I am Monster:
rough hewn spent and jaded
a loaded revolver
the dark harbour
an improper conduct sponsor
the acerbated and saturated
sympathy and empathy terminated
smarter, harder and sharper
sense of honour departed
a cloned armoured martyr
an existence where love has faded
or simply overused and left degraded.

I am Monster:
shaped by unfortunate events
a life of sharpened steel
etched with the scent of malcontent
chaotic defiance and suicidal descent
the rise of the paragon of zeal
masked in the stench of the surreal
lurking in shadows dark
that leaves its presence felt
like a silent tsunami watermark.

That voice in my head
speaking in tongues
his tasteless insipid breath
fills my lungs
the only respite
is prescribed medication
and meditation dictates;
navigate the monster
and his origin appellation
will have to wait.

The sorrow I borrow
and the chaos I bring
like liquid will eventually
rescind like the pulse of a wasp sting
the poison will dissipate
and then evaporate
in the predisposed
wrath of tomorrow.

at the sight of you
moons are dull grey spotlights
flat, dimensionless, and known.
which could make us akin
if i let the end begin.

but i drag it out and twist it tight
all strapped in place
i dig a tunnel in my soft spot.

stretch the truth until it breaks its back.
bones of sugar
clumped together like lonely hydrogen
in a coronal marsh.
i thought i could tame it.

i see
silver and black wind
builders and watchmen.
your world famous carousel hugs
turn to languorous shrugs
but they both make me dizzy.

a gaze eclipsed for the moment
you're less a mind, more a slogan.

when his eye meets yours
it leaves behind
sunspots.

You were fingers drumming on the steering wheel, eyes always on the road ahead, inhaling the blend of my anxiety and your charm, exhaling gusts of songs I didn’t know I liked and ease that doesn’t belong to either of us. You were major chord progressions and eight o’clock lighting that you can’t hold under your thumb any better than the youth that you tuck into your back pocket as a precaution, only there for show, never for use.

You were self-deprecating humor that’s not real anymore by the time it’s fallen into your palms and a dose of sincerity pushed under your tongue like a vitamin you hope you never taste before washing it down. And you wash it down with everything and anything that makes you feel warm. You were the bits of everyone who’s ever made you feel warm so I sat like a radiator in your passenger seat hoping to radiate right into your core.

You were kindness on the dashboard and fears in the trunk, bumping up against the shell of your light blue disposition at speed bumps and leaned up against the walls of your mind on the straight aways. Audible under the sound of your laughter. Only audible if you were listening (I was listening) while you hummed along to words you don’t mean enough to say out loud.  But your affections sit like pennies behind the windshield, clinking together in sync with the sound of conversations you can’t help but have. You can’t help yourself at all. It’s always warm behind a wall of glass.

You were nights right before they became mornings because if time slips away then you never have to catch it. Time got caught in the space beneath your ribs until you diluted it with a love for everything bigger than you and filled yourself until you could be something bigger than Thursday nights and dog eared pages to books that no one recommended. And in the middle of a sunrise, something you could always say goodnight to, you were arms wrapped around someone smaller than you, holding onto something bigger than any of us, tapping out syllogisms like Morse code and like fingers on steering wheels.

When the city speaks in whispers
over the shouting of animals
and ca-cawing of birds
I trace the lines of your face
against the case of my pillow
wondering again why things have taken so long

While life is so short
one quick gulp of the fantasy
now to rest in fluidity too shallow to tread
So I think of you often
and I forget you even more
not for memory because we're timeless
but for my own idea of the calendar

It's based on howls and ghosts
on improperly relaying messages
and what I truly loved most
And what kind of test this is
and incorrectly translating
endless lists of wistfulness

What kind of test is this?

We have lost sharing secrets at midnight
between our shadowed hearts dancing
patterns on black walls

always, we were chasing
darkness and now we have
been caught

up in the balance of time, losing
ourselves momentarily to the
light

Your eyes
are iron cores
of dying stars.

I collapse
under their gravity.

You consume me,
and spit me out
in millionths.

Another day left locked up in the back of your head, but yet,
you forgot to write again.
Drinking leftover whisky and clutching at your throat, oh ****,
you forgot to write again.
Reading a book you found under your bed, you feel alive again,
so you pick up a pen.
The paper is ready and you're unable to breathe, when suddenly,
you remember,
I never knew how to write.
It happened again.
I'm dead.

Could you love me with city lights in my hair
Threatening to go over the edge of our high rise affair
Toes on the railing, sights on something better
Somewhere beyond this eternally empty city

Could you love me with a skyline out in front of you
That's doused in purple and orange, and won't have to sneak out in the morning
To go to a meeting to schedule the meetings that are important
So that I can be prepared to die

Will you love me when I'm just lights in the night sky
Something you'll lose sight of a second time
In the burn of a city that makes you feel
Like you're floating while I'm sinking

Will you ever remember if you loved me
On the streets of a city that can't remember
If I was ever here at all