derelict I stand in shadow
far, so far away from home
how did I become so empty
hollow shell of rusted chrome

tumbling down, face of a clown
how could you dream that you wear a crown
you're just a mark, an ember, a spark
soon enough you'll burn out and go dark
don't shield your eyes, the lights are all lies
they're only another thing to despise
so lay yourself down, and slowly you'll drown
just keep up your dreaming of wearing a crown

now exposed to you
no secrets left to explore

will you still love me?

less vibrant with age
no longer best or strongest

dust caking trophies
and none new to replace them

voice soft and cracking
losing its former vigor

will you still love me?

inside your pale eyes
is only my silhouette

you see nothing else

Everything is ghastly when the sun goes away.
Not away for the night, completely taking flight
withholding its brightness, no amount of
politeness able to woo it back from the dead.

It doesn’t just leave, some people fear
being burned enough to shun its rays and
keep to tunnels and caves that would seem
safer save for the isolation they discover
too late. tunnels are hard to shake off

It’s not hard to chase dying candles when you
realize you’re missing the sun. addiction
It’s not hard to stop caring enough even if the light
you were running towards is real. depression
It’s not hard to lose hope because you may not live
long enough to make it back outside. cancer
It’s not hard to relive the past and accidentally push
others away when you need them most. ptsd
It’s not hard to forget that your mind can always move
even if your legs can’t carry you anywhere. ms
It’s not hard to be out of energy before you’re
able to make it all the way out. insomnia
It’s not hard to run away from people forever because
someone betrayed your deepest trust. fear

It’s hard to keep reaching until they finally take your hand.
It’s harder to keep holding after they let go.

Don’t stop searching the darker roads.
*We don’t want to wander alone.

waking wildly while wily winds whip weeping willows

saturate my soul

flood me with your salty tears

fill me with your spite

We are God, Maybe not God as in almighty
but God as in we can hold everyone tightly
spreading respect and compassion both daily and
nightly finding wanderers who sadly have all
chosen darker roads but didn't want to be alone.

It’s just difficult to process all this
power we possess inside so some of
us can’t help but turn away from open
arms and hearts ablaze with right intentions.

We always need to be pulled more than we’ll ever admit.
We always need to pull harder than we ever will.

What if that were to change?
What if on Sunday mornings we didn't pray,
instead we said each other’s names?
What of pain is just the love we keep?
Happiness is letting it flow.

In the middle of the wood there are five dead
vowels, forged by greedy linguists from the
first line that they perceived as sound.

The first was bent until ends uniformly faced the
heavens, and it was balanced on it's rounded
arch, catching acorns away from hungry squirrels.

The second was bent and bent 'til ends met so
there was not a space around, and it was elevated
unawares by tendrils of vine that it banded together.

The third was taken further, no spaces were left,
and a tail was formed to hold its tattered shape
above the filthy floor of rotting leaves and mud.

The fourth was twisted further still, until it was
a surgical needle, threading sentences through
its eye and pulling them with sharpened leg,
helping spiders web their branches at night.

The fifth was spared from bending and twisting,
for it was pulled end from end, until one finally
broke free, and they didn't see the need to paste
it back together, discarded with the dying twigs.

She has the look of the angel.
She has the voice of the fallen.
He has the hope of the child.
He hears the words and crumbles.

Full evergreens, branches heavy with snow,
hold the line between forest and field.
A wall of faceless wardens holding fast,
heedless of the cold and ice, fixated.
Ground untouched and peaceful,
only housing shadows cast by brave trees.
No tracks, no twigs or animals, perfection.
Amongst the trees too, no stirring.
Only still silence, only the field and wall
and thick forest packed with ice and snow,
waiting, as if holding in a breath.
Straining, attempting to shout warning
to the village, Montigny-le-Roi.
But frozen in a moment, captured in time,
just seconds before what emerges with a malice
that the wardens could not dream of holding back.
The Volksgrenadiers defile the wall and still field.
Heavy boots and rifles lay waste to its undisturbed surface,
and continue without recognition of the tranquility
of that moment captured in time.

roses blooming wide

smelling sweet in the thick air

sweeter still are you

why can't I ever wake from this
I thought that dreams were full of bliss
but here I lay in the freezing rain
every inch of my body cries out in pain
when will these nightmares finally cease
my mind is imploding piece after piece
if i dont wake soon I'll have nothing left
but only for me this distruction is cleft
and as the morning sun slowly wakes
the last of my sanity finally breaks
and the sunlight confirms my deepest fears
that fill my eyes with bitter tears
and the blistering truth that the sun did reveal
i was never asleep, it was all very real...

lies my still beating heart
in a box in the drawer of a desk.

Over here
lies her still beating heart
in a jar on the closet shelf.

We'll have them forever
'cause cause no one is better
or able to be more secure.

We'll have them forever
'cause every letter we write
makes the butterflies
dance round inside.

We'll have them forever
'cause love like this doesn't
revisit or wait, you just
grab on and hold.

We'll have them forever
'cause....


No take-backs.

Time trudges slowly
slowly
Time lingers
stays close
hangs about like
smoke
smothering
choking
killing as you sit
it's hard to breathe on all the
Time
i guess i'll wait
and suffocate
on all the smokey
Time...

taming the wild seas

raging waves and winds and storms

now calm in my hand

In the night when the full
moon lights your bed clearly,
you call to me. Your eyes
guide me close to your warmth.
I smell your need matching my own.
I taste your pulse as it quickens,
drawing me deeper. Deeper
into your soul and your body.
We demand pleasure as primal
embrace fulfills, convulsing tight,
uncontrolled. Our desires are sated
                 as I take you.

daisies and mums

brightly entrancing me

colors of love

watching them fly by

thoughts and dreams of following

yank at your thick chains

Autumn leaves exposed nerves,
not ready for winter.

Toes gasp through clay,
never long enough yet
flayed arms extend.

Fingers fall from reach,
sapwoods freeze like blood
beneath blizzard winds.

Spring is too late.

i'm stuffed

wrap it up

check please!

now exposed to you

no secrets left to explore

will you still love me?

In the night when
the full moon lights
your bed clearly,
you call to me.
Your eyes guide me
close to your ***.
I smell your need
matching my own.
I taste your pulse
as it quickens,
drawing me in
deeper. Deeper
into your soul
and your body.
Convulsing, tight
and uncontrolled.
Primal embrace
fulfills as we
demand pleasure.
Desires sated,
as I take you.

Is it surprising that I should walk through the valley where shadow and death and life and light can no longer touch me? Do you think I have any soul left? Any you did not take when ripping the anchors clean? I hope they didn’t slow you down. The pieces I  mean, when tearing away. At least I froze the pain away, on your icy trail. Take me for granted and toss me aside. One more time, just once. Even if I’ll die in the end. Used is better than alone. This time the journey is of no consequence. Only the end. Oblivion. I wish your cup to be full, overflowing with joy, so there’s something to turn to ash in your mouth beside those ******* words you’d say to me. Those ******* words I’ll never forget. Fear comes no longer from self preservation, but the lack thereof. Myself couldn’t keep afloat in a kiddie pool. Drowning in inches, like the insects all over me. What good is existence with no means to live? My means left, preceding your footsteps, echoing away, rattling in the chamber where my faith used to be.

Every noon we sit for food,
sit in chairs cold as tombstones
even after waiting in the sun.
On cloudy days they are ice
and we wonder why the wood
and iron have so much hate.

I believed only men could hate,
and pondered while having my food.
We only bring bowls made of wood
as they don’t mark the tombstones,
but like the chairs they are ice,
unaffected by the sun.

My thoughts fixate on the sun
and how light does not wash hate
but should be melting the ice
while we prepare our midday food.
Still cold are the pieces of wood
we use, and the dark tombstones.

Now I know that the wood
is simply blocked from the sun,
and the heavy tombstones
siphon off of our hate
to use as bitter food
to help them maintain the ice.

I came to realize the ice
is not only in the wood
but covering our food,
defying the warmth of the sun.
We realize that our hate
is why there are tombstones.

All the hard etched tombstones
are now three feet beneath ice
next to us, and our hate
in the iron and wood.
We pray for brighter sun
and some stronger food.

But heavy food won’t delay our tombstones.
Nor the brightest sun melt our ice
stuck in wood boxes, strengthened with hate.

RH I should've listened to you more
JH I should've showed you more respect
AH I should've been kind instead of firing back
CH I should've reached out while you were still around
JW I should've been less competitive and more honest
EM I should've listened more than I lectured
MC I should've taken the chance
EW I should’ve been more open with you
ED I should’ve held on tighter
AW I should’ve given you more credit
EL I should've talked to you more
EG I should've tried harder
SW I should've been a better mentor
MG I’ll take care of you as much as you take care of me
RK I’ll motivate you more
AK I’ll be a more firm guide
JC I’ll try to love you anyway
TU I’ll tell you more how amazing you are
GB I’ll let you know how much I respect you
TC I won’t stop striving
AS I won’t let go

please just tell me once again
whisper softly in my ear
fill my head with pretty lies
so i forget my death draws near

It’s not that I mind being gutted, I just hate the feeling of emptiness, like an already looted treasure chest that no one seems to want at the bottom of the ocean where no one seems to have been, or care about. Who cares about sunken ships when you can swim with the dolphins and watch the sharks and birds fly by like the planes from your dreams that you’ll never forget for fear of losing yourself in the ever expansive passage of time that only ever stops for one minute at midnight when the reaper collects his toll from the old and the sick and the unfortunately unlucky who were only walking home and didn’t even know they were dealing with anything and everything in the world that spins and spins and never stops until everyone pukes and starts to curse the constant revolving of shutting doors and opportunities forever missed and drowning in the petty souls that feel too much like home.

Now and then I like to look in the mirror and pretend there's no reflection.
Pretend that there is no possibility for the sickly skin
and natural scowl that haunts that slab of float glass and aluminum daily.

Now and then I like to stand in front of the mirror and close my eyes.
That way I can ignore what is dulling the bright surface
and synthesize a shining sword and crown that doesn't hang so stale.

Now and then I like to draw on my mirror until no space is left but eye holes.
Then I can graze the clouds with broad wings and be
disillusioned as to how my soles have become glued to this tile mausoleum.

But most of the time I just turn out the lights.

tear down your walls, and let the undertow
carry you far away from the shore
a thousand miles from life
take your flag and raise it high, high enough
for the world to see, for the world to know
that you are the one, the one who took the plunge
the one who dove away from the rest
the one who knows where his home truly is

The mind is a rebel,
but also a tyrrant.
Take yourself down,
or be enslaved.

alienate me
make me a stranger
to guiltlessly hate me
when i turn away

I would sooner stand forsaking the sun,
than for a moment lose your purest light.
To be near to you, the things I have done.
For your presence nothing I would not fight.
I have held the cross high in foreign lands,
smiting the evil, young and old alike.
Delivering man from the devil's hands,
rending nonbelievers with holy strike.
Each night before I lay my head to sleep,
I kneel and look to you for guiding voice.
Though I hear no words, your fight I will keep,
the pope has made heaven an easy choice.
But suddenly heat replaces all grace.
I do not understand why hell I face.

hanging gardens

roots cling to my heart

hanging for you

broken windows framed with faded green trim
un-invite passers by with the darkness
they seem to project through the curtains grim
and wriggling slightly against the sharpness
of the glass left standing in the open
mouths of walls that seem to no longer have
reason to stand now that the Smith children
grew and moved and lived and died all while half
the rooms in the house collected dust and
sat waiting for the rest to abandon
the tile floors and wood cabinets and grand
piano and frames on the now barren
walls streaked with dirt instead of times gone by
just waiting to be torn down by and by

Stained glass snakes turn thoughts into ghouls
while sanity blows the barrel to ****** ******.
Glistening molt forms a lead-lined home
through fissures where brain and bone used to be.
Slithering kaleidoscopes mar face and eyes
but anguish seems friendly in multicolor.

Becoming mad doesn't mean I now have nothing to say.

At my first attempt to speak it strikes. I taste copper and the sting of candied fangs injecting crystallized honey, I can only bite back. It shatters behind its shining eyes and long body falls away while I chew the head, paying no mind to gashes in cheeks and blood filling stomach. I feel my tongue begin to melt and drip down my throat, mixing with blood glass and bile. Death appears to me, stepping out of a pink clown car winding up to throw an unlit birthday cake, I'm not ready, I have so much more to try to say.

I remember I have hands. I remember.

I push my fingertips in below the ribs and open my stomach to shovel the contents out onto the ground. As I do the soil turns black and grass grows into twisted thorn bushes around my body and into my wounds posing me as a grotesque homage to the sadistic. Death sets aside the cake to watch with a smirk but it isn't long before Elvis tapes a "kick me" sign to his back and finally drops dead and sinks into the ground and I feel the thorns grow thicker and longer piercing into and out of my flesh burning and spewing red smoke replacing the air making breath heavy and unforgiving I reach through and pull out my lungs to spare myself but Death is distracted he won't let me leave God missing Teresa in chains Stalin playing Pat-a-Cake with Shirley Temple on fields of infant bones and burnt bacon I try to twist my eyes out next but the snakes hold them fast so I watch

through horrific shades the earth fold in on itself.



*Yes, I remember.

Be known for always holding a torch,
‘cause inspiration shouldn't be underrated.
Don’t let good thoughts remain good thoughts,
work up the courage to make them good deeds.

I saw a man whose face I should have known.
He was with men and women I recognize
from the sections in my head where I
put them to rot.
can I be more forgiving than the world?
I don’t despise anyone. I just don’t let them in.
I assume because they’re heading in a different direction,
or no discernible direction, they won’t be worth the time.

I never consider that my path could be the different one.
I’ve always just assumed and put the others in their sections.
Send the wanderers away for another to deal with.
Separate the wanderers so there’s no mistake.
They’re away from me. They’re not the same as me.
I don’t have to deal with them.
When the realization sets in attitudes can change.
realization that everyone we meet is wandering through their
fishbowl castles and burning corn mazes,
right next to yours.

it’s time to put separatism aside

We all have our different sections,
our strictly separated sections.
We all seem to be different,
we all need to be different.
or so we think

Look closely enough and
the world is just a giant cracked mirror.
Look closely enough and
we’re just finding ourselves.

I cast out the line, a frog this time
One hook is risky, but that's all it has underneath
Reeling in, turn by turn
Make the rubber legs dance like flesh, in case they know the difference
One, two, three, four, five, six, splash, pull
Almost lose it, hold on tight
Reel, slack, reel, slack, don't break the line
He's heavy
Tire him out
He's heavy
Get him in, pull the line, into the net we go
Black, green, white, wide eyes, large mouth, spines triumphant
Even in defeat
Stomach grumbles, thanks for dinner but...
Beauty
Brawn
Flaunting your will to live against my hands
Remove hook, throw back
Hungry
Proud

I never thought you'd be the one to see me clearly in that light.
Now you know the cracks, crevices.
Imperfections.
Ugly.
****...
You know...
It's not so bad!
I promise you'll barely notice!
In the darkness you'll no longer see my nightmarish silhouette.
Unless you can't forget, like them.
You can't unsee.
Go then.
Leave.
Forget.
Not the image.
Just the voice you came to long for.
And the touch you now so callously drive away back to shadow.

Spring's first dew is doo-doo next to the dew that you do when I do you.

the chilling arbitrarities
of steps and thoughts and fallacies
the colors of the changing leaves
are tired warning signs

when each and every passing dawn
rips through me like a lover's yawn
I lay alone the curtains drawn
with consolation bled and gone
I can't escape the lie
*I'll miss you when you die

when i was young
i was told that there would come a day
when i would understand

when i would understand
what it meant to love someone more dearly than myself
what it meant to love

i thought i knew
because i saw a few movies and i had my family
i thought i knew everything

but i was a child
and as i grew i learned that i knew few things
other than being a child

it wasn't 'til i saw her
that i started to understand what they had told me
that i started to understand

gradual glances and smiles
conversations about nothing for no reason from nowhere
seeing through eyes not to them

touching hands
touching hands and being happy with existence
taking solace in each others arms

joining lips and thoughts
joining smiles and knowing that the world is imperfect
knowing that we are perfect

you're just a child
but there will come a day when you understand
what it means to love

Take sickly scheme and rusted rhyme,
and put them back in their own time.
Archaic systems all lose sight,
we don't need structure when we write!

****...

I never wanted to be your broken heart
I never wanted to be the sound of the door
closing behind you

I thought we were forever
but somehow the devil knows me better
than the back of your hand knows my back pocket stitching
than my fingernails know where your back is itching
than your lips know how wide they can smile just for me

can't you see the way we should have been

whats's the point of being the tallest giant
if you'll still never touch the sky?

It is five in the morning.
I’m still awake because
fools have dreams and
I have reality.

There are mice in the attic.
I let them stay because
they’ll keep warm and
I’ll never be alone.

There were holes in my shoes.
I fixed them because
I’ll take faster steps and
the earth is too much to feel.

I saw you lying in the sand
I came you and took your hand
I thought that this was oh so grand
until you whisper your demand
and how on earth could i refuse
my mind amiss and yours to use
just how could you not abuse
the power I was sure to lose

out
and
about
nothing
nothing
nothing here
nothing there
outside my home is
nothing
nothing
go home
home
inside my home is
nothing
nothing
nothing here
nothing there
all round myself is
nothing

Conditions are perfect for a mid-morning
flurry, but the clouds wait. Words should
be falling two feet deep, but florid we wait
in the frigid air for the sky to fall on the
page and sort itself out into something
coherent. Sometimes writing isn’t as simple
as waiting for snow to fall. We have to dig,
poke, and ****. Pick out a word, then another,
and pray the next comes along quietly instead
of kicking and screaming all the way to the
car, not wanting to take the long trip to prose.

now exposed to you

no secrets left to explore

will you still love me?

vibrato fading

tired face looking back to yours

will you still love me?

fine colors dimming

simple blacks and grays remain

will you still love me?

plain as man can be

outside of scattered triumphs

will you still love me?

inside your pale eyes

is only my silhouette

you see nothing else