Hate is a coiling gust of air seeking it's way out
Apathy sags,
murky and cold
in complacent instinct.
While hate can be tofu to a child expecting sweets,
apathy is nothing but the silent flickering of a neon vacancy sign.

Hate is bottled
yet bursting.
Apathy  is free,
but sedentary.

Hate is muscular
it shouts and threatens
while the other beckons,
just to push you away.

One: lava fit into a mold.
Two: so hot it becomes cold.

Hate is the fire
and apathy the barren field of ash
from which no phoenix shall rise.

The sympathizer is the barrel of a gun
and it goes off.
Amongst bloated company
And hues of laughter
Amongst amiable stares and
fraudulent applause.
It beams socially the very instant
before mayhem falls
and in packs of  cordial mirth,
it grows in courage,
menacing enough to stare directly at a dead man.

He fiddled with the flick of the newspapers

as one flicks with the fiddles of monotony

Back and forth, back and forth

Like a fake apology.

The thing he does with the newspaper,

Rolls the rampant fabric of reality,

To put betwixt to anythings.

Limping table, limping stove, and

limping heart.

Time flies little girl,
but now away to bed.
Look at the sky and all the lights,
it all lies ahead.

Time flies! Little Girl
but now away to bed
see how it moves and shifts and tunes—
you better hurry up.

Life flies,
Little Girl no more.
The stars, they shine. But
your shine is looking dull.

Sunlight reaches your eyes,
to flicker,
forever rest or die.

Your air is of dandelion dreams
whispered in the distant past.
All smudged into
a dusty closet where they
roam endlessly.

Some children wondered why the grass is green
or the sky blue
Well, I wondered why your touch was made of ice
I learned of gravity and the f word
and decided
your presence felt like ******* free fall

You say you've changed
I know you have
but your kindness
still turns sour in my mouth

I want to love you
but how can I?
When I accidentally wiped your poison kisses
with the same sleeve I wore my heart on

I think we are freezing
in castles made of ice.

In a stalemate of frigid disconnect
from the obscure glance of one person into space .
For connection, to anything but in heat,
is null.

We both reside in doomed cubes
of store bought freeze packs. Until, a single rub
sanctions my day to the friction of your eyes
and our feet against the ground
fracture the isothermal lines, our connect and our
divide

Constant contortion in puddles of time,
the havoc of equalized warmth
wreaks the kingdom of loneliness.
And isotherms becomes the ultimate
agents of demise.

Most times,
I live on the pause;



the lingering,
between what you say,
                    and what I hear.
The livid moment of incessant
existence when I take from life,
the meaning within moments.
The weight of a second, drawn
like blood,
from the bare atmosphere.

We were fugitives tonight.
Fugitives
of light;
The blink of a window
drawing naught but dusk.
We grind against fate,
crossed our fingers and flew
from what we are, were-- might be.
Closed the peak whole
lest it should dawn
and glid doomed,
to some place nice.

She made me feel the void
were my lungs can’t find my chest.

You ******* peach-lined sky!

The intensity in those eyes—
it smells like morning dew and art.
Nefarious watercolor concoction
of beauty from the inside
(sigh).
Feels like a stroke
because it turned my heart
into a bully of its own feelings.

Girl,
in my head
pretend cranes hover
over our heads
ready to take us
to the sky.

Yesterday was a horrible play on the past.
If it was a joke--
it was not funny.

Nothing specific,
just awful vagueness.
The ominous winds of nothingness
chilling the warm day.

But yesterday was killed,
murdered by today.
Now I just have to walk on egg shells:
around the ****** scene tape.

And let time be its own prosecution.

Too mild.
Days drop like rain
fast, fast, swirling!
but never a hurricane.

Doomed eyes that see ecstacy
and feel pain;
like looking for eternity
on batteries.

I never thought you were flawless
*I thought you were perfect

i've got feelings in the freezer
stored, saran-wrapped, tin-foiled
abuse
so when emptiness feels like starving
i microwave some pain