Throw away the keys
Lock the door, please let me be
Trapped inside my mind

Your abuse to me
is now slowly killing me.
Only scream so loud.

Warm-blooded lover
Hold me close, please don't let go.
Our night is so cold.

He was just so young.
His life as short as his death.
Eternal bed rest.

Pillars of nonsense
giggling dim corridors
the laughter is cheap

Intricate roses
fading burgundy and red
Dry out over time

Imagination
Thoughts and dreams cannot be real.
Well, imagine that!

An attempt haiku.
Though easy, they are quite plain
pen and paper molds.

Pavlov

You rang a bell

and fed him food

until you could ring a bell

and make him drool

but did you

ever really

love

man’s best friend?

There is a drizzle.

It is cold.

Cold wet splashes

of cold wet water.

Not enough to get you wet

so why even bother

with an umbrella?

Because the drops,

though small,

are great in number

and cold.

Well.

Tears

are large

and warm.

But my heart

is broken

in small

numerous

cold pieces.

This is not loneliness.
This is alone.

This is solitary solitude
Singular and redundant.

It is not sad
nor is it content.
This just is.

It is the ability to talk
but never say.
The ability to touch
but not feel.

This is not anything bad.
This just is.

It will be like a whisper
of something familiar.
But you can never put your finger on it,
if it has been heard before
or correctly.

Over time, it will be wished
that it was written by yourself
because those words, profound and secret,
they feel so real.
You want them to burn into your skin,
but they’ve already burned unto my tongue.

You’ll want to touch the screen
as if it were me
and ask
how I can do this
to you,
to me.
Ask how I can breathe
how I can think
when this is mine
when it should be the world’s.

I will apologize
all nice and polite.
I will selfishly hide
my little thoughts.

These panes of glass,

they’re broken and

stained

with the blood of our brothers.

The ones who have fallen into

the depths of temptation.

I intend to join them.