I.

No, don't go now. Please
don't go now; the fog is creating ghosts
out of people and we're breathing clouds out of our mouths.
Tell me about that time when you held your breath
under the lake for six years and still survived;
tell me how if I do that, it'll never work.
I'm not a sea God
any more.

II.

My knees tell better stories than my tongue
ever did, please don't; wretched hive harangues
the mind in a plague, can't you see I'm holding you down
and telling you you're all I ever wanted,
you're all I ever wanted; your head is the stuff of dreams
you're all I ever wanted; you can put your arm
right through me and only feel mist;
I am fog. I'm creating ghosts out of you.

III.

Make it up to me in a rainbow of hues of grey;
at the end of it I'm holding my ribs open. I've never
been more colourful and sad at the same time.
You're the mirrors to my house; stay
has always sounded better than don't go

yet neither seems to work anymore.

You had me at chocolate
then you didn't stop
Baked to perfection
slightly golden brown
and balanced to a
soft & crisp touch
I need you to be warm
with milk chocolate
oozing
on my finger tips
Not to thin as you can
be lost in my
ice cold glass of milk
For me, no equal
exists to you
By the dozen
I consume you
without reservation
to my diet
Shaped to any form
or on a stick
you complete me.

I haven’t been
drinking much lately,
I haven’t wrote
anything in a while,
and I always knew
putting the two
hand in hand was never fine,
a healthy vice is trapped
by an unhealthy outlet,
and the curious kid looking
for a spark
had dried his fork,
I do miss the teeth sinking
into my throat
having the pain
run to my hands,
I miss waking up
with cinderblocks
glued to my scalp,
the nightstand used to eat
up the empty bottles
and the stomach pains are
now keeping me up at night,
I remember whiskey stained
chest hair and biting at hangnails,
****** fingers and the
taste was fuel,
I remember writing
and waking up
and erasing
and waking up,
what is a poet?
I’m going to have
a drink and this was
written sober.

I want the sun to kiss me upon my forehead
To comfort the cold that stings inside of me
The one that overwhelms me with darkness
I want the wind to blow fresh air into my lungs
Since those are the ones to be tiring the fastest
Leaving me breathless like almost-lovers before