My wall was not always stained red;
the map that hangs upon it has bled
from state and country and continent,
the scarlet of a million lives
seeped through porous paper skin,
akin to the breached security of violated hearts,
severed arteries never to be rejuvenated
with the livelihood of broken nations -
left to weep,
wounds unhealable in the pained whirlpool of terror and tragedy.

And that's how you lose him,
Your ignorance,
Thinking it's bliss,
Your avoidance,
Thinking it's brave,
When he tries his best to make you
Smile,
Tell you it's alright to cry,
Make you believe you deserve,
Love,
Happiness,
And the whole world,
If he could, he would;

But that's how you lose him,
When you decide it's just a game,
Thinking he's another player,
Like the rest of them,
Even though they have different names,
And he's shown nothing but how he's not the same;

So that's how you lose him,
And you're the one to blame.

@byizn

The guise of a false hope warily cloaks
an unkempt soul bereft of fortitude -
stolid in the belligerent face of unnamed evil,
an aura of past opulence adulterates naive purity,
the stigma augmented by an insidious breach

of internal asylum. The vulnerability of
a soldier against oneself takes precedence
in the chasmal crusade yet to come; omniscient
intimation gives way to dour prophecies,
ambidextrous in their intricate verbosity.

Molten in the inferno of cross-interrogation,
pliable in the hands of a mortared veteran,
reiteration serves only as a gibe, a grievance
only the most foolish jester would make
before a corroding monarch. The demons

have rallied for annihilation; the starling
warbles an aria of capitulation, its notes
reverberating through the tentative sunset,
a sky of gray and orange mingling with the song
to convey an unequivocal defeat. But after every

dusk comes a period of resurrection, and from the haze
emerges a heroine unrecognizable if not for eyes
ablaze with scarred determination. She strides
with the strength of ten thousand legions, a leviathan's
courage uncovered in her still-beating heart.

The devil flees, uncomfortable in the blinding presence
of mortal accompanied by heavenly body. This -
this is redemption for armor lost, the answer
to her yearning prayers that had been barely audible over the
convulsing sobs that had swallowed her for so long.

Finally vanquished of the toxic beast that had claimed her,
she rises victorious, proclaiming amidst glory a single word -
“Checkmate.”

I am small and bare,
Lost in the unending ocean.
Where some find themselves,
When the question asked has yet an answer.
Too many parts with not enough info,
The path laid bare with facts in the open.
What do I say to that open door?
Ask to stay and ask for more,
Am I mistaken in what I see and feel?
Or is there more in what the face appeals,
Swirling moments of days lost.
Am I ready for what now will cost?
In this the true answer lies,
No more tears no more goodbyes.

Donald Trump
will never make America great again.
The American dream is dead.
You are the one who killed it.
Dead with Lennie and the rabbits.
George is probably gone now too.
Depression. Couldn't live with himself.
Curley's wife never made it to Hollywood.
Still stuck in the bedroom,
with red ostrich feathers and ***** husband's
vaseline-filled glove.
His breath still reeks of rotten eggs;
only a matter of time before he gets sick - affluenza. Incurable.
Crooks isn't a man. Been diminished to nothing
but a shell. Hollow, and he believes it.
Candy and Slim, worked to death for minimum wage.
The American dream is dead.
******* by deluded denial.
Time to wake up and smell the rotting corpse of reality.

no matter what the romantics may try to tell you you're not made of stardust
or outer space you're filled with blood
but now it's spilling out onto the cold tile floor
the same floor that you slipped on and broke your wrist
it's the blood of your first kiss
and the time you made your mother smile so hard you thought her eyes were the galaxies
and all the screams and tears that you've held inside
but now it's dripping down and pooling at your size 8 feet that once wore hello kitty sneakers
and you're coughing and spitting and every word and every memory that has ever entered your mind is spilling out
and you're losing your touch with reality and all you can think of is every mistake of your past
but now they're on the floor too and you've forgotten them with everything else
and your mother will cry and your brother will become angry with the world and your father will blame himself
but maybe you will finally have realized the truth
albeit too late

those aren't f*cking stars rushing out of your tired skin
it's you
and everything you are

staring at the ceiling, counting the mosquito bites on my arm
there are sixteen
reasons why you left me but I can only remember the one that went unsaid
"you cannot fix yourself"
there is a constellation of scars on my hips
and I can see your face, hear your biting words in them
if I try hard enough.
maybe it's just a reflection of the moonlight,
or it's just one bad night. one of too many.
am I the insect stuck between screen and glass
trying to escape something shatterproof
when the more effort I put in, the more likely I am to die?
even the mosquitoes have become tired of seeing my blood
it fills the sticky night with a sour-sweet stench
of broken promises and lost lies.
but god,
I am the moth who only wants to get closer to the light.
you were my light.
and I'll leave the windows open all summer
as if maybe you'll crawl back in through them
I've broken the glass in all of them anyway
I've named sunrises after you
they too are supposed to be emblems of hope but only remind me of how broken I am
and it's funny
because I used to wish on every star that you'd understand
but now I just wish to be able to forget you.