Love her like
She's the raging sea,
Unrestrained and dark and deep.
And you crave her touch
Through aching pores
As you slowly drown in sleep.

Love her like
She's the tender storm,
A lovely shade of grey.
Like with every whiff
Of breath she takes,
She's taking yours away.

Love her like
She's the silent clouds
With calmness floating by.
Like you'd want to make
Sweet love to her
Under the moon's apocalyptic eye.

Love her like
She's the blazing fire,
And you lust the candied pain.
Like she's the disease
That swallowed you whole
And you'd like to die again.

When her gentle touch
Makes your chest explode,
And your addiction is your girl.
Promise you'll love her
Through hell and back,
Or don't you dare love her at all.

The sun has a
        twinkle
   As it rises over
            the mountain
       High
Similar to the one in
         Your eyes
   That lights up my
         dreary nights
   And somehow
      Makes them bright
  Like the stars,
        barely seen
Against the
       glowing moon
   I am hidden
               behind clouds
    You are the sun
Always shining through
        But there could
     Never be me
           **Without you

lately, I’ve been finding myself
sympathetic
with the alcoholics and drug abusers

and I’ve been creating
and relying
on my own habits
just to feel you again.

I watch the grass glow
and inhale the smoke,
and the sweet taste reminds me
of our nights spent together.

we moved like earthquakes
and our mouths were the desert,
but I still couldn’t keep
my shaky hands
or dry lips off yours.

and I know this is wrong,
because what we had was
only a twisted game of
Pretend.

and I know I can’t keep
wasting my heart,
feeling for people
who don’t feel back for me.

but I guess no one
will ever understand
what it’s like for us,
addicts.

to want so badly
to shatter the half-empty bottles,
to break every last ******* cigarette in the pack,
to stop destroying ourselves.

but I keep on depending
because my altered mind state
is always slightly better
than feeling the pain
of the hole you left
in my heart.

How can you spit fire- on earth’s back?
a hot breath that puckers a wind's crack
Your eyes, fill up the Heavens a distant so far
and When you were in motion, I thought you a shooting star
When I was motionless, You became the orbit to my sphere
but You spit fire, spilled it and burnt my earth’s atmosphere
With jettisons to blow soft kisses to try and lull it away
but with a harsh bite to open a closed wound in pain
Your flutters, they fill up my stars with a searing heat
When you're in motion I tethered with you with you when I need retreat
I orbit around you, and I am unwillingly your shooting star

Just like a maelstrom heading to the sea
Living my life both quiet and alone
My life, my times, in her head should not be
Still she comforts as if for years she’s known
How can she understand my bittersweet
Laments, residing deep within my soul
Comfort and hope I see when our eyes meet
She pulls me out of my deeply dug hole
Refuting my love in rejection kind
Instead insisting that she loves us all
The kind hearted heart to whom my mind pined
The foreknown knowledge caused my hope to pall
Despite whatever it is that she rends
The damage is never what she intends

Pain is getting old, nuisance slug
of toothpaste on a morning suit,
crest of daylight over dry eyes
at the first itch of addiction, processions
of commonplace panic begin
before the kettle comes to boil.

Pain ****** me like an alpha,
chained me to the kitchen sink. The brink
of insanity - messianic car-crashes, dead poets,
and cult leaders occupied our lives. Pain
lived inside, petroleum on fish-scale,
bone upon bone, a lie amongst lies.

Pain came to doctor the fairytale,
black-faced censorship, attention to detail
when forcing guilt under hysterical skies,
a cumulus jury, the persecution of 'I'.
Pain came to go over old grievances,
the people I knew, the friends that I missed.

My biggest fear in this life is to be insignificant,
to change the world in no way fathomable
and that my being is forgotten forever;
to not be remembered.

There is so much that I want to say, need to say, but the way to
release is not yet apparent.
I fear that my time will run out.

But then I remember, that my
veins that coarse with blood are the maps of the world
that I am yet to discover
and that this life is a journey and I was born to travel.

And the crimson and plum shapes that decorate my
flesh which hold many memories inside their outline,
are the collapse of a nebula in the sky
that creates the birth of a star.

I, myself, collapsed.
I crumbled to the ground into dust and could find no way to grow again.
But that was not my destruction, after all.
It was my birth.
I was reborn from the same dust as the stars and
I can soar through the sky with the blood pumping through my veins.

I am alive.
I am so alive because I am nature itself.
How could I be insignificant when I have
galaxies expanding through my body and
flowers blooming in my mind,
that are being watered by the fall of October rain.

I am nature itself,
and I have never felt
more alive.

I am full of the world.

I remember that night I slept
in the guest bedroom of your
mother's old house;
your childhood bedroom just across the hallway.

I waited all night for you
to sneak back.
You sat quietly on your bed
romanticizing foggy memories.

Your dad handed me a box of Frosted Flakes
as he said, "they're great!" in a comically deep voice,
accompanied by the swing of a folded arm.

I laughed in that manner in which anyone laughs at dad jokes:
half heartedly, with a lazy smile.

The crunching of sugary flakes filled the room,
much like your morose mood.
I quietly ate a bowl of cereal,
and watched your face drown in a flood of regret.

I asked why you were so quiet
as you walked me to the guest room that night.
You said you had not spoken to your father in 4 years,
and had forgotten how he used to make you laugh.

You kissed my forehead
and headed towards your childhood bedroom.