Mind and body.
Brutus and Cassius —
I want to reach your heart,
even if it’s the cold steel
and not my skin that pierces you first.
I want to enter your being,
if it means making you realize
just how much you meant.
I want to jolt your conscience into sapience,
to wake you from your slumber—
the slumber that has kept you from me,
my sleeping beauty.

I don’t want to abandon you.
Only, you’ve scratched away
the last few threads that kept us mended.
You’re my pillowcase.
I was needled into being
to fit you, and only you.
Why have you outshaped me,
and gone so far?

My chest laid bare
on the muddy soil—
my ribs, flowered open.
Despair, my canvas—
picked apart by scavenging savages.
Condemned to the deep,
my heart lay.

On some days, I curse you.
On some days, I try to forget you.
On some days, I cry for you.
But on a night like this,
I light a candle.
I lay down and stare at the ceiling.
I try to give you shape through my memories.
The candle burns and the fire aches,
casting a shadow on the wall—
a silhouette that reminds me of you.
My eyes are half open.
My heart is empty,
but I still wonder about you.
The clock still works—
time must be passing.
Without you, I wonder—
what is my fate?
Where do I go?
Clothes on the clothespin,
gang above me.
A frame on the wall,
there’s a picture of a child—
someone who used to be me.
He was loved.
The candle burns and the fire aches.
Could we not melt on each other like candles?
Bottles of ***** with water in them.
A sober drunk—
drunk on you.
Castles of cups and glasses,
rally at my feet.
A guitar on the old tv, gathers dust,
playing a silent tune to my screaming soul.
I miss you.

The woman hesitates.
"I'm afraid of falling in love,
what if it doesn't work out?",
she naively asks.
Those that love,
have not the time or privilege
to scrape the bottom of a tar filled
jar to see if it shines.
Those that love—
love because they can't breathe
unless they do.
Those that love—
love because they starve
unless they do.
You are afraid,
not of love,
but of loving me.
You are a coward,
who cowers in fear,
not of love,
but love for me.
You are a prison
of flesh and bones—
one that traps the conscience
from waking.
You are a liar,
not one that lies to others,
but to herself.
I've seen the way
you looked at me.
I've felt the way
you felt for me.
Will you lie to someone again,
the way you lied to me?
Will you tell him of the time
you were emotionally intimate with me?
Or will you deface your conscience with lies
and ignorance?
Even though you don't like me,
I still don't hate you.
I feel bad for you,
not out of pity—
because you lie to yourself.
Perhaps my guilt was my capacity
to understand and see.
Perhaps you didn't want
to be understood and seen.
Perhaps.

Tools of war, once glorious,
now rust in the barren earth.
I wonder what became of the soldiers —
those who abandoned conscience.
I wonder what became of the martyred —
“Heroes”, they are called.
Heroes don’t die.

a garden of lullabies,
caged by Enlightenment,
immolated—
a grotesque metallic avian
drops from the heavens
to silence the giggles
forever

sailing through the winds,
my tail's a propeller and my legs a diesel engine.
I carry my master into no man's land —
whistling artillery, barbs, and spikes,
nothing shall stop me.

barley and wheat, my sustenance.
I know where to go, where to be —
only I do not know where not to be.
many a comrade has ridden into the Lord's *****,
never to return.

I scare not of the Maxim,
for they care not at whom they aim.
we are the bearers of fate,
carrying men to their destiny since time before.

this field of green earth is all I need.

sleeping without you
waking without you
disease without sickness
sickness without ailment
ailment without cure
tiredness without sleep
sleep without dreams
dreams without you
lunch without appetite
traditions without religion
religion without God
God without meaning
meaning without life
life without love
love without romance
love without you
is meaningless

The treacherous rain
bleeds from the sky,
without end,
without decay.

The tadpoles rise,
and the crawfish
are armed
for a revolution.

The salamander conspires,
and the fish ready themselves
for battle.

The old frogs croak,
and the tadpoles
soon follow.

But all are silenced
by the Gharial,
that sees all
and hears all.

The passive revolutionaries
fall like dominos.

My heart races when I close my eyes
and think of you.

My words stumble on their way to my lips
when I see you.
My tongue twists when I try to voice
how I feel.

You’re the cause of my sleepless nights,
my daydreams,
and my misery.

You say you don’t like how your cheeks
are a little chubby—
or that your arms
are a little full.

All I see when I look at you—
is someone I crave to hold.

I want to hold you as tight as can be.
I want to hold onto you for dear life,
and never let go.

I want to choke on the smell of your hair.
Your neck looks so empty
without my lips on them.
Your ******* look so lonely
without my face between them.
I want to feel your skin on mine.

I am dying for your warmth—
but all you’ve made me feel is the cold.

I’m so empty without you.
Irrationality has taken over me—
delusion is my master,
and deceit is my cure.

Why won’t you rest my heart?
Why won’t you say
that you love me—
or you hate me?

Why have you left me in the dark?
Why are you so cruel?

I mourn you when you’re still alive.
I lament your absence—
knowing it can be unmade.

I crave your love—
knowing how impossible it is.

I have managed to walk
through the puddles
of diswant.
I have amassed—
great hatred of the known.
There is no mud on my heels.
I have been known.

The flower that blooms before it buds,
the fruit that rots before it ripens,
the heart that loves before it desires,
the soul that starves before an appetite,

the bottle that empties without sorrow,
the sun that rises without cause,
the tide that crashes without reason,
the eyes that see without judgment,

the hands that touch without fear.

Lion untamed,
life unmade,
master of beasts,
master of man.

Hand and whip,
fangs and claws,
uniforms and boots,
rifles with bayonets.

Life undone,
life unmade—
who shall answer for all this shame?

Life slips this firm grip,
the grip of a master;
life slips obedience,
obedience to a master.