to be loved
and to love
is to wilt and decay.
in a positive or negative sense —
that I am not so sure,
just take it as you may.

in the wild, no one would spare a glance.
no part of you is a flaw in nature’s design.
please, continue to dance with the wind
and let fire rage in your heart.

I have no home,
no place to claim my calm.

my search for peace will not rest;
I fear for my soul’s journey in death...

as this is a never ending conquest.

Claim me to rid my mind of misery,
although do not weep when my inner grief
grants you no extra power like the ones before me.

I’m warning you now, dear Beast,
all you can gain from this consumption is weight -
I have no power left in storage - but I beg for this.

On my hands and knees; I beg for you
to quieten my screaming weakness.

I do not yearn for love.
Not romance, nor friendship.
I struggle in this passive isolation
yet I do not seem to yearn.

I am empty in that context.
Never feeling full, nor have I ever before.
I claw and cut and scream for simple peace
yet I seem to be punished with restlessness.

Maybe the peace is found within
regaining a sense of yearning.
Maybe the peace is only found within
the final ‘death’ do us part.

such a heavenly taste it has,
the softness of the intentions so inviting and warm.
I feel you smile against me,
oh how the sun will shine on this moment in my memory.

vastly different from when a kiss isn’t just a kiss...
such a hellish taste it has,
the roughness only being soothed in passing by spit.
your hands are daggers against my hips,
oh the poison of expecting more when you didn’t ask.

The tedious graveyard shift comes around again,
The ghosts and ghouls of my past clocking in.
We meet each other at the silver gate;
We greet each other with the same stare each night.
I wonder if some will stay overtime with me under this moon,
Or if we can led our own paths once more come morning.

which is more fragile —
the mind, or the brain?

save me
a seat on your ride home.

I’m scared
that I will lose my way.

help me
travel back safely.

please,
I beg.

Your heart is simply your home.
It is your safe place.
Family consists of the things living in that ticker;
it consists of the things you hold close in those chambers.

‘You can choose your friends but not your family,’
I am told by my parent who has caused me the most harm alone...
but with the force of the wind I push against those groans.

The roots of my family tree do not match past generations.
The roots connect to my heart and mine only;
the veins that decorate the walls of my home.

So I bid you goodnight now a stranger to me,
for I am finally free to be with my true family —
I am safe here with my created bloodline,
living happily in this little heart of mine.

Each moment I spend with you
provides me with puzzle pieces
in an attempt to complete my heart.

Once I connected the corners and edges,
an image finally began to appear...
but you were not to be seen in the jigsaw art.

I’m interested in a free trial
to the south of soil.

Just a free trial, you see...

Resting for a while in the roots
To avoid such crushing daily disputes.

her fingertips leave
velvet kisses
across his skin,
wiping the tears
that escape
with her palms.

nothing can compare
to such
a lover’s material.

I imagine that the wind flowing through my hair
is your hand weaving through the strands,
as I stand
in the midnight air...

I imagine that,
alone in the place where I used to hold you close
as my tears begin to enclose me
in the midnight air...

I step out into the streets,
Ready to mimic the actions of those I’ve learnt from.

I do not understand the gleeful tones and beats
So I adapt another one’s joyful flow.

But I wonder how far this fake peace
Stretches across the land of our one and all.

Am I mimicking the mask of another mime?
I worry for the number who are stuck in a rhyme...

monotone voices hold
an element that glistens
in the light
of worldly havoc.
peace can be found
when one listens
to the simple
black and white.

I’m grateful for the
calm winds of stoicism
exhaling from you.

This house is made of ice.
A gelid, brass interior awaits me with wicked vice.

Stepping through the frozen doors,
I fall into my own homely grave.
A familiar capsule with silky floors.

Paintings hang upon each wall,
Lifeless and disturbed.
Although, the images do utter one final whisper before tightening the noose—
“Beware of the abominable master of abuse.”

I wish to float,
As with each step the rivers of blood in my feet howl.
Icicles pierce through my soles;
Daggers with a bright smile...

I am only ever welcomed into this house of ice
With a vast iniquitous price.