Lace and old scraps of paper
buried deep in my heart
Lined my pockets once I see
but they tore apart.
They dwell on my mind
wafting through my being
Distorting images, blanking out
from what I ought to be seeing.

Never try to trick me with a kiss
Pretending that the birds are here to stay;
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.

A stone can masquerade where no heart is
And virgins rise where lustful Venus lay:
Never try to trick me with a kiss.

Our noble doctor claims the pain is his,
While stricken patients let him have his say;
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.

Each virile bachelor dreads paralysis,
The old maid in the gable cries all day:
Never try to trick me with a kiss.

The suave eternal serpents promise bliss
To mortal children longing to be gay;
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.

Sooner or later something goes amiss;
The singing birds pack up and fly away;
So never try to trick me with a kiss:
The dying man will scoff and scorn at this.

I am still a prisoner in this cage which only could be open by a key which you keep. You keep me hanging trap in this cubic set of bars and leave me suffering but I enjoy hurting myself no matter what. The times that I plan an escape something pulls me back which for me is an eternal gravity that I'm locked onto. A prisoner to a feeling and currently waiting for your judgement upon me which is to be with you or leave me as a prisoner to the broken promises we once kept.

Rip open my skin
Grasp my heart in your rough hands
Steal breath from my lungs

Light dances behind your eyes.
I see you as someone who doesn't speak lies.
I've done it before, I'll do it again.
I'll let you down hard, God only knows when.
I'll crawl back to you on my hands and my knees.
A strange fascination, like a child with keys.

You've done something grand, and you've done something kind.
But I'll do something wrong, and I'll change my mind.
Or maybe I wont, I haven't decided.
I hope, when you leave, I'll be able to fight it.

This pain that I feel when you aren't around
Every time it returns, it runs me aground.
As the Earth and the Sky merge in the distance,
I sit here and wonder...
What this is.

Don't ever fall in love with a poet
because they will indeed admire and watch your every move
they will write about how the pen marks on the side of your palm when you write
don't ever because they will trace
every single freckle you have on your face and
write about the color of each and every one of them and
describe how they smile so brightly under the sunlight
they will want you to want to know every little thing about them
even if it's just what hand they write with and want you
to be wondering why they write with that specific hand when in
reality it doesn't even matter

the poet will watch the way you dig
your eyes onto that book and your small quick remarks onto the 26 letters all crumpled together and will know that everyday at 5:28 p.m. you smile

they will look deeply into your eyes
to see if they can at least take a little
peak of your soul and they will write
about you like if you were the only
thing they see good in this world

they will want to know what you think
about when you look at them and
see if you also count each and
every freckle and hope and write  
that you do but they will
love you endlessly and they will
show you that they love you and only you

but don't date a poet if you aren't
capable to watch them and
admire their imperfections
when they sleep late at night
beside you.

j.f

He runs through her fingers like sand
the warmth of him
his breath on her neck
a touch of his hand
then nothing
as time steals him away
leaving her lonely still.

i was hoping that if you kissed me enough
in places where i thought i was dead

flowers would grow

but i am not a garden
and my dear,
you are far from a dose of fresh water and sunlight