Show me pretty eyes,
and I will show you deception

"Write what you know."

I want to write about
beautiful things,
but I only know
ugly.
Ugly hearts and stone blood.

Fetid loyalty.

I want to write about a love as pure as honey,
but all I know are the poison-tipped thorns of betrayal.

If I could put the right words
in the right order
at the right time
and explain what it means to lose you,
nobody would care.

I'd like to write about
my happy family,
laugh filled birthdays
and joyous gatherings,
but I only know
fractious,
secretive,
*******.

I want to touch another soul
make a connection with my words
share a part of my self
and help someone in the process,
but all I have been taught is
taking
keeping
lying
hiding
running
ruining.

I would love to write
like Pablo,
of wheat
and bread
and fields that don't weep,

but all I know are
desperate fumblings
in ******,
beer soaked bathrooms,
back alley
drunken
*******
by black
barely passable trannys,
diseases and
barely consensual bloodstains.

I cannot speak of such things.
It's bad enough I think about them,
even worse I write about them.

I write what I know.

I must write a poem
symphony of synonyms
hurricane of hyperboles
mobocracy of metaphors

floodgates in my fingers
obstruct my insanity.
No monsoon of carefully selected
adjectives, nouns, verbs
storming blank parchment
running ink stores dry.

Instead I simply gawk
at the word-worthy world.
Write poems on the seams of my skin
and under my eyelids.

Engrave the secrets of my crux
in the stem of my brain.

Cut out my own tongue.
Useless in formation of my phrases,
they are inconceivable
to modern man.

You'll never see my madness untill you examine my insides
cut me open, unravel the mystery in my cold blood,
Find me dead and read my lips.
they will be stuck in a
morbid *smile

I looked at the address on my hand
and thought of how uncomfortable tomorrow would be
as I cupped water from the ***** sink
and splashed it onto my face

It must be depressing to live a life without any perspective
How lonely it would be to think you are the only one
I get this sickening feeling in the pits of my stomach
whenever I think of what it must be like to be you

I am trying to pass for normal on fake laughter
And half glances in your direction
We all look like sickly children who starve for attention
And I'm starting to remember all those things I never did

Fading in and out while stereos blast and people start to shout
There is thin ice beneath our feet
Nervous laughs start to rise from us
and we feel this epitome of what young is

There is this stupid smile on your face
And we are reconnecting the patterns of our lives
With a glassy look in our eyes
I am too far gone

Tell me how many lifetimes I've lost thinking about tomorrow.