He turned around and looked at me
And his vision made me sick
So I ****** his eyes out of his skull
And skewered them on a stick

Roasted on an open flame
Turning evenly to toast
Hoping as his pupils pass
It's me he sees the most

Tongue chewed from within his face
No screams of discontent
He tried to say, "you're beautiful"
But lies on the tongue ferment

His rancid meat is useless
So I feed it to the worms
Now, wasted words are gasps for air
And no longer my concern

He tried to write, "I'm sorry"
With fingers drenched in blood
So I chopped them into pieces
And spread them through the neighborhood

So as I whispered in his ear
Of all his evil ways
I saw that bitter molten tube
Grow solid as it swayed

So I ground it into sausage
While it was still attached
And wondered, quite in passing,
Why unto me he chose to latch

So here we are me and my feast
And him bleeding on the ground
As buzzards rend the flesh from bone
With me laughing at the sound

the feel of fingertips on the skin
the rush of blood surprises
a spark that sets the soul ablaze
the ticking clock stops turning
eruptively raging fires keep burning
forging a path in dewy maze
the melded body realizes
consumption is from within

If you willingly forgo the possibilities of nights
why, feel sad and lament for not having dreams?
find a life of fun easily without any dream-
there are millions around never dared to dream!
don't make guilt demand, a disproportionate price from you,
The city night, regales us  in the flood of artificial lights,
eradicating  the distracting dreams  once and for all,
all through night digital advertisements
blink and die continuously till the morning light appears.
when a  day dies out, on earlier times, a night would begin,
now at the end of the day, night too  dies , in the flood of lights.
why make futile dreams, that wouldn't deliver anything,
make your dreams fishes in show ponds that swims at night.
On the dry ears of sleepless in cities,
music from radio  demands attention,
still solidified sleep, with the wings of darkness
sit on the night trees,
no sleep, no dreams, no secrets, what a happiness!!

the speakers of the personal computers of girls
celebrated, sleeplessness with fanfare
then boys and girls danced out of some instinct.
Night stood sad at the corners of sky...

He says that
I make her smile like he's never seen
I told him that
I can't let her or myself get too attached to this budding friendship
Because, eventually,
*Everybody leaves

I used to write you everyday. You begged me to. So even when I had nothing to say, I'd write you to tell you I did nothing that day. That was enough for you. It was enough for us. We fell even more in love through words, and I wonder if that is why I still wake up with you fresh on my mind some days. I don't dream of you like I used to. Lately I dream of your friendship. Valuable to me as our relationship was, comfortable in your presence just as I was.
I truly fell in love with poetry around the same time I fell in love with you.

there could be a worm in my head
gnawing away,
like mice do through cords, and then one day
you realize
oh! the toaster doesn't work anymore!;
my mercy doesn't work anymore!
and my patience went dry like acrylic paint does
when you brush it on the canvas, and want so badly
to blend it
but it can't blend
because it's dried already, so
you should probably try oil paint or something -
I'm losing my mind
picking all the weeds out,
standing tall with peaceful pride and then realizing,
they were beautiful flowers;
I uprooted them and then chucked them in a naughty pile

I'm awful! loud in my head
stop being awful! I'm hurting people
again
and
again
and
again

find a better gardener, please never
ever
ever
ask me to tend to your soil
or your fruit
or your flowers
or anything that has to do with
nurturing
your growth
or heart health
or emotional stability
- I pull roots
like a robot; I don't even look at what I'm pulling
until after
it's been pulled out.