Emotional sadism
has seduced me
time and time again
to fall for the pain
that still makes me
feel
leading me to
let go of all things selfish
and attach myself
to the "selfless"

The truth is…
              the real truth…?
                             Do people do that?

How’s my new dress?
                                             It makes you look fat.

Like my new do?
I paid quite a lot
                                             You got ripped off, dear,
                                               You might even sue.

How are you today?
Just a quick answer please
I don’t have the time
To hear of your bad knees.
                                              I’m doing fine, knowing
                                               You don’t want to hear
                                               My problems and stresses
                                               I won’t bend your ear.


A “white lie” is easier
Makes conversation go fast
Then again, you just never know
When you might hear the real truth
It could be quite a blow.
So beware

the truth is…

If you don’t want the real truth?
Perhaps you shouldn’t ask.

I was fire when you were ice,
Yet we went through everything nice!
You were teaching me what cold was!
As I taught you,how burns mould us !
Balanced as you were,as flakes on soils
Unbalanced as I was, when born are boils!

You were from the melts,
Where I belonged to flames!
Yet we're Best friends is what,
The whole world names!

Wrong was what I did!
When I came into you,
Just like what fire does to ice,
Is what I did to you !

Your existence,was objected
Since you made me your mate!
But that's what happens,
When fire and Ice sit in a plate!

But when I ask myself
Can I not meet you ever ?
That is when my heart negates,
Fire and ice are not meant forever!

i have found what you are like
the rain,

            (Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light
                                  with thinned

newfragile yellows

                      lurch and.press

—in the woods
                      which
                              stutter
                                        and

                                              sing
And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
                  your kiss

It is a writer’s rage
that inks and turns
each bright white page
into a thing of calligraphic chaos.
Weird words are woven
into some coherent pattern
for the reader to readily discern;
Some hopeful aspiration
that denies or confirms
the appreciation the poet
hopes to earn
before time turns
his words to ashes.

a sunset
is still a sunset
even through a broken window
right?
a girl is still bright and colorful
even if she is broken
right?