it is 12:00 am
im still up
trying to figure my thoughts about you
and somehow make them into poetry

it is 12:01 am
i am sleeping
yet im awake
nothing has changed.

i have a dream
i couldn't see much
just murky images
that hold a world unknown

i fall into the darkness
i hear some music
probably from the 1975
it is quite faint

it is now 12:03
all is now silent
death is waiting
gone.

(b.d.s)

he was
special for me
he meant so much
to me

i assumed that
serrated wrists
might be very repugnant
to him

so,
i never let them show

one day,
he did indeed see
his face showed
signs of raw emotion

he did not see
the slashed wrists
or the drawn lines
he saw deeper

he saw the intentions
behind those straight lines
(maybe they were jagged)
and the kindness
that reeked of his heart
ached to help

or maybe it was pity at the time.

believe in yourself is
what he said
but his words seemed
like a deep dead end

he said
that those marks
did not define i was
or who i am today

it was
a mark of the past
a memory aching to be forgotten
battle scars.

he urged
me to let go
but that doesn't seem easy as it sounds

later he left
and the story remains
just another boy
i had loved and lost

pain still lives
just as it once did
except it had all just
been on my mind

(b.d.s.)

from binkies to blunts
i watched my world change
around me
like little watercolor swirls
dancing in the sky of my memories

from binkies to blunts
swingsets and playpens
seemed ever so distant
in the rearview of childhood

we traded barbie dolls
into ***** bottles
wondering why
smile lines
seemed so hard to come by

we had always missed the times
when things came easy;
naturally (almost).

from carousels to learning
how *** sells
we began to draw parallels
of who we are and what we should be
the definition of me
never seemed to have
the stability
i had long to see
ever so constantly

from closet doors to liquor stores
feelings became trapped
in the constellations of thoughts
instead of the web of words

i wish to go back
(sometimes)
to the days
with the little teacups
filled with the tinkles
of warmth and laughs
of bliss past.

her blood
drips lines of poetry
how she never saw how much she meant to me

her blood
drips lines of poetry
right beneath the shards
of shredded glass next to me

the fat sulking raindrops
of red soaks me
will she ever finally love me?

her blood drips
lines of poetry
i dont think ill ever
be so complete

(b.d.s.)

the moon is pink
a hallucination 
of spring-time beauties-
forever serenade my soul

the moon
with its lovely
lavender & white hues
adored like a bouquet of roses

it was my illusion,
a dreamer's fantasy
my lamb in the
darkness

it served as a guide
in a world
without much beauty-
enveloped in madness

the stars
gather around
like angels on a
distant heaven on earth

my dream
had only been
an accidentally
fatal glance

the moon could
never be pink
just a myth
i tried desperately

to believe

(b.d.s.)

my tan warm
brown skin
child of the earth
with its deliberate undertones

from birth,
it had been something
i had grown to love,
to adore,
all with its imperfections

growing up,
i realized something i had adored
some despised with their inner being
a threat that they
had grown accustomed to hate

they did not understand
the gentle, quiet beauty
of this delicate covering
how calm it was

they feared what
they could not understand
like a child
afraid of the darkness
and what it hides

ignorance was their
bliss
but sometimes
knowing what is not meant
to be known

can bring undesired presumptions

they taught me not
to love
my perfection
as my flaw was
now the world's spectacle

delineations strawn
like wispy lines in
the tumbling sand
of my skin

imaginary concepts
with such flawed
meanings
of destroyed beauty
i lost a part of myself
while growing up
that i could never get back

something this world cannot ever back to me...

education was meant
to be the answers of
the questions
of our own
incoherent thoughts
but,
it fed me
knowledge that attacked my innocence

this dreary
hateful world
took my spirit
and my soul
away from my rotting body

my spirit is broken
and i can hardly tell
if i am human anymore

i rather just
live in stupidity
like a sheep following its master
my perfect fool paradise

those who are fools
remain fools
if they do not learn
otherwise,
or if they do not know the
true state of their
unfathomable condition

(b.d.s.)