I don't mind the sweet-nothings
you whisper
into my ear every night.
I also don't mind the black smoke
I fill my lungs with
when you leave.

Coarse, in the mines,
Are the hearts of the mundane-
Rigid and blackened,
Of soot and coal.
Of whom may fall-
In hind sight of the mind.
Wishing upon stars
That they may one day
Find the diamonds
They seek,
To trade
For the lives they
May never have.

You bathed in whisky
To freshen up for me.

Days turn pages
Sinking in the night
Abysmal aromas
Wrinkling skin so light.

Crocheting another blanket
Whimsical notes astir
Falling on the carpet
Bits and pieces of her.

A feudal interruption
White noise begins to blur
Reflections being casted
A comforting allure.

Sons decaying in the sky
Poinsettias set on tomb
Empty syringe on the grass
Dead fetus in the womb.

Let's never talk again,
because if we do
we'll both fall apart
in each others arms
and when that happens,
we can never be held again.

Sit and wait for me
So that this time
You will  know
How long forever feels.

The time may come for a maker’s mark
Heeding way for a grimacing stark.
For what is shown upon the nights embark;
Encumbering loneliness,
Waiting, quietly,
in the dark.
Gently leaning on a stoop of decay
Tar-filled hearts rest,
Waiting, patiently,
For the light of day.

we only lie because the truth is harder to understand

I pray to god,
that someday I may wear my heart
On my sleeves
Instead of my eyes.

When we stop breathing,
Everything happens.

Our first memory
and how cloudy and irrelevant it was
our first scary movie
the terrors that movie brought upon us
and the nightmares that came with those terrors
the day we graduated
and how proud everyone looked
how we regret ever wanting to grow up
the first time we listened to Piano Man
and the first time that song ever meant something to us
those restless nights on Christmas Eve
while we sat waiting for old saint nick
to come down the Chimney.
our first love
and those days we sat
looking at each other for hours on end,
just thinking about how amazing life is
and how amazing she is or he is
or they are, or we are.

The first time we had ***
and how awkward and uncomfortable is was
the seats in my car didn't help the matter.
the stupidity of ***
and how many risks it had
but neither of us cared
we were too young to give a ****

Those lonesome nights when you lay awake
staring at the ceiling
wondering why the hell you couldn't get any shut eye
then you realize why you were awake
and then you definitely couldn't get any sleep
because anxiety is an endless abyss
that drags you deeper and deeper the more you think about it
and the walls are smooth
and the bed is empty
with nothing to grip
like him or like her
and its cold,
but you're the warmest you've ever been.

The death of our fathers and mothers
and brothers and sisters
and daughters and sons.
the first time you had to lay them to rest
gazing up at the cloudy sky,
marking how cliché it was
it could have rained any other day
but today was that day
making it seem like god or Jesus or Allah or whoever you believe in
actually gave a **** about them today
and this is the only time you've been thankful for rain.
how you look down at the open casket
and notice the fake little smirk the mortician left on their face
but you don't care that its fake
you're too busy being relieved
and thanking god that they had an unrelenting amount of decency
to at-least give the funeral goers
a sense of hope that they successfully passed on
and that they passed on in peace.

Those days when we were naive enough
to believe that we had no reason.
that life had nothing to take from us
that days turned into nights
and nights turned into days
and that was it
and there was nothing beautiful about it.
That we as a species are just a complex mess of life
that was born from the stars.

Then there was the day that we noticed
and gazed in awe at how beautiful we actually were.
We weren't just born from the stars,
we are the stars.
Those stars die and in their death
there comes even more life
and beauty
and me
and you
and us.
And then you realize
that you're just as big as the universe itself
because those things that make up the universe,
are what makes up you and I.

And in that final breath,
everything that happens to stars,
happens to you.
when you die,
you don't just die
you explode into an innumerable amount of pieces
and every one of those pieces
makes up an entire world,
someones world.
memories where things grow
and live
and survive
and love
and its so beautiful.

Death is beautiful.

A genre unattended,
A policy proclaimed,
Where a light is shined,
Is where a life is gained.

So let’s attend the ball,
And lets set sail tonight,
So when all the bombs go off
We'll still be doing alright.

It may take a while,
Forever it may be,
But when we finally get there,
Oh what a sight it'll be.

Tears from people here below,
Dripping from the skies,
What a sight to see,
From our water-colored eyes.

We haven’t been forgotten yet,
But this we do not know,
It's but a mere assumption,
for the rain just turned to snow.

The boat started rocking,
Going from side to side,
In the ocean there’s a whirlpool
it developed from the tide.

I’m not one for prayer,
But I'll do it just for you.
If I make it to the gates
I hope it’s you I run into.

Now everything is frozen,
Now everything is white,
Pretty please don’t leave yet,
I won’t make it through the night.

The waters are still,
The sea is now calm,
I look around for you,
Sweat pouring from my palms.

I search throughout the boat,
But you I do not see,
The Sun lights the horizon,
So there you'll surely be.

I fear
when you lay
with your head
to my pounding flesh
that my heart is
too overbearing
for you to listen
to my words.

you havent been
yourself lately.
and I fear
my heart
is telling you
more than I

Broken anchors can’t drown
The secrets you keep above.
The calm horizons are just a façade;
What lies beneath
Is an infinite abyss
Filled to the brim,
Overflowing with tainted thoughts
A heart’s meandering beat
Is nothing more than an apparatus
To keep the hasty currents flowing,
And the treacherous waves crashing.

A set of queens pierce
The eyes that gaze upon it,
Caught in a daze while
Dull heat rises from the toes
To the black hair that
Covers his pale scalp.
The ending to a game
Of thrones,
Kings.
Irresistible jealousy.

Sheets draped, uncovered,
Lying, twisted in a pool
Of sweat and blood.
Drooping eyes catching
His.
He is lost, cold, broken,
Comfortable now.
They are comfortable,
Now.

Plaque..
lingering on the
outermost surface of
my fingers,
palms,
skin.
nothing new.
coming of age
in an era
of grease, oil
***,
patriarchs,
the third wave,
followed by
a tsunami,
soon to come,
earthquakes are
too prevalent
for this not to be.

my hands will soon
be washed clean of
the sin that was placed
on them,
--not on
my own accord,
but on theirs.

The only reason coal exists
Is to fuel the hatred
We have towards it,
Or  to blind us
With its pressurized beauty.
Just as paradoxical
As these thoughts
that fill me to the brim.
Contrast brings out
The brightly painted smile
You wear on your dull face,
And the warm façade
That covers your
Cold flesh.
The sun,
Keeping me warm,
And burning me
Just when I'm starting
to have fun.
You’re more than
Just a picture
I’m painting in my mind.
And you’re more than
The thousands of words
That could never explain it.

My dear
little
ghost
on a noose,
help me
break
through the
clouds that
drown
the world
and darken
the shadows
beneath
my restless
eyes.

Sitting
still,
abiding
by guidelines
that exist
solely
to straighten
the frayed edges
of bent societies
that gaze
at carbon skies,
witnessing
light
reflect
into light,
reflecting
into light,
multiplied
by numbers
only molecules
and wavelengths
themselves
could fathom;
northern lights
in southern skies.

Man
manufacturing hope,
a nonlinear
product
for each
and every
demographic.
The ultimate sales ploy.

It’s easy to stray from topics
when every topic includes another,
colonies coinciding within others,
biomes, environments, cultures,
cells, organs, organisms,
inclusive to any wishing to reside and migrate to,
a collage of lives shaped by the hands of gods,
soft thoughts are easiest to mold.

For the sun we wait,
To hear a joyful tune,
But it departed late,
So say hello to the moon.

All we can do is search
The sky for sonnet’s best,
We should head on to the church
Because there we'll get some rest.

We've been listening for days
But still we hear no sound,
And to god we give our praise
But still no sound is found.

The moon is still sky high,
Above our deafened heads,
In the church we still reside,
Laying in uncomfy beds.

We don't really mind,
And we're not too certain why
Though now we're going blind
And very well might die.

In these beds we still lay,
And to god we still ask
When will come the day
That you may do a simple task?

You’re hundreds
Of miles away,
And yet,
I'm functioning
Perfectly fine.

Stay where you are.
I think I see you,
Or, maybe, that isn't you.
I don't think its you.

Okay, keep on walking,
Come to me,
I'll stay where I am.
I'm next to the watch kiosk.

Are you on your way?
Okay, I'll stay here,
Come to me.

Okay, Its been about an hour.
Did you leave me?
It's okay if you did,
I'll just drive to your place.

I'm in my car now.
My phones almost dead
And my GPS is a *******
It doesn't work.
Whats your adress?
I'll try and get to your place.

I've been driving around
For too long.
I think I might just go home.
I'll see you tomorrow.
If You're not doing anything.
Oh, you're busy?
Thats okay, I am too actually.

Maybe next week then?
Okay.

I'll see you when I see you.

Tired
and bloated.
-filled
to the brim
with *******
that isn't
yours,
or theirs
-nobody's-
but
the patterns
that refuse
to cease.

point blank,
a tweaze,
small enough
for a
particle
you swore
to have seen
but didn't.
unravelling
thread on
pants, that,
at one time,
belonged to you.

pulling up
a shirt,
showing skin,
marked
with beauty
and growth
blue and pale,
shown to
everything,
but
the sun.

naked
in the
dark.

a brief
illumination
of life,
for a second
that is too
short
to be
a second,
leading
to a
momentary
darkness
that is
too long
to be
a moment.

Timeless
fragments
of life
splattered
across the
walls,
floor,
ceiling,
-non-representational-
like the
emotions
they once felt.

The downward flick
Of a light switch
Can fix a broken home
Faster than I can say
"I love you"

I'll pave my roads
with the tar
I keep in my lungs,
and I'll burn
my bridges
with the lighter
that got the tar there
in the first place.

I'm the antagonist
of my own memoir.

Tragedy ruins
Barricades
And dams
within
Minds,
Releasing
Memories
-Thoughts-
Thought to be
Confined
And restrained
Beneath
Clean beds,
Behind
Closed doors,
Far from
The confines
Of comfort

Tragedy is
Reminiscent
Of people
Places
Or things
That never
Change,
Never could

Tragedy is
Perpetual,
Steeping in
Contentment,
Releasing
Notes of
Burning oak
Gasoline
And oxides
Into
the lungs
Of innocents
And
The uneducated,
Never to
Understand
That both
Beauty
And privilege
Are nurtured by
The arms
Of tragedy

The silhouette of your body
Is noticable from across the world.
Your eyes -candy.
Lips -taste of sugar.
The rugged scruff scratching my face
Only burns after the fact.
After.

Chests beating
A thousands times per minute.
Huming birds
Fetching nectar to keep the world alive.

Look at me though.
I want to get lost,
And only with you.
I want to get lost with you
To find you.
To find us.

I met him in the night.
    A Gayborhood local
     told me he was from Venezuela, but didn’t have to,
           his accent, so beautiful with its deep grit and softness,
                               twang and lisp.
                               I already knew,           he didn’t have to tell me.

             He bought me drinks, and watched
                             me             and only me,
                as I bit from the fruit of his garden.
              
             He invited me to an afterparty,   I didn’t know
   him, but we went     through alleys,
         dampened by the heat of bodies
      melding to the brick walls, glistening
                            in the streetlights and nightlife. Unknown lips
                          pressed and held, to stay,            not to
                         part. It was
        beautiful.
          
             Within the alley was
        our destination: underground. It was
                a luscious venue, crowded, exuberant and whimsy.
    Velvet covered the walls, and he brought me more drinks.
                                      I finished them all.
                    

                                                               I remember
locking lips with a stranger, and how
         it hurt.

                                       He was warm and sweaty, and
         smelled of Burberry and whiskey,
                                    his stubble left
               my face burning.

                            He grabbed my hand, and led me to
                         the bathroom, then I woke up
                             in his bed.
      
      
             I remembered
                            his husband’s name, and that
                                            he lived in Caracas, that
                  we had ***, and took
                           a shower together, that
                            his mother, dying from leukemia,
                                               slept upstairs, unknowing.
        


                                            ­               I wept
in a stranger’s arms,
   cradled by their tiny physique.
         I wept
              for our beloveds.

My bed smells like you,
So I've been sleeping on the couch.

I'll be an ***** doner
If thats the only way
You'll ever take my heart.

A crying infant,
hushed by the soft,
murderous hands
of an angel
doing nothing
more than abiding by
the laws of State.
A State
that will soon
put out
an amber alert
for a would-be child
that will never be found.

A grieving woman
in an era of
naivete and lies
cannot be suspect
of a crime
that defies that of which
she is, a mother
to a missing child.
But prints are fact
and thoughts are not,
so..
the inevitable will occur:
a vacant cell
will soon find
company, and a body
will also soon
become vacant,
like the womb
that shed
the life it once bore.

"I ******* hate you",
and its of no surprise.
One finding
comfort in those
who are seeking
comfort. Lost
and developing
presence in
a crowd that
acknowledges
the "new".

A child losing themselves
in the haze of
an aloof run, towards
a blinding light which
will only cause
them to stray
from the path they
were once on.
An action
that will inevitably go
unnoticed
due to ignorance
caused by the
excitement of
happiness.

A mother in a daze
of content
smothered her child
with love,
involuntary manslaughter.

One can never be too cautious when committing a crime of passion, but, on the other hand, one can never be cautious when it comes to passion.
Romance and Tragedy: Conflicting ideologies collapsing infinitely, in a state only curable by the latter. Realities stitched together with life and lives.
The condition of love.

Stained teeth
Bring out the white skin
Of the daunting drapes
Covering the faintest of all hopes.
With eyes as pale
As the clouds,
Covering the day,
Your body is cold,
Like the ice you kept
Among us,
Preserving
What you wanted to be.

Lets leap through
stained walls
built by those
with red palms

Bodies aching in the night
Searching for some heat
Closer and closer we got,
Getting a taste for something sweet.

A fire started to burn,
You got the extinguisher you stole
But it was too big to put out
So you just let it swallow us whole.

I feel as though
I've been lingering
In the outskirts of
Myself