L--- is the thick, adrenaline-wrought catharsis of a summer rainstorm on the highway at night.
It's the ridiculously advantaged team in a game of dodgeball;
and the hail in March as you run from work to close your car's skylight;
and the wave that rakes your hair with the teeth of the sand and surf;
and the pebble on the downhill ***** that your bike trips over and you fly off, eyes wide and gracelessly flailing;
and L--- is the way you lose yourself in the cosmic threads of their eyes;
and the breath you forgot you were holding.

I am attracted to all things
that have some darkness to them
to the mysteries they hold
-real or imaginary-.
.
I'm not sure of the reason why
maybe because I have some
latent darkness in me or maybe
I want to know if I'm
   Real
         Or
            Imaginary.

the moon loves you so dearly
as she illuminates your features in the darkness,
casting shadows to hide the pieces of you she doesn't want me to see.

the moon loves you so dearly
as every night she calls out for you, employing crickets to create her lonely midnight sonnet.
and eventually, finally, you venture out from your house to sit under her light.

the moon loves you so dearly
as she is the only one there for you when your chest begins the contract and the bile in your throat threatens to drown you.
she longs to hold you, but she sits in her sky as always, patiently waiting for you to return to reality.

the moon loves you so dearly
as she has witnessed all of your downfalls and betrayals and late night breakdowns that you've kept secret from me,
and through all this time, she has kept them a secret, kept them so close to her heart.

the moon loves you so dearly
that when she finally illuminated my own face,
and saw herself reflected in my pupils,
she did not protest when you began to empty yourself out of your love for her
to make room for me.

the moon loves you so dearly -
but you must give her space to heal. she has only one night each month in which she hides from you,
disappearing just long enough to shed a single, lonely tear;
a star shooting across the sky.
after wards, she begins to rebuild herself once again, piece by piece,
sliver by sliver.

Say my name
Say it gently
Use your words
To caress me
Speak your thoughts
Speak them out loud
Confess your love
Amidst the crowd
Scream your wishes
Scream your dreams
Make your reality
Better than it seems
Whisper your pain
Whisper your fears
Release the tension
Wipe away your tears
Open your mind
Open up wide
Let my love in
Let me inside

The nature of nature she is; very silent.
Not heard and can't be spoken about.
Silence, a poet's way to bring out words:
Break her and I see myself left with Songs.

The mother of words she is; very thoughtful.
Nourishes them and they forget her throughout.
Silence, a seeker's way to see the divine:
Break her and I see myself left with Gods.

Omnipresent she is; very generous.
Disguises herself as sound, music or words.
Silence, that music which stands alone:
Break her and I see myself left with tunes.

-The Silent Poet

People like me
We don't want pretty pictures
We crave the darkest parts of you
The lies you tell
The secrets you keep
All of the sinister thoughts in your head
Your personal form of self destruction is captivating to us
The way the light fades from your eyes
It's enticing

People like me
We won't hesitate to find your flaws
We'll point them out to you
And tell you that they don't matter
The thing you hate the most about yourself
It fascinate us
We'll seek it out and make it a part of us
Rejoice in it
Then make your hatred for it dissipate

People like me
We see beauty in everything
We'll find a rose in a field of ashes
Then pick it just to steal its essence from the world
We'll search for the most sacred elements  of who you are
Then we'll keep them for ourselves
Because deep down we are selfish
We don't want to share you
We want everyone to know that you are ours

People like me
We'll love you
So much so that it surrounds you
Encases you like a prison
But you won't want to escape
We'll love you in a way that feels like a gift
Something to cherish and show to the world
You'll be caught up in it
And you won't notice when it begins to fade

People like me
We're the reason for songs about lost love
Many a night has been spent
Drinking away our memory - or trying to
We are the one who got away
The best thing that ever happened you
The person you can't live without
Our memory will taste sweet
But eventually you'll reject the flavor

People like me
We'll leave you behind a veil of promises-
Promises that we just can't keep
We say that we will love you forever
Then we do it - from a place miles away in the middle of the night
We say that we will never leave you
Then we don't- for the feeling of us never fades
We say that we'll give you our hearts
Then we hand them to you- but they'll crumble to dust in your grasp

People like me
We are lonely
Every second of our lives is spent searching
Or waiting for the right time to leave
When that time has come
We smile and swear that it is for the best
Then cry tears that are dry before we walk away
We sweep up the pieces of ourselves that we gave to you
Then try to put them back together without the ones we missed

People like me
We will ruin you
Everything we do is so fresh- so innocent
We find joy in places where there is only sorrow
Worse yet we bring order to all of your chaos
We make the stars shine brighter for you
Then we steal ourselves back
Hide ourselves away in someone else and all of their messes
Till you can't love again because we were the first and no one compares

People like me
We destroy people like you
And we're so, so sorry

So here’s another story of he and she.

Half world was imaginary.

She lived in stories and tales,

Sung with characters, held their hands and laughed with them.
She’d sit in the garden uphill and read and smile and cry.

Until one day he passed by and their eyes smiled.
The stupid Cupid moved his wand, shot the arrow and went away looking for his next prey.

Now they would read together under the tree in the same garden.
He was a mystery who never spoke his mind
But fell in love with her little chaos inside.
“Let’s be fictional,” she said.
His eyes said yes.
Eyes could talk, who knew until now?


On page ten, they fell in love, irrevocably this time.
Page forty-one, they kissed.
Page eighty-seven, they danced in rain.
Page one-hundred and fifty, they shared the warmth on a winter night.
Page two-hundred and twelve, it became madness.

Who wanted this book to end?
But all books do end.
Every book has a last page, last sentence, last word, last letter.

And so came page three-hundred and fifteen

He had to go now.
Where?
We don’t know.
Why?
Nobody would ask.
For how long?
Forever, perhaps.

It was madness again.
A sickening melancholy madness.
She’d still sit there under the tree uphill,
Knowing he’d never come but still waiting for him to pass by.

She’d pick up her pen and write everyday; scribble anything.
The blue ink and the white sheets heard it all and she’d tell them everyday,
“It takes madness to fall in love and it takes madness to fall out of it.”