If I died tonight
Alone
Away
Without the one who stayed.
If I live tonight
Popular
Partying
I would never be the same.
I won't live
For another's sake.
Tonight's the night
My heart shall break.

What in these symbols has power?
None of my letters could build you a tower,
But something within the screen of my phone
Has mass, has inertia, has song, has tone.

Where are the electric lines?
Neither hither nor thither, whichever one signs
But for some reason, I can't help but feel
That my electric lines are something more real.

What are the squiggles that wave from afar?
A symbolic cookie from an imagined jar?
Or are they a prize for forming a speak
That, through my squiggles, may squeak?

Reading the: Pauses
Uncompleted::: Clauses
Various. Punctuation.
Syntax structure; revelation.

Fire rising in my cheeks
Fanned by insignificance
The work I do is never known
Since I'm not on stage to dance.

A dream is eternal. Immortal. Infinite.
A life is not. That is all.

An alto.
Singer in the choir.
A face in the crowd.
But not.

The Alto.
Every eye sticks to her like glue.
The face of the crowd.
And so.

I guess I was bound to be
The next one in this game of three
The cheater, cheatee, and cheated
Just guess the one which slew me dead.

Whose pizza here, I do not know.
He's partying in the dorm below;
I do not think that he would mind
Me taking seven slices home.

My demons swim.
George's can fly.
Mabel's can shoot
Jimmy's won't die.

My sorrows are deeper.
Judy's weigh more.
Fred's chained him up.
Anne's heart was tore.

I can breathe lighter.
(Ah, that's where you win
From the contest of sorrows
One cannot rescind.)

My heart didn't break
When you texted me "we're through."
It broke too, too terribly long ago.

You'd push away and longingly stare
At those with a nobody
pretending to be someone.

You closed off your life
And blamed me for respecting you
For giving you space.

But now, your grindstone letters
Which have crushed me for so long
Merely ground the flour
That Will, one day, bake a beautiful cake.

I wait for the day,
That may never come,
When I can say

Stronger now
Better now
Repaired now
Myself now.

But like the dust in the mill,
You've stained the flour, tainted the cake.
You got what you wanted, but still you take,
With the impunity of the grindstone, crushing the flour.

And that is why the flour never wears on the grindstone.

College stole my sun away,
Ending my eternal day.
The summer I loved froze over
In my home of clouded Dover.

The airport was a frigid waste
And I clutched to mine with haste
The one whom I would hate to leave,
The one whom in my past deceived.

The twinkle in those eyes
Could shame the stars of our skies
For while I swoop in; steal a kiss,
I know it is me she'll truly miss.

I had heard long, long ago
Of the language of the Eskimo,
Where cars and drywall lack a name,
But snow and snow are not the same.
For, you see, in Eskimo,
There are a thousand words for snow.

By the shore I'm wont to roam,
I see the water as my snow.
From crystal clear to stormy blue,
The ocean holds a thousand hues.
Brackish green and sunset red,
The whitecap thunderous demons bred,
Seductive black on moonless nights
And wind-whipped tops plateau with white.

So maybe I'm an Eskimo,
But too warm-blooded for the snow.

A pastel droplet
Against the verdant green leaves
Autumn is coming.

the life you have hitherto Refined
whence love shall wax and wane
cannot know Hephaestus's grief
for you and he are not the same.

now Steel your restless heart,
and from it, Forge the demon's bane
lest your senseless grief, in Fires
of boldest Mettle, wrong you all the same.

A flick of an eye can change the world

You smile like a wolf about to ****.
Your cruel, sharpened fangs barred in spite.
Your voice was gold, your white cuspids alight.
You smile at your prey; we deer stand still.

I know the smile shall end where it will.
I know it never reaches to your eyes
And I know, like one bitten once or twice,
That the wolf closes its eyes to ****.

The wolf leans in too close, panic sets in
Stumbling through apologetic speech in
An effort to get somewhere else, again...

The deer springs into action, can't win
For wolves hunt in packs, the wingman swoops in
Now trapped by foes unbeatable, I'm slain.

The world is quiet here.
Woes are never near
Because someone here
Will always lend an ear
Or give a cheer
And never leer.
So even though it's roaring, dear,
The world is quiet here.

If the heart guards love and purity,
And the brain controls intellect,
What doth, I ask of you, reside within the kidney?

Not rhyme, nor reason, asketh thee,
('Tis true, I must confess) but why
Deny its place to the kidney?

Power embodied in the arms, you'd see
Within a man, immediately,
But it seems, unfortunately,
That none respect the kidney!

For wherein doth cleanliness stay?
Surely in the mind somewhere, shorely lock'd away
And what of pride and greed, if I may,
Inquire where they rest today?

They lie in the foul'd heart, entombed for eternity.
So what attribute, dear reader, can attribute
A shrine within the kidney?

At a glance, she stole my breath away.
A word then took my heart.
But I love her for these felonies,
As they are surely art.

3,454 and a half.
Hexagonal.
Tessellated.

2.
Heart-shaped.
An infinite rhythm.

I met your little sister
On my walk home from school.
Told her I was a dancer
She thought that's pretty cool.
She wore your little jacket
From those days which we so loved
The slice of you returned to me
But, like with the whole, I stood idly.
Only you have slipped through my hands
Twice.

Flying by the seat of my pants.
Writing and typing a glorious dance.
Loving and living in lines on a page.
Happy and saddened and uncontrolled rage.

Writing with no message.
Breathing life where oughtn't be.
Just typing and writing by the seat of my pants.
Waltzing about without music to dance.

War does not stop for the good man who dies.
War is too cold for the good man to warm.
There goes his leg as artill'ry takes his arm.
War does not stop when in pieces, he lies.

War does not stop for the child who cries.
There is no umbrella can hold that great storm.
The tears of the orphan resound in the form
Of the news that is silent to pleading and sighs.

War is a hellfire like none else on earth.
When war rages on, who minds the hearth
In home which must necessity bind
For no one is list'ning, no one is kind.

The demons have run, the children have sobbed
For men unknown, upon whom, the red gunfire daubed.

I see you everytime I close my eyes.
I blink, I sleep, I fall to your gaze.
As long as I live, for all of my days,
I am eternally haunted by your lies.

I think of the love we shared 'neath skies
Blue, with foxglove poison, sweet and poison haze.
But in my mind, your likeness stays,
Where once we loved... Now I despise.

I hate myself for loving you
Despise the words I gave us two
Because what was once cannot remain.

Now I cannot call us 'we'
Now it only can be called 'me'
Because what we had, you've slain.

There are 1.5 million of them.
Words, that is, in English.

Only three matter:
I is a pronoun.
Love, a verb.
And you is more important
Than all the rest.

One for every five-hundred-thousand,
But you is one in a trillion.

Where's the divide
Between wrong and right?
At an officer's side
Or the unarmed's height?

Who's in the wrong
When everyone is?
This violence does nothing
Whether trans, gay, or cis.

Why won't they speak
When the world is ending?
When majorities win,
The rules begin bending.