Seldom do I go
Around
Putting words
In order
The way they
Should be

So tell me why
I live by those
Shoulds in
Real life

When words I just
Let them fall
Not giving a
****

Of the order
And then I realize
How *******
Beautiful
They sound
And how it came
Through so *******
Clear

But life
Ha life

I try to control
And do what
The voices
That embedded
From birth
Tell me

Then wonder
Why nothing
I really want
To do ever
Gets done

And why
My face looks
So ******* sad
All the time

Instead of
How I feel
When I read
The words
That I CREATE
Not them
But I

Makes more sense
Now that I'm writing

I am
NOT living
For I

I'm living
For a them

I DONT WANT THAT!!!!!?

On new year eve when the sun on the west hung low
And the east wind on dead leaves blow
I paced to the yellow woods
And sat on my favourite wood
Where not long after I fell into a trance
Not of any divine trace
But a dream from my person
And I saw a vision backwards:
365 days ago, not long ago
I was on the same spot
For the familiar new year ritual
That of writing my aspirations
My fickle fingers wrote my dreams on the hard earth
On the passing sands of time
But no traces of them was left
Perchance carried by the furious wind
To the store house of wasted words
I continued in the vision backwards
When I heard a voice from me saying
" Don't write your dreams on sand
Write them on your heart "
I woke from my short trance
When the crimson moon was awake above
And the night owl hooting echoed through the woods
Left the woods without performing my ritual
Because i heard a vision backwards
" Don't write your dreams on sand
Write them on your heart."

Nicotine*

I write this under a reading light,
my hand a shadow,
moving along the page.
I write this because you
told me I could share,
and because I've never really
shared the words that make
my hands tingle.

I write this because
you are my Toluene -
you stir my mind matter
in ways no one else does.
You make me panic,
then relieved, then okay,
then glad to be yours,
and then...

You turn into my nicotine;
The coldness of my body
not pressed against yours
seeps through my skin,
and the withdrawal symptoms begin.

Ammonia*

Burnt pieces of my heart
with your spit on them,
burnt pieces I want to send away
and never see again...
They are just unwanted souvenirs
from lies I don't want to hear again,
presents I don't want to receive again.

Seething for what
seemed like an eternity,
I am finally unleashing all
the pent up fire;
your time for my mercy
and forgiveness has
expired.

I am slowly coming to terms
with the damage you have caused;
I was a city and then
you ravaged me...
covered me in bruises,
tattoos, smoke and graffiti.

Suffocating me,
you smell of cunning endeavors,
childish behaviors;
a touch of you is
toxic enough to make me
wish I didn't breathe.
My lips might say otherwise,
my mind might even say otherwise,
but my ammonia-soaked bones
will never forgive you.