There are stories in your eyes.

I never told you how
sometimes I fell asleep
with the thought that you
were perhaps the moon-

always disappearing
with the dawn.

I told myself I wouldn't write for an entire month,
but as my anxiety attack of a mindset
blended with my desire to fly
I realized I was driving with the windows down
when the rain outside was pouring down my arm,
making a puddle at the thigh of my pants.
I had never once felt bliss like this.
The night sky kissed my open wounds
like mother nature was trying to let me know
everything will be okay.
I was told that I was nothing,
spat to the ground as the words left your lips
and you took a drag from that cigarette
you've been trying to quit for months now.
So I realize you are weak,
clinging to the addictions you cannot escape from
and I'm not talking about the cigarette stained teeth
or the coffee smeared t shirt..
You are self-destructive.
just as quick as 3-2-1
you explode your insecurities onto others
and I will no longer let that be me.

I fell in love once and didn't know it.
The eyes I saw the world from were blinded
by your keen distaste for life
and your knack for self-righteous cynicism
I grew up thinking love was just a myth
and no one, not even me was worthy of it
Then someone made me realize that the life I lived
was the one that made me who I was-
which was someone worthy of love.

So as I drove with the windows down
and rain pouring on my cheeks,
I realized this is manic if I had an explanation for it.
Then I smiled and realized
this is the closest I've ever felt to flying
and ******* I don't ever wanna come down.
So let me lift myself up until I can no longer
remember what it feels like to be grounded,
where all the logic is nonexistent
where I can learn to love myself again.  
That's where I was, that's where I'll always be
the day I picked back up my pen.

they emerge from the wooded neighborhood ridge and fringe at dusk
into breadth of lawn
& limb.
witchy chicks
casting banter n bitchcraft.
teenage dead end dreamers tipped in black magick lip gloss
& glitter, their
genderfluid familiars &/or wayward boyfriends apparate
in the street pink cloud spinning wheel,
& hawking bile.
****** stella smile.
swallow a hex, send a snap, tongue along his neck
promising to fold bodies before sunrise.
the effervescent gasp
of post-ritual clarity.

in the house,
is a kid.
a gig.
the devil with a younger grip.
& the kid thrills on a bit of the ol’
         u l t r a v i o l e n c e.
****** videogames, ****** anime, ****** mayhem n melodic music.
he is a conduit of dark energy.
a pure blooded offering of the stone age/video age,
mind in a kind of kaleidoscopic way.
he is me.
bred on televised bucket slime ceremonials.

she checks her purse.
drugs & snacks & juul & a pretty dead bird.
a daughter of delphi watching your kid.
tending to him.
trending him.
popcorn smelling him, the texas chainsaw massacre on vhs just before bed.
palace of teeth n twigs.
just a short walk to the edge and then its bath time.

             the demon version is grisly and cruel.
             the angel version is starry-eyed and adventurous.

to conjure some
  thing,
at the cliff jumping.
it was fun.

You loved me like the phases of moons, all at once, then slowly, you would fall back into your phases, your love for me slowly getting smaller. Some days, I would break. I would cry, and scream at you, and you would build back up, to loving me fully, like a full moon illuminates the dark, night sky. I gave my all loving you, thinking one day, the moon will stay it's large, full size, brightening the sky, but slowly realized that the world is cruel, and that you never actually ever loved me.