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Home again.

I hold the door, and sigh. Holding my axe in one hand,
Orange, white, and red plaid shirt. Chin covered in stubble.
A warm fire inside. My sweetheart reading by the hearth.
A glance up. Her light blue eyes, so inviting.
Her smile.

I enter.
And rest.
I am home again.
I've held so many women,
More than I can count.
But if I had to count.
I would say four.
And then I would say one.
My brain would say four.
My heart would say one.
I've only held one in my heart.

And she hates me.
Like charcoal to a vermillion rose,
Like smearing the perfect mirror,
Like a fire to an evergreen forest,

I made a mistake.

And every time I breathe I regret every single word I said,
And every time I see I can’t forget those words I said,
And every time I breathe I regret every single word I said,

I made a mistake.

Like taking a life, I took some some of her pride,
Like telling a lie, I told her something I didn't mind,
Like turning back time, I committed the worst kind of crime,

I made a mistake.

Oh hey there honey won’t you see me on my knees,
Oh hey there sweetie can’t you see me pleading,
Oh hey there lovely I love ya so **** much,

I made a mistake,
And every second since then,
I felt regret.

-July 14th 2013
Seven minutes.
I guess that's what I spent outside today.
Seven minutes to smoke at a church
And violate it twice.
First with ***
Now with ash.

Ashes I shed
And how sad it has been

I started doing new things
Maybe hoping that you would start caring.
Or maybe that they would **** me
And I could just stop beating.

Stop my heart. My loud heart.
Stop the hurt. The alone.

Stop beating
Stop beating



I never really feel okay.
I'm not sure what I need,
But I'm pretty sure I'll never get it.
Seven minutes in heaven.
It's like there is no message.
I'll never get it.
“Please leave your message after the tone.”


“I just, needed to remind you that I love you and I think of you constantly, and I’m having a deja vu, but, I- I don’t know if this one will end badly, but the last one did.”

Beep bop doop don beep boop boop


“Please leave your message after the tone.”


“Hey, I don’t know what good it is to tell you I’m sitting on a corner, alone, in the rain just, shivering. But, I miss you. I miss you like a flower misses the sun. Like an ear misses sound. Like a heart misses lo-”

'Limousine by Brand New' for the title.
I'm glad we felt the same way,
I still do,
Do you?

I want to wake up on the next 60 Christmas mornings and see your face,
Your collar bones, your chest, your hips, your gorgeous legs and those quaint feet of yours,
Because I love you.
And I will never, nor have I ever loved another as much as you.

You are made for me and I am made for you.
The two pieces to a two-piece jigsaw puzzle.

The picture we make is love.
That first day,
Seeing you so short,
Thinking you two years younger,
But your heart was infinite.

Your selfless smile,
Smiling voice,
And smiling soul are so,

You deserve far more
Than the world gives,
So you take your joy,
In giving back to all.

You’re in safe arms.

I love you, Sam. I hope you’re okay.

Does that K stand for ****?
Is this your attempt to bleed me?

Cause it's working.
My name in question.
My heartbeat not.
My hands unsure.
My body shivering.

Suddenly sobbing tear.
Just like that, pain.

- 11/18/13
When the four horses pull at my mind,
I know you’ll be there,

When the walls of my palace crash down,
I know you’ll be with me,

I want you with me,
And when the night falls,
When all lights fail,
Through it all,

You’ll be there.

-July 1st 2013
I hope so
I really do.*

I do too.
You're the Apple of my eye, the laces of my shoes, the breath of calm after an anxiety attack or heavy cry. You're the hand on my leg telling me I'm safe, the magnet which magnetised the needle in my homemade compass. You're the net of a dreamcatcher, the final **** after a long and exhausting hunt. You're the sensation of being warm and naked after a cold and wet day out in the snow, you're the report card with straight A's. You're there toe beans of a cute cat and the contagious laughter of a newborn too naive to realize that everyone in the room is only laughing because they keep laughing harder, the positive feedback loop exhausted by cheeks too tired to smile and a diaphragm too used to move.

The sensation of being tucked in, but not too tight. The phenomenon of waking up in your bed because you passed out on the couch and your dad carried you in.

You're the dream where you fall in love and everything is perfect and great, but when you wake up you carry over that charm into your day to day life and everything starts to go your way. You're the fortune cookie with a fortune of the numbers 3,4,8,17,20,26,38,48,70 and the phrase saying "your long held-onto grievances will vanish soon, you will find your peace."

You are the learning, growing pupil of the Master of the Way. You are the concept of fairness and rightfulness, of non-ownership and laissez-faire government and home. You are the beacon, cooking a warm meal at the stove, so tuned into her world. You are the day dream, where the ordinary melts and the extraordinary takes over our surroundings and enchants our creativity while boosting and fanning that little flame in our hearts that keeps us going.

You are the first kiss of morning, with morning breath so stagnant from an unexpected ****** release at 4 am and an explosion of positive neurotransmitters, the development of trust in each other's arms. You are the attempt to synchronize heartbeats in a very tight spooning position. You paint the image of our energies moving in complex shapes before entering the other, circling inside and maturing, then entering back into the other. The ouroboros of emotion and trust and love.

You're what I see when I close my eyes, and you're what I want to see when I open them. You're the concept of someone I can truly let be. The independent, growing college girl with her whole life adventure ahead of her.

You're the angel on my shoulder which speaks to me words of reason and progress and helps me ignore this rotten goblin on the other shoulder. You're the voice I hear say "I really like them, honestly," when I see tracers in my vision.

You're a lighthouse in my mind. One safe thought, one place I can escape to for safety. But that's not really you, it's just my concept of you and my memories. But sometimes just that thought is enough to fuel it, because I'll be thinking of you more than I actually see you and I need to find the best way to deal with both.

I don't want to put you on some unreasonable pedestal and I don't think I have. I only truly mean like a third of what I said about the poetic "you are"s, because it would be unreasonably romantic to truly believe most of that. But I believe it in spirit and that's what matters.

You're the voice whispering me to sleep, and the reason I don't always have to wear ear plugs any more. You're the person I imagine running their fingers up my arms and into my hair when I watch ASMR vidoes. You trigger my ASMR and almost no one before you has been so successful in doing so. My body responds to you naturally in burst and quivers of euphoria and satisfaction, the curiousity of how you can pleasure and tingle me and how I can please you.

Rubbing your back and shoulders, popping your back ever so slightly, exploring the surface of your skin in every area. I want to learn and map your topography and dimensions and watch those change gradually over time as you mature into this yogi goddess with such a brain it's astounding.

You inspire me. You're such a hard worker and you're so much further than your circumstances could have put you. You're so strong Zo. Even if you feel like you're breaking sometimes, you're handling the pressure better than I ever could.

I'm grateful for my time with you, but I'm even more grateful for the peace you've helped bring to my tumultuous mind.

I hope you're getting just the most wonderful sleep. Dreaming of forgotten kindoms, songs never heard, places and euphorias never felt or synchronized with. You're a good person.
Thanks for putting up with my *******.
You make me feel like I'm in some fantasy sometimes. A story book with fairies and some perfect ending or no ending.
Lightning and thunder and little pitter patter,
Snowfall and coffee and Halloween masks,
Orange and red and all the color leaves,
Couldn’t distract from that beauty you hold,

Like complimenting colors the world turns,
The sun shines from all angles upon you,
Whispering those soft secrets in my ear,
You’re like a new color on the painter’s palette.

A color I call Beau.

-July 8th 2013
Dreaming away my days and nights,
You’re always in sight,
The prospect of you drives me,
No other place I’d rather be.

Craving like no other,
Necessity within me,
Needing you so much,
I can barely see.

Your light is bright,
Guiding me gently,
Through the waters in life,
Through this great sea.

And when my oceans are blue,
I have one levity, you.
They say I look like a greaser,
Not sure that’s a good thing,
I dress nice, I guess,
I try to look clean,

But I slick my hair back,
It gets a Superman curl,
I smile and walk and talk,
Like I can get any girl.

You cannot own a human,
Even the most coolest.
"I love you."
"I care about you."
"I want to let you know I try my hardest not to hurt you but still keep us good."

Fine. Well enough alone, I see.
I'm ready to quit trying.
I think I've hit the bottom.
I want to wither.
And sleep.
Fade into dust.
The inaudible ebb and flow of your ‘sorry’s and ‘goodbye’s,
A mere ringing in my ears.
Speak lines of knowing Pain’s associates,
You are his main elective.
Stop stalking me you meat hungry wolf, stop ranging this land,
No life grows here, nothing can be saved or even forgiven.

You mockingbird,
You crow,
You jackal,
You cold blooded husk.

Stop singing,
Those words were meant for angels not harpies.

-May 28th 2013
One of those morning where I want to cry
Over one condescending comment
And curl up into a ball
And die a little.
The corner store says she smells like
"Pine tree" scented candle,
But to me she smells like
A decent bet,
And a couple skipped heart beats.
He loves concrete
And gray.

The desert,
His morning
Not her.

And through himself she cannot find one string on which to suspend a thought,
A speck of emotion, not one fiber optic of data relayed.

A cycle of


To the flame and then again.
I’m Atlas,
And she is my world,
It is my duty,
It is my job,
To support her,
There's a reason I like girls who look like you.
My scars are fading, But I don't think hers ever will.
She said she'd break my heart.
I think it will be the other way around.
Pieces that fall.

She makes him enthralled.

She limits herself.

Don't do this to yourself.

In love.
Love oneself,

         Will stay.
A uniformity in expectance,
A subconscious wait.
My mind knows it's coming
Like some kind of date.

Her words,
Be they good or bad,
Are expected,
If only a tad.

2 AM,
My body wakes
It's so ******* late
Will it come?

I wait.
You lost, Marshall.
Came in second place.
Always replaced.
Variable placement.

You lost, Marshall.
You're on the ground.
Shivering violently, eyes pouring.
Bawling just above the audible level.

Your father told you,
"Lose it to the one you love more than anything,
The one you plan to marry."

So I listened.
But his voice,
It only traveled so far.
Stayed within these walls.

Stop shivering, Marshall.
You. Lost.
It is lost.
And it's your fault.

-- I am to blame.
-- And nothing will be the same.
-- Gold turned to stone.
-- So bright it once shown.
And my love has not faded
*In the least.
My birthday was today.
"I closed my eyes and thought of where I wanted to be. I was in a red wood, colored in autumn. My breath could be seen in the air, and the large horizontal log I was sitting on was cold. There was a woman next to me, both of us were wearing gray hoodies, mine a thin, coarser material, hers warmer and softer. Her hood was up, mine was too. Both of our hairs showed from beneath the hoods. She had a cute nose and a nice smile, and curly brown hair like mine, but, softer and longer.

We were sitting together, clearly interested in each other, but not yet lovers, and not just friends. Facing downhill, we looked into the forest of large trunks and red leaves, or rather, she did while I looked at her silhouette. She let me look, I could tell. Something in her was warm, I wanted to feel it.

A daydream. A forced vision, rather."     -October 27th 2013
When I see your mouth, I can hear your voice and laugh. A glorious thing.
Jami Belle,
I knew there was one more name to yours when I met you
And I asked you about it
And you said and you laughed:
"Peterson. I hate it though."
I could change that.
Does Hiatt sound nice? It did at the time. Jami Belle Hiatt.
A nice ring.
You liked it.
God I miss you.
Difficulties exist in my abilities to say no.
I do say no,
But not without effort.

I have a lack of restraint.
I am selfish.
I want affection.
I want lips.
And arms.
And eyes.

I want love,
I want lust,
I want want.

I want so many things.
I want the pieces missing from my soul
When she left me.
I grew up very differently than many people and it has had an incredible impact on my development, and in this past year, what I lacked in my childhood has been made strongly evident.
Dr. Maj: I am satan !
Ghostly: Is that so
Ghostly: I guess you've received a lot of mail recently coming from all the dyslexic children writing to Santa.
Not quite poetry but I felt like sharing.
One million for you,
Double it, triple,
One million one,
And a million more,
All. For. You.
Every shred,
Every piece,
Grows stronger.
Steal them all,
Leave me none,
It will start,
    For you.
I can’t recall the sound of her singing,
But I could paint the shape of her soft neck.
I can’t describe the joy her being can bring,
But I feel a great sense when she says “Heck.”
Worthwhile she is for any chance I take,
She makes me feel like I have someone safe,
If I had fangs, I know she’s burn her stakes,
Between us both it’s her I would first save.

I don’t think she gets how much I care,
She takes my words and makes them beautiful,
She says she does the things I dream to dare,
I can only dream to have life so full,
To spend my days with her would be great,
I could learn how to love, forget to hate,
I think she’d show me a new side of life,
I think she’s give me a reason to try.
It always catches me off guard.
That first strum in the saddest song I've ever heard.
The first song she played for me.
The anthem of our time together.

Sometimes I wish you didn't sing it for me,
Cause now I'm hooked on a new kind of melancholy.

You can hear his heart break when he finishes the stanzas.
You can hear the pent up tears,
And the dried ones.
You can hear that those are the memories he's trying so hard to forget,
But they mean everything to him.

He's hoping that time goes on after she's gone,
And hoping that he won't give into old habits.

He's hoping he's okay.
I am speaking to myself, by myself, for myself,
If you can hear me, you are a spy,
I speak out-loud to refine my thoughts,
To pinpoint what I mean and how I mean it,
    I am still unsure.
I am speaking because I owe debts,
Repaid by a piece of paper, near-weightless,
    For years of love.
I am sorry for myself, for the spy listening,
I am sorry for the events leading to this,
    Debts paid in lifetimes.
I am sorry for a soliloquy unspoken.

            ~Marshall, 11-11-13.
A loss of trust. A back turned 'round. A love faded. A debt repaid.
Jiggly :),
X is a bad letter,
A chief once said,
We all have two wolves,
Good and evil,
One will win,
The one you feed,
I have changed my path,

I’ve come clean,
It’s a peace uncanny,
The air tastes sweet,
I think it’s cause I knew,

I knew the tower would crumble,
The fire go out,
And the beacon would be lost,
Inevitable but blinded,

My book goes forwards,
Dragged by necessity,
Lead by wanderlust,
Fueled by love.

-May 30th 2013
I still think it was a dream.
Convinced actually.

If it weren’t for the warm of her kiss,
Or the bumps on her belly,
And the shape of her face,
I’d still believe it was fake.

For days it seemed I stared,
And she let me.

I learned her, far better than ever before,
She is more.

She is both a dream and a reality,
An Angel and a human.

She exists,
You see.
I'm still struggling to comprehend it actually happening.
You say those words,
And I listen,
I wonder so many,
    If they are for me,
    If they are recent,
    If they are true.

And for some reason,
Contrary to my vows,
     *I trust you.
It seems I never kicked my addiction to poison.
It seems the little man with his hammer and chisel,
Has cracked the top of my skull,
Made a crack not so little,
And now my brain’s far too full,

Tick tick tick,
Ting ting ting,
He caused a split,
Heavy hitting,

This migraine is mine,
There’s not enough time,

Not enough,
I don't receive her gaze, but I can gain her lips?
Gleaming eyes I wrote of don't look my way,
Nor do they even say "You matter."
Of all the things I would like most, just, one look per day?
Remind me of those nights, remind me how we tried;
Every day I wrote of you, that gaze, your skin, your laugh. Your heart.
Do you even care?
She smells like somebody I can appreciate,
Get to know.
Someone I can hold and kiss and pulse with,
Someone I can be a little safer with.

She smells like something is right
Between us.

She smells like I could stare into her eyes and her face for eternity,
And love when she doesn't care if lips are dry or not when kissing.

She smells like everything is.
I don't write right oriented poems. This is a first.
“Welcome,” the Devil said, smiling.

An unclothed man of pale skin and toned muscles stood feet away from a teenage boy with black, ashy, hair. The boy was wearing a simple outfit; white linen with black buttons, dark pants. Confidently, the boy stepped forward. Inches shorter than the still heavily breathing man, he put his hand on the strong shoulder and looked up into dark, untrusting eyes.

Hell wasn’t anything like Adrian thought it would be. He didn’t doubt it though, this was Hell alright. Whiteness was everywhere, almost blindingly bright. Exhausted from the fight, the shock of getting hit, the running and tumbling, he breathed loudly through his nose. His body was as it was on Earth. His scars, sweat and blood were all identical to how it was in the fight only minutes ago. There was a gaping hole about the width of his extended hand through his chest; his heart was mangled and torn but somehow still pumping.

“You died, Adrian. And God doesn’t care. He’s never cared.

“You probably think that your life on Earth was righteous enough to make it to Heaven, to meet God. And you’re right, really, you lived well. Your final moments alone should be enough to give you an ivory throne, but no. Nobody gets into Heaven.

“I’m sorry, Adrian.”

The Devil slid his hand down, off of Adrian’s shoulder and turned around. The fatigued in and out of the fighter’s breath was the only sound in the air.

“I’m feeling generous today,” Adrian could feel a cool gust of wind behind him. The boyish Devil walked forward and placed his hand onto the man’s chest. Slowly, he could feel the hole filling up; a numbing warmth filled his rib cage, a new vitality. “Have a good life, Adrian. Enjoy your gift.”

The Devil shoved Adrian backwards. He gasped.

I'm mad. The Mad Scientist.
Fantasy worlds. Pure science.
I was put here. By myself.
And by myself. I stay.

God won't answer.
No magic is true.
But the world, this earth,
      Her sciences,
      Her knowledge,
When I'm with you,
*My hard shell
Turns soft and human.
Greed, Creed, Esteem, Seeing,

Cast away,
I’m home to stay,
Complete again,
No feign,

No blood in my eyes,
No sweat on my back,
No hate in my eyes,
No more black,

Set free,
Using my wings,
I’m not blind,
Willing to see!

No more trying,
No more battle,
No more crying,
No chance of chapel,
    Thank god...


Everyone who was there to see,
Said you weren’t worth me,
Thanks for the times we had,
Some were hell but I hope they last,

Never gave you that rose,
Never fought your foes
We both paid,
And that’s okay.


-May 30th 2013
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