I am a tourist
You carve your smile
Tell me I’m welcome
And hold out your hands in demand
I know something is wrong
But this place is so masked in serenity
I do not care to understand it
You grab and you tear
Love is a currency
I will pay with my heart
Then inflate to bankruptcy
I was nothing special to you
Just another tourist
Like the dozens and other hundreds
And you care about them
But not for them
Just as you do not care for me
You value what you receive
And how much you can grasp
But give newspaper to blind beggars
And insults to the depressed deaf
You care not for what you pass around
Only that what comes back to you is what you desire
So I am spent
And asked to leave
And you welcome your next tourist.
It is just
blood soaked shields
to ensure protection.
Inside there is an eye
with a yellow iris
yellow because it is sick
sick of the world
and sick of seeing it.
Tulipa occultum means 'hidden tulip' in Latin.
cup of poison rage
pint of verdant, bleeding tears
and pinch of fever
Just a little haiku about tulips
To die of fire and born of ashes
how strange it must be
to be destroyed
by that which creates you
of course a woman is rendered as herself
by the ideas within her head
by her own thoughts
and a man is rendered as himself
by the beating of his heart
by his heated blood
though neither man nor woman return from their destruction
I wonder if the death of the fire bird
does it know it will be reborn?
would this lessen the pain?
I would envy a man who was reborn again and again
but not a man who thought he died every time
I move forward to ignore the past
I learned from history in my mind
I did not want to express yesterdays
I ask you
I plead with you
don’t taint this ground
I know the past is colored scarlet
and you will drench the floor in your blood
I am fragile, but you break like time
I climb, but now look to this pit
I am the pit of a pit on the ground, and you wander
I step once
then step again
but it is you who should watch your feet
because I am an orchard
an orchard of mines
It has become my norm to push people away
because somewhere along the road
I found it was easier to shove people aside
than give them a chance
It's easier to hang up her call
than watch her drift to sleep.
It's easier to tell him I have work
than turn to face him.
It's easier to walk away from them
than sit there worrying about hurting them and them hurting me.
It's easier to sleep at night
knowing I drove them away
instead of the other way around
It's easier to know I'm the one who ended it
Because it's easier to hurt someone else
before that person has the chance to hurt me.
Frigidity gnaws dully
like an outcast lion
scavenging on the bones
of its former pride.
it claws through any gap it can find,
sliding and slithering
through a hole in a fence:
a rabid dog.
It is thick, viscous and voracious
like some sort of anti-magma,
having all the properties
of a volcano’s foaming mucus
only lacking heat.
There is no frozen core,
as the whole is so consumed
with horrid chill,
the edges are no warmer
than the deepest depths.
Ice holds the same burning power as fire.