I keep my mouth closed,
using super glue like it's chapstick.
Lips sealed but hands free, writing my secrets into poetry,
I sometimes feel very cowardly only being able to share empty words about my empty feelings  to empty faces on this empty stage.
Empty.
I don’t cry as often as I should, maybe I’m just drained, maybe I’ve just emptied
The drain that connects my tear glands to the rest of my body.
And on the off chance I cry-
my pillow must have nightmares from my screams,
and sometimes- sometimes I hear my pillow sobbing with me.

if the stone could speak
it would say to the wind
cease this restless seeking
and stay awhile with me

but the stone cannot speak
and the wind rushes on
to the faraway forest;
it dances with the trees

i am ares: the god of war.
disgruntled by my own blood thirst,
in solitude due to anything but my own accord.
i fear this lonely and cold world; however,
i don't know how to have it any other way.

This is not a poem
Or a song that would amuse you
This is me speaking out
Shall we have a little talk?

About the day
About the night
About the clouds
About the sky

About a person
We know we loved
About a thing
We like to have


To hear what you thought
To listen to what you hate
To see with your own eyes
To feel your own storms

*** stains my lips.
i can't remember the taste of your lips anymore.

i want to scream ******* at the top of my lungs
my lips are sealed with a curse