There is no way to make evil appealing,
To make pain worth your while,
To make death not frightening.
Its beauty is fleeting, a magician's cloak
It's a weak moment that comes, suffocated in smoke.
So why is there war, guns that shred
Flesh from kindred, the soil deep red?
Bloodthirsty tyrranical madness abounds
And where in this world is peace to be found?
Darkness, I tell you,
slowly comes, it creeps
It can sit at the edge of your bed while you sleep.
It can come at a summoning,
Disguised as a guiding light,
But all that it wants is to drown life in night.
The only good anger is againt this fall
That tantalizes, dancing on graves,
Offering power to all.
It is a dread lie, so pick up your armor
Strike back at the always-striking adder.
And pick up your feet and hallowed soul,
Let love be your ever-straight shooting pistol.
And know that no darkness is ever what it seems,
For it dissolves in the light,
It was shredded at its seams.
Goodness and bravery are sometimes hard to muster,
But they rip evil's grasp asunder.

bent edges, faded stripes
my mother holding me with all her might
my teeth wide, a Cheshire grin
flaming locks reminiscent of Jolene
my mother's eyes bright as oceans
scintillating laughter, it's a potion
of happiness but what do we see?
no one matches my eyes of green
it's just all these seas
but if there was a different version
gilded frame, in the latest fashion
of mother and child, still the same,
but with a man by a different name
his eyes are grassy, his hair shiny cognac
he could've been, but there was a balk
in his demeanor, he wasn't positive
of the life that was this massive-
so that film was never developed
the camera's shot was interrupted
instead his photos show three little ones
eyes like rivers, hair like golden suns
for only in my mind's photos of lackluster
are my parents still together.

Shaky nicotine fingers gather in small groups
Talks of old ghosts
And new designer boots.
My deeply religious uncle still savors acid
I guess we’re still tripping
Over the ways we once lauded.
Techno reminds me of lost ecstasy days
Read to me your Russians
As at your mouth I gaze.
I’ve fallen into sin once again
And I’m trying to clamber out-
Shrewd judgments from churchmen.
These conversations of dreams and desires
Climbing mountains, kleptomania
Of these things I eternally tire.

“I want you so badly.”
Let us begin our prayer to the Lord.
“Come closer to me.”
Lord have mercy.
“Oh my God you taste so good.”
Pray for the sick, the suffering.
“Bite me harder.”
We praise thee, we bless thee.
“I want you inside of me.”
That our whole day be sinless and perfect.
“Oh my God. Oh my God.”
*May the Lord bless and protect each
and every
one
of
you.

a poem- I know I don’t like to be alone, with the monsters in my head and under my bed. You helped me to realize others had similar dreams, thoughts stretching at their seams. Yes, you’re the only man who’s seen me through, right down to my roots. And I enjoy some silence, peaceful and restful. But I don’t like the loneliness because I’d rather be with you. But there’s a deeper wrong than anything either of us have done. You still believe love is just from friendship and not wanting distance.

a declaration- It’s not.

support- Love, to me, is: something you have to feel. It’s what you feel when you pet your dog, hold a child, or smell the hair of the person you’re sleeping next to. That swelling, crushing, warm feeling deep within the pit of your stomach. The thing you’ve dreamt of since you were tiny. Before you learned fear or hatred, you felt it. What soaring skies and and mountain ranges and baby animals and the idea of God makes people cry about. It’s that. It’s not learned, and if it’s not felt, then it can’t be.

the problem- I’m not sure you feel this feeling for me.

I can still feel your breath and hands around my neck, and your lips on my spine and legs, and my lips on your mouth and chest and eyelids, and your voice reverberating in my ears, and your hands encircling me. I love laying down next to you more than I ever thought I would. Nights in a too-small bed, mornings in the shower, looking out at the rain and stormy skies, and looking into your eyes, so similar and yet so different than mine. I love how you feel around and inside of me, and I swear you are more addictive than anything I have ever tasted before. Your smell and the touch of your skin and the way your hair feels against my temple. I hate and adore you for always pulling me back in.

These were the crying days
Days of sadness
Days of darkness
Come out, come out now
But it takes strength
To make these lengths
So where do you draw the shallow line
Of love and lust
Ash and dust
We make terrifying myths
Vampires and beasts
Gathering for feasts
Because we constantly
Wish to defeat
What is beneath our feet
We struggle with sacred religion
To be better
Hoping we’re braver
We are constantly heathens
Wrestling with sin
Under our shallow skins.

Don’t wear your rosaries as a chain
And don’t you ever believe those prophecies
Love for love’s sake and don’t be like Cain
Bless them all when they utter cries and sneezes.
Don’t give up on me for I will always fall
And don’t ever believe I’m a perfect human, please.
I believe in monsters and demons, crawling up walls
But do I believe they can’t harm us with love as an army.
Don’t think we are just a piece of flesh and blood
And don’t think your angel’s wings will ever disease.
Life is very old, and your youth, it will lead to floods
And dearest friend, your burdens will finally cease.

What is life all about, anyways?
What a question, what an answer.
It’s about God and the devil
Laying claims to human souls.
It’s about staring into the abyss
And learning to come back from it.
It’s about black and white,
And a million shades of grey.
It’s about love and hate
And knowing when to stop both.
It’s about living your days
And understanding the meaning of death.
It’s about new flowers in spring
And drifting leaves in fall.
It’s about the summer’s oppressive heat
And the inescapable chill of winter.
It’s about placentas and umbilical cords
And wrinkles and brown liver spots.
It’s about fighting your demons
And thanking your dear angels.
It’s about what you pray for
And what you cry for.

do you feel your soul break
feel it aching with pain?
when you go down him in the night
fingernails in spine- scrape!
do you feel your soul breathe
feel it intertwine with his life?
when you kiss and bite
and you cry out his name.

it’s a simple question, really,
and there’s infinite possibilities
when you pray for your soul to live on
is it “Krishna”, “Allah”, or “Jesus Christ our God”?

it’s new year’s eve’s eve
and for once I thought I’d be kissed
but I guess it wasn’t meant to be.
i know i thought this out
but i did love us together, forever
and now our castle’s fallen down.
i don’t rightly know what to do
i’m in a room alone, smoking out my lungs
and all i know is that there isn’t a “me and you”.
this is my least favorite feeling
and there’s no comfort in the long night
without you beside me in soft bedding.
trying to truly forgive trust and bonds
seems to me a true miracle,
because as much as I love you, i despond.

When I was little, I loved how the protagonists could go away from their loved ones for a reason. There was always a quest, a hunt, a regal battle that they would return from, into open, waiting arms.
When I was little, I loved how a single act could undo all wrong. Slay a dragon, defeat a demon, proclaim love, ride into a war, and all would persevere. They’d come back, say “I’m sorry”, and all was forgotten.
When I was little, I loved the “love” in the stories I read. It wasn’t perfect, it could be messy or upsetting or hard at times, but it was always passionate in the end, with flowers and laughter and sweet kissing.
I suppose that’s why I write stories as I do. Because real life, as clichéd as this is, isn’t like the stories I read.

i have so much to hold
and there’s so much i risk to lose
one misstep one juvenile error
if you go crashing down i would too.
a pebble as golden as your good heart
a book twelve hundred pages long
one glance and you know i’ll follow
black heart of mine is now far gone
it’s been sent to dwell with you.
if this world was ever meant to end
i’m glad i met you before it did
i’ll hold you so tight, hand in hand
and wish i was made of rock or sand
the only things death cannot touch.

Ink stains on my blankets
And with writing on my arms
I sit in my bed
And think only of you.
You occupy the whole of my brain
All
Of
The
Time.
Darling, you fill me up so
That all the pages in any book
Could not hold my love for you.
If you were to die
I would die as well.
I think I knew I loved you
When the monsoons broke
And in the floods
You came back home.
Yes, my world was grey that day,
But grey like a comforting sweater.
Safe.
Sound.
We could run away.
I want to run away.
Run away with me.

we girls are always getting ourselves into such messes.
breaking hearts, always keeping them guessing.

your hands, they rob me.
and your eyes, well they scar me.
don’t go, but stay so far away.
I can’t go on like this.
there’s no promise, it’s all words.
and they’re meaningless, words.
but I was lost, and you knew.
but I’m found now.
I found myself.
you still haven’t found you.

I ate a bag of cherries
as I sat and thought of you…
sometimes,
in the strangest of cases
things turn out to be true.
We set fire to old memories
and burn out old flames
and I have to say
its been a long time
since my inane name
sounded so sane.
…
Fiction and fact, I have learned
to meld, and I’m a **** good
welder, that’s for sure.
You ask me about stories and occasions
Ha! you should see your face…
Believing me.
These lies have become
detrimental to me.
If I had actually done them,
I’d be
so
ashamed.
I’m really not sure what or how
I think of you…
you find me appealing, and then
tell me promptly goodnight.
These English words I’m
manipulating, manufacturing,
can only go so far.
This started out as a simple rhyme. Now I’m not sure what it is.
I feel the same way
about you.

Darling, it seems the time has finally come
For you to make your call.
Do you want me to stay? Or to flee from you?
Because how you act from here on out,
That could be our peace or our downfall.
Dearest, I’m not done- this isn’t all.
I’m doing every single **** thing right
And its you who does me wrong.
And when soft bodies collide, to me
Its all too bittersweet to think
That perhaps you’re playing me like a pawn…
Or perhaps like one of your lovely piano songs.
Am I carrying a dead man’s weight?
Is it deep water I’m drowning under?
I gasp for air, you’re my breath of life
But only when you’re around.
So is it better to die from a murky bedmate
Or should I send you off, before it’s too late?

I’m not happy
They told me this would happen
But I never listened
I ran out my flume
Do I still have my blooms
Every word you throw
Is just another thorn
In my ****** crown
I can still hold up myself
I’m my own puppet master
With daggers under my skin
When did this begin
When will it end
We ran at high speed

Either you give me a reason to stay
or I’ll use my reasons to leave
always reckless with my heart
oh with all these knives you play
they leave stains on my back and sleeve
I know I can be rash and dramatic
dearest I’m the best of a lady
light within, but darkness abounds
I’ve seen too many things not to be
I’m sad all of the time you’re around.

I have recently discovered how immortal Heaven is,
For even rocks on this Earth will have their end.
To spend an eternity in the empyrean seems a gift,
But it is a strange thing which to commit.
When I think of you, sleeping silent in your bed,
And I remember to pity the living, not the dead,
I love you more for knowing this too shall end,
For familiarity is a comfort granted and lent.
The most beautiful thing in this mortal world
Is the contrast of a death peaceful and a life fulfilled.
Every single thing has to conclude for one to move on,
And that is the pulchritude of this and all eons.
While Kings and plebeians alike are all laid to rest
In gilt catacombs, graves, or old moldy chests,
Just as spring’s pure youth bends to autumn’s aging,
Ein, zwei, drei, und wieder beginnen.

we are human
we are fatally flawed
so come to terms with death
and make peace with god

Remember when we were crying children
And our parents kissed us where it hurt?
But where do you kiss when your soul aches
With all your darkness trying to burst?
You pray and pray to holy God
Trying to push spiritual splinters out
Then feel better for a good while
But always worrying for the next bout.

How nice it must be to have a God
Who is constantly understanding.
Because too often I feel abandoned,
Unsure if on land I am standing.

a Catholic priest told me to write
he said it was all in my head.
so I was given half a Xanex
and I drifted off in bed.
religion tells me I’m being haunted,
science swears it’s brain chemistry,
so I take my pills with holy water
to combat both, differently.
this is madness
THIS- is sadness
dreading the daybreak
dreading in the night when I wake.
a Catholic priest asked if I loved myself
with watery eyes I said no.
and I’m told to forget my past
but it’s hard when you know what I know.
my mind hurts constantly
it never has been quiet.
I’m told it will get better
but I’m not sure I buy it...
because it’s hard to tell
when you’re going through Hell
that Heaven persists
on the horizon where it exists.

There is goodness here, in the light of autumn,
But the denizens come to play at night.
Please keep watch over my tender soul,
For I’m guarding it with all my might.
People can seem a little too naïve,
For the world is not made of flowers.
Starting out is easy, but staying on is hard,
With only a promise of Heavenly towers.

we were the lost generation
creeping around in abandoned houses
playing with ouija boards
talking to spirits
hoping to anger our gods enough
that they’d let us know they were real
and not just part of an overactive imagination
which we’ve always hoped was the truth
because an afterlife is scary
and so is having a god
but the alternative is worse
not having one at all
because who can you cry to then
when you’re alone and too
depressed
to go on any longer
without some holy sovereign hope
that it will get better it will

I’m surrounded by breaking crosses
And it seems I’ve formed a habit
When I fall in love with someone
They take my faith and smash it.
First there was the golden boy
And then a black rosary,
Third was when all the saints fell
And a blue cross vanished, finally.
All these lonely hearts out there,
Seeking their holy redemption
Are easily swayed from their gods
By lovers’ recognition.
But I have faith
And I have faith
But oh but oh in what?
In God, I’m sure- that’s a must.
But the sacred problem remains-
Lovers cover gods as a crutch.

I'm trying to see through this charade,
Get down to the bare marrow.
But darling, this is a swan song,
I can feel it in my bones.
Cigarette ash and cheap old wine,
Mend the tears in my skin.
But every time I think too hard,
It's like pouring salt on the wounds.
Girls like me, we don't break easily,
But when we do, it's like falling into the abyss.

I look like an angel,
But scratch like a demon.
It'll never be fair,
And we'll never break even.

I heard music that reminded me of us

And it made me want to run to your arms

Of course I’m not sure how long you’ll be open

But you make me want to be safe from harm.

Just be my dearest friend when daylight dies

And I promise I’ll do the same for you

When all the lights go down in the hills

By your side, I feel safe and new.

Just so you always know

I’m sorry when I’m my selfish self

All I ever have wanted

Was just to not wake up by myself.

So pingpong across the abyss with me

And quote Tolstoy as we lie side by side

Speak like Ginsberg and Rilke would

And I’m comforted that I don’t have to hide.

You stand apart as a human being

Even though you’re not sure you have a soul

But the fact that you cry at bittersweet movies

Solidifies my faith in old Hebrew scrolls.

Sometimes I’m honestly and truly afraid

That you won’t be the one for me

Because you’re the only one I want

But I know that we both long to be free.

It can feel like I’m in love with a strict machine

But the look in your eyes when you play piano

Or have just read a letter I gave to you

Assures me I’m so far from right in this matter.

The smell of you when you’re tired and warm

Or your kind face when you look my way

Scares me so because I love you so much

That it breaks my heart to think of you going away.

Your skin with it’s many scars is so rawly beautiful

I love tracing the freckles on your shoulders and back

Connecting them to the lines you yourself have drawn

Making living constellations and maps.

I hope that when I’m five hundred miles away

You’ll look straight up at Arcturus and Scorpio

Because nothing would make this sweeter

Than you knowing that I’m gazing at the heavens too.

Do you know I fall more in love each time we speak

For you’re a wonderful man with a beautiful mind

I can just hope and trust and pray

That I can be with you for a lasting time.

someday I’ll wake up in a bed that isn’t in my mother’s house

or in your mother’s either

someday I’ll want to read the newsprint and know for sure

but not right now in this horrid time

someday I’ll finish that copy of War and Peace

but 1200 pages are too long to care

is this an analogy of my love for you?

when I woke up this morning we were white

snow-covered and naked, ivory

carved as statues but warm, a breeze

chest cavity imprinted by a golden cross

IC XC engraved on forearms

we had red flowers embroidered into our skin

dark hair providing the contrast our souls need

no lust here, just eyes crusted by sand

softly moving over each other like pythons

it’s ten thirty and I make my black coffee

the steam entwines with cigarette smoke

eyes glazed, reading a book on sin and redemption

someday I’ll make it to church on time.

they say

that “crazy”

although just a name

though it causes pain

can go away.

your infinite mind loops

are just a mirror

see?

the circular choices you make in your life.

they say that insanity

is doing the same old things

the same old games

over and

over and

over

and expecting different results.

we need to talk.

taking candy from spiritual strangers,

whose only wish is to

connive you into understanding—

that you are mortal and thus can fail,

at anything and everything you set your mind to

by using distractions of your flesh—

how it feels to be touched

echad echad

you call the names but they barely

mean anything by now

these eyes

once so pearly oceans are now

shut-off hell’s gates that call you forth,

asking you to lay down your soul for

something so fleeting as

succubus sugar lips

and you finally understand

echad echad

it calls to you as you try to walk away,

to try to better your bleeding,

your razor-sharp dreams—

so diamond clear that you cut yourself

reaching through the void

to feel it, to feel something

becoming possessed by the idea of possessing—

something—

a spirit a person a hand a light at the end of the

tunnel that you’ve been limping

and dragging yourself towards for so long

that you barely remember what it feels like

to be free

to be joyful to be happy and you wish,

you hope,

that some sovereign crown some prize

is waiting for you when you emerge from your filth

into new white clothes,

a conformation in snow,

leaving behind the Harry Potter scars the demons

the hatred you’ve spent years hoeing and raking and sowing away at—

digging your soul out from under the ivy that’s been

creeping numbing,

you look into his windows open up his chest cavity

to find the flailing flawed organs

beating madly away

I love you I love you

echad echad

but it’s too much to rip sutures out now

the skin has grown over—

the molecules trying with all their dark matter might

to heal their physics their chemistry,

the great scientists had no notion

of the neutrons and protons of the spirit

the Holy Spirit of all the ages,

combine, puzzle pieces that confuse and puzzle

your very matter and mass of existence

why do you love how do you love,

what is this

echad echad

friends who wish to become guardian angels

when they fall through the void,

but who find themselves already there—

living skeletons living shrouds—

I want to help but step back stand back

let the bomb implode without absorbing the fallout,

and sometimes I fear I’m becoming a fallen angel too,

the youth and light splintering through

the windows of the houses that sometimes I swear I see

specters spiraling through—

so I constantly exorcise the notion of darkness from

within the very abyss of my cranial lobes

without lobotomizing myself from the pain

of two thousand years of history

cry for the Biblical hysteria

can you hear it—

nearby the horizon you should hear the hero

dragging crucifixes as chains

and sin, sweet sour sin,

is the taste in my mouth every morning,

no matter how many times I swish the mouthwash—

I’m constantly reminded of the fact that I am human

and thus cannot attain angelic security in my beliefs—

bless me again for I will fall

I will feel

this anxiety until the second

Saint Peter ushers my soul into eternity—

I can hear my track record echoing now—

ringing a hollow sound—

every time I convince myself of one more vain day

one more lustful night,

every time I see your eyes,

wide as Horus’s,

but inside I see Cerberus snarling against his choke collar,

so I continue calling out

over my shoulder as I flee

echad echad

for at the center of this infinity fold lies love,

for this is a metaphor,

for monsters of Hades dirtying the waters of our minds,

having us believe that lust equals love

as E equals MC squared,

but it’s not exact except for exaltation

so it echoes the old adage

echad echad

pink ribbon scars

he tastes like you but sweeter—

anthems of our childhood that want us to feel

like we’re not alone but what is there really—

to help—

and why isn’t every drop from Heaven holy water,

so that every time the rains come our past lives wash away

and we are born anew—

Dios Mio! Mein Gott!

crying S.O.S. S.O.S.—

what would Saint Augustine say in our present state,

ICXC drawing the sign in glittering gold to

protect to bless to save

our simian style souls,

and Twain asked who prayed for the devil

the precursor to the apple-fall,

Newton style,

and it is God,

God prays for the most fallen of all,

so why do I find in my heart that it is so hard

to forgive those who have done so little

in comparison—

sing the baptismal rite,

sing ICXC,

letting our sins be scrubbed through cross-like metaphors,

but what truly is my cross to bear—

to always fall into a love so poisonous

as Eve’s apple as Snow White’s apple—

I’ve drifted I know

but I sift through the sieve of my body,

searching through the oats and grain to find the seeds

that fell on ground not hallowed,

to recultivate them to grow—

Lord knows my rut my routine

is as bad as the next heathen’s,

my dress hangs on my frame,

a skeleton queen

trying to gorge my heart out on a love not pure

a life not fulfilled,

help me I pray—

this is my cry—

my anxious mind feeds off of trying to decode

the taps on the glass of eternity,

trying to reach through impenetrable planets to ask—

what is this love I want it so bad

echad echad

I’m a baker’s making of nature and nurture,

trying to unearth from the dregs of the soul

the meaning the feeling

of why of what of how

but finally finding that no matter how maddeningly

brilliant,

how beautiful and ******,

we cannot know the mind of God—

we are not titans,

we are not the same stuff of myths of legends of angels,

and I cry, I cry, I beg and cry,

my beggar’s prayer is to know

when I have been given such grace,

why am I still greedy for more—

for I read to you from a play,

I read to you from poetry that you claim is not about you

but it is,

for only you have the dichotomy of fast knives

and feather kindness that I could express

so eloquently,

but you don’t understand you will never understand

the marrow of my faith in a God that you believe you are as strong as,

even as I plead you to stop playing with this soul

you have been so graciously given,

because you are dazzled by other

seemingly stronger things in this life,

your eyes becoming clouded by this idea that you are immortal

even as your heart palpitates a warning to slow—

to slow it down—

I’ve seen so many brought down by these myths of power

and magic, candles burning brightly

now snuffed and made silent by spirits you know naught of,

and I cannot stress the simple thing that strength

is more than pride and Samson-ian body girth,

but you battle away these tried truths in

the face of temptations,

giving up and throwing down the sword that was handed

to you to fight to persevere

and I see—

I see I see I see—

the demons that you fight are titans in your shadow,

even in mine, they are tall,

and I have to let you go because it is slowly becoming too much

too hard to handle the reins of this bucking rearing thing

that was once love,

because no matter how much of my sloppy dripping heart

I throw in your face

you will never understand the depths the dark recesses

of why, of how,

I came to be in

echad echad.