The wind whispers in soft, lilting echoes;
that enchant and linger the presence of idle stars and graceful jasmines;
on a musky summer midnight

you were almost the death of me
the minute you tore my soul into pieces
feed my heart with the spirit of nostalgia

you were almost my meaning of death
driven by restless lust
i ached hungrily for your heart

you came alive in my nightmares
brought void in my bloodstreams
how will i ever feel your love again?

i travelled york of thy love
impulsively quenching myself with it
i had to escape the deeper pool of happy i was swimming in
let me escape ..

as you dip your precious temple
into thy pool of babylon
reminisce over our sacred eternity
where real love only exists

if its as real as we say it is,
i’m unanswered - why is it, long
only for the heat manifested in you
- why so envious of the love in your touch that only you own?

teach me to breathe in thy breath
for i am conscious of your flaws,
feed my heart with your lovin ways,
i enjoy your bittersweet body -
oh, what a walking metaphor thou are**

your heart is a fire i can’t handle
like a vile art
i always pull away from the flame
that is you ..
no, i’m not scared of burning,
i’m just scared of the kind of flame i’ll become.

It lay on its side
Hollow, dead, and decaying
But still full of life

As the rabbit runs
Through its forgotten torso
It has become new

As the termite eats
This lifeless matter gives life
from its death a world

We must not view death
With such hollow perception
But embrace new life.

My spoken word often
falls short of my
blood stained paper.
Where my heart spills
emotions only felt
with fingers between pages.

Words seasoned through the years,
lost love, heartache.
The many firsts and the lasts,
I experience my ink saturated tales.
Where one lives in a mysterious clarity
not received on the vocal reenactment.

Writing comes in waves, like the coast.
Overwhelmed, drenched in feeling,
fading then; waiting to crash back
against me eroding barriers.
To keep my detached self between
one tidal eruption breaking my
total defense from all intervention.

Everyone is scared of Death.
I'm petrified of Death.
But am I scared to die?
No,
no, I am not. I welcome the end with open arms.

At night I shudder under my blanket
dreaming of the paths that Death leaves
in its wake.
In the darkness of my room with thunderstorms inside my head,
I fear the hole that is left
after Death has struck.
I wonder what,
who, might come out of it:
Depression, Mourning, Sorrow, Confusion, Emptiness,
and even more Death.

I miss the good old days
when Life could be as easy as
going to bed at night worrying
about what Pokemon version to get,
how to get the latest game console,
what skill in basketball I need to improve in,
when my parents will find out I had an infraction,
how the test next day will go.

But it's funny, Life,
the more you grow in it
the more you approach Death.

It's where I keep my memories,
Both happy ones and sad,
It's where I keep my feelings,
Both the good and bad,

There is a book so titled,
My one and only love,
It is at the top, the very top,
It's so far up above,

It's hard to try and get it,
It's out of my reach, but I try,
It's up inside the clouds so blue,
On that heaven shelf so high,

I hope one day I get it back,
And read the pages through,
Then I know I found again,
My one true love, my you.