean in your eyes
flooded her heart all those years ago.