You run back to a dark rose,
Adorned with brown thorns and glossy petals,
Your coarse hands try to pick the delicate flower,
Only to watch blood flow from your fingertips,

Letting her ***** and permanently scar your skin,
The damage leaves more than just an imprint on your body,
It allows your soul to become numb,
To the world and all the other beautiful flowers,

Especially the sunflower,
Blossoming right behind you,
Warm and bright,
Radiating happiness from its golden-stained petals,

Yet drooping, from the shadow your back casts,
Wilting a little more when you reach for the dark rose over and over again,
That sunflower perks up when you look at her,
Especially, when you touch it softly,

Even if you leave it tainted,
With traces of red droplets,
From running your scratched, bleeding and marked fingers,
Upon its smooth frail petals,

That sunflower waits patiently,
Never scorning nor, lashing,
Hopeful that one day,
You may pick her.

Your windowed soul
speaks leagues of numbered
tears as your heart beats beats beats,
and the tint of your eyes
shows the truth of your lies,
every time your half-crooked smile
hides the words that you speak speak speak.

there is nothing in the world that is quite as painful
as watching someone stare down the barrel of a loaded gun
when you're the only one praying for a jam.

there is nothing in the world that is quite as painful
as watching someone pitch and stumble to the ground
when you're the only one hoping for a blackout
before he gets the chance to empty the bottle.

there is nothing in the world that is quite as painful
as watching someone shake and teeter,
sweat and scream, knock and pound on his dealer's door
when you're the only person wishing that needles had never
pierced his skin and pills had never fallen past his lips.

you learn the shadows do not hide all lies
nor is the truth what's gleaming in the sun
for far too frequently the tale's not done
when light has faded from all noonday skies
or wisdom woken in the youngest eyes
no not at all yet for each honour won
by those whose struggle is the daily run
through the hot lands there are no final lies
instead we face a constant horrid stream
of angry platitudes regarding fate
and what it means when we give up the fight
for who we are and what we dare to dream
in these dread times there can be no debate
since there's one chance to leap into the light

Big TALK

                                         Talk talk talk talk talk talk talk
                                          is all you ever did, sweetheart

talk and talk and talk

                                                 not once did you
                                          think of what your words
                                                    were doing
to me

                                                   that you were
                                                     changing
me,

                                                   ­   that I
                                                    believed
them.

--------------------------

I don't have myself
                           any
                             more

no strength
or energy to
write
this
     any
        more.


I can't            hate you.
I can't            love you.
I don't           have you to hate,
I don't           have you to love,

I don't
have you
at all

------------------------

I don't want this,
I don't want
all of
this


hurt.

It was nice finally hearing your voice again

The anticipation like staring down the barrel of a gun

Only to hear it jam

It is nice to know you are not some big bang

So that I may finally lay my weapons down

This shield was so heavy from the weight of your motion

My legs grew tired from keeping me faced in your direction

They spelled dizzy

In dirt brown cursive

The grooves I wore into the pavement

The siren’s song singing so heavy

Working the cotton

Pulling it lose

You are not some siren song

Or a stampede when I put my ear to the ground

You are breath and bone

And break

as easily as I do

So let me learn to regret your whisper

Teaching my tongue

The taste of the secret Braille

On your teeth

Breaking my pattern like dancing

With all 4 of our left feet

The distance it takes your voice to travel

Thins out the shape of your longing

I know you

I know you

Like the nights where I thought I could hold you

But then realized my arms

Could never meet the circumference of your pedestal

Until you taught me to hammer

Dull chisel tip to your armor

I’ve finally lain my weapons down

After your voice misfired I love you

You can see my scars

Like a runway sash

From the top of my shoulder

Down to the opposite hip

They say

This Was Supposed to be Beautiful

And let me tell you again

That shield

It was so heavy

One day my breath will catch
in my throat, forever
and my blood will run cold
and although I will feel
everything
slipping through my fingers
I will be paralysed, powerless,
left to watch it unfold
until there is nothing left of me.

One day the ground will swallow me up
I'll be nothing but dust
no trace of my existence
except unsent letters
addressed to you
that I'll have forgotten to burn.

One day, I will cease to exist,
spontaneously perish,
the universe will shift and I will be gone
inexplicably.
Nobody will remember who I was
because anybody who is anybody
is you.

One day, somebody will look into your eyes
and you won't want them to look away.

That will be the end of me.