my muse is my sorrow,
if it did not exist i would not find beauty in the rain nor solace in my pain.
it'll always find different ways to manifest,
but at least it is safe to say
it is no longer my unwelcome guest.

Cigarettes and friends have so much in common
Friends are cigarettes to skin
The longer you hold them temptation grows within
To smoke or watch others choke
Cancer sticks, worse when ignited
So many people smoke and are delighted
To inhale the words of warning
Strangers are sticks and stones their words never hurt
With friends, this expression disappears
As if the pain doesn't accumulate every fiscal year
Running deep into your lungs, skin, and even the heart
Friends can do as much as a cigarette
We smoke our friends as if nothing is wrong and forget
Until our lungs and heart collapse and fill up with regret  
Quit cold turkey, suffer relapses try again later
Anything to soak up this toxic flavor
Friends or cigarettes?
Your choice of flavor to savor

She can walk
          between
             night and day
               never letting either
                  get in her way.
She learned this trick
                     many moons ago
                                by
                     going deep within
           and never letting it show.
Her soul is innocent
her heart is pure
she’s gone through more
than most could endure.
            She’s an angel of light
                 an angel of dark
                 you never know
              what you will spark.
                      You want to hurt her?
                         Please, go ahead and try
                           she’ll be the one to show you
                                  just how well she can
                                                              f
­                                                                l­
                                                                ­  y.
                                  Her soul innocent
                    her heart pure
      but never think for one minute
that she’s not secure.
                                Say what you will
                          please, do what you must
                       but your jealousy and hatred
                             won’t waver her trust!
~

reaching the back of you

not sure I could.      not sure i would.
       scent of the crime uncommitted uncovered

the meandering is the man demigod demagogue taking
time
         pleasured mercy
                                         the remaindered searchingly
                                                                ­                                 suffices

you don’t speak plain english the only tongue i got
insert the coin in your slot commencing researching the
way in and
don’t think i want to find the way out to the
back of you hiding in the inside learning the way you visualize


playing amy winehouse as an overlaying graph to the autoroute
to the south of france, sur-la-mer, why ever leave and you come
in my mouth poems new each time

no exit. no back of you.  stuck in a longingly heaven

this house is my home and I know the sun brightest
when i put my coin in the slot of play and press the
new tune button at 4:10AM

when i first started driving
my mom told me i was
too inexperienced
to enjoy the scenery

now i'm in my 20s
and all i think about
is the scenery

and

how easy it could be
to crash into any tree

She was the poet, her hands stained with ink
He was the soldier, his hands stained with blood

The gentle hands of a dreamer intertwined with the rough hands of a fighter.

talk to me, willow tree
tell me of the life you lead.
does the wind cool you down
when your leaves fall to the ground,
or do you like the sense of relief?