I remember in the fourth grade the teacher would tell us that ain't wuddint a word.  Is now.

I thought I had a friend.
It left me too.

How can she **** up
so many times and still be
scarred and beautiful??

i don't have a way with words
less poet
more the howling fool that chases them apart
my sweaty struggles always leave me blinded and alone
owed nothing
clinging to
empty

empty
spaces
i call these spaces stories
and like the siren that grants
a shipwreck and death against razor sharp rocks
i lure them in
found their deepest darkest secret

every word wants nothing more
than to die like a story
see,
i have a way with stories
and i'd like to imagine
that stories take up a place as the echo
of love when it grows from that first enticing smile
or the infant cry when it purges childhood pain
deep down in the hidden treasuries of
your most heartfelt of hearts
me tracing this with pitch black ink on paper
you committing this to your beating crimson heart
we're connected with an ancient thread that
even the gods dare not tear apart

see they too
in all their might and glory
want nothing more
than the epic bliss
of a truly good
and heartfelt
story.

Of all the ways you've laid waist
to the Fortressess of Love I ***** in the realm of my emotions...

Of all the brittle limbs you send back crumbling on which once grew life I sent to you like pawns before me in this dry territory where the dust disturbs the view of the silvry illuminations in the sky...

Of all these things I've said, and the things I've not said...

At least, they let me know that you know I'm alive.

I stay up late & float,
haunt the evening airways.
My skin is white
(nearly porcelain)
& my blood is warm
(practically boiling).
But I swear,
I swear
I'm not a vampire.
I have no intentions
of cursing,
frightening anybody,
or biting any necks.
I just want to find
other kindred spirits
seeking answers
for their own
restless nights.