No one tells you
How boys with pretty eyes
Who smell like smoke
Who taste like stars
Who talk like gold
Are the reason behind
Tear stained sheets
Broken dreams
And silent screams
They forgot to mention
How boys with sad smiles
Who smell like rain
Who taste like pain
Who talk like hope
Are the reason behind
Torn hearts
Sad eyes
And sleepless nights

Who is it that you write to
some face in your third eye
vague and dreamy
Who are your messages for
the phantom universe hovering over your bed
That noisy place you wrest your head
Some folks inquire-
"What is it you desire?"
And the only sound answer is
"Everything."
But nothing in particular-
Maybe a cottage by the sea
Salty taste
Far from him
In an isolated tea party
with that hatter who lost touch with reality
At least as dreamers see it
And when I fall asleep it's not next to him
I wasn't his enemy when he's insecure
and now he's someone else's disease to cure
Beaten roads lead to many distances
Tomorrow could dissipate like breathes
I speak to ghosts on the outskirts of society
Wandering souls who speak in emotion
who can only be touched by melodies
that hover like fog over a graveyard
Those apparitions on the road that
disappear after you catch them in your peripherals
We are a dying brood of siblings
Superseded by imitation and the death of community
Magic lives in owl eyes and sits on benches at midnight
with only it's own voice to console itself when no one sees it

He knew the importance of words
and treated life like a crossword;
taking hints and context to places
that he never knew were possible,
solving them faster than his mind could keep,
he was full of it,
and every letter got him closer
to his dreams of entitlement.

Oh you've solved it, all right,
but his genius was limited,
nothing but words on a page;
The puzzles? He'd just skimmed it,
and each box became his defeat
for his words would no longer speak.

He could only solve the same book;
shoulders up, blamed his luck
on his limited palette,
maybe he'd done better if he invested
in a thing like vocabulary.

A forgotten mission, a new edition,
blew around in his mind,
but somehow he never could manage
to find the time
to understand these riddles' complexity,
and so to this challenge, *he'd flee.

She stood in a field of green
Ripping the heads off daises—
What subtle reinforcement for the fight.
I have tried—
With all of my might,
To look beyond what greets my eyes,
Yet find myself with no choice
But to turn the other cheek.

She stood with her feet in the sand
Building towers only to knock them down—
What subtle reinforcement for the fight.
I have tried—
With all of my might,
But cannot stand to bare witness
To the love of destruction and reconstruction
With no other purpose than amusement.

She stood with a heart in her hands
Squeezing tightly, dispersing the remains—
What subtle reinforcement
For the fight.
I have tried—
With all of my might,
But cannot rid myself of the pain of her disdain.

She stood with a stone cold stare
Eyes locked on the horizon—
Emotionless, regretless.
What subtle reinforcement
For the fight.
I have tried—
With all my might,
But at the end of the day
I have learned one cannot
Make another do or say
What they deem to be correct.

i like angry poetry
the kind that churns
in your gut,
with razors for teeth
and gums bleeding.
i like the violent sound
of verbs clashing
on a decaying page,
like the shot of a gun
on a quiet day.
i like the poetry that stays,
that lies in waiting
like a dog in a cage,
words that creep like
voided birds into the
wired tress of my brain,
that pay their rent
like drunken travelers
and trash the place.
i like angry poetry
the kind that sears it's
screams to my lips,
which spirit echoes and
moans for eager,
****** eyes.
words that hit like *****,
giving their reader
a killer hangover.
i like angry poetry,
the kind that leave you
with a smoky exit.