She was like art in a museum;
so beautiful to look at,
but you could never get close enough to touch
too fragile...

You used to eat all the blue M&Ms in the package last.
Now I eat all the blue ones first to convince myself I’m over you,
Yet every time I do
I only think of you.

I'm the poet.
You're the puppet. I
    control
                       where
                                                       your
                                                      eyes
l­ead,
when and where you

                                  read my words
with my spaces and p
                                      auses,
drive you crazy with nonsense clauses
that don't always rhyme.
But they do some of the time.
Or I use alliteration around absently,
leaving you wondering what my next word will be.
And by making it to the end of this poem,
you have proven how poets manipulate your thinking through the use of poetry puppetry.

you were my forbidden fruit
and though i knew you were a sin
i just couldn't resist you
and if heaven never lets me in
i'll be okay knowing i had you

Murderer

I am a liar, you know?
I lie constantly.
Every single word, though tasting of honey,
Is foul in its pure nature.
Even with the sweetest words,
I am repeatedly deceiving you.

I hate lying to friends.
But I fear of those friends,
Suddenly becoming acquittances
And I would be left to drift into nothing
Swallowed by my own mouth.

Hello! I’m a compulsive liar.
Yes. Compulsive to a point,
Where I shall lie not just for survival,
But for safety, comfort and joy.
But you won’t even know,
Mainly because I already started lying.

Even my hello is probably laced with something,
Poison that makes me cough up my heart,
Filling my lungs with words I regret.
But we are still friends!
And that is good. Even though…
I could be lying about that too.

Lies don’t even have beginnings or endings.
They are eternal and ever-flavourful!
Sitting in my stomach as if a parasite,
Dining on my ability to smile and not feel it,
Say things that I didn’t really mean it,
And yet. You don’t see it.

Maybe for the best!
Because if my mouth spilled the truth,
That I keep closed with my teeth,
You might think you didn’t know me.
The ME that never stopped lying,
With the fear to lose all.

It’s hard to lie about a ******.
To commit such a foul crime,
On someone I knew best – myself.
But I cover it up well,
With few jokes about rainbows
And talks of girls and bars.