ask your blood
your limbs, your breathing feet
what Poetry is -
a phylogenetic anomaly
in light’s discontinuity

or just…
the strange yearning of hematopoiesis

ask the silence in your lungs
the bursting DNA, reinterpreted
how it allures memory inside your bones
how it treads conventions of sleep
with the weight of a sigh

if you ask me
what Poetry is
I’d say: breath calligraphy
a winged dream of depth
on enchanted retina
the bitter-sweet art of airy harmony

ask your hands
what Poetry is
perhaps they’ll take a moment
to bloom

I'm a little sleep deprived, a little too high, (a little too low) a lot hungry, a little overstressed, a little unfocused, (unconscious?) waiting, a little sick from-a little more caffeine please my cigarette buzz is going,
a little sore from running away, a little sore from being alone

I can't lay in my own bed without thinking about the fact that you've died there multiple times;
Your heart lays softly there next to me but you are nowhere to be found;
But that's okay,
Because love isn't an excuse,
&
it definitely isn't a reason to keep someone alive longer than what they're asking for.

Bottom line, we're both dead now (to each other), & I don't see any shining light, or higher power guiding me through any golden gates;
I see memories of all of the times we said goodbye but were still walking towards each other,
I see memories of all the times we got lost in the late night drives & subconsciously memorized the bumps of the roads,
I see memories of all the times you swore to me that you loved me (but everything was a lie),
I see memories of us dying together but it wasn't as beautiful as I thought it would be, instead it was painful, regretful, & so sudden it caught me off guard at the worst of times.

Death has come for us both,
but i'm still sitting here writing this about you,
& you're still somewhere else moving on from me.

my mind says
"get over him"
and
when i try
to forget you
my heart shouts
"what the hell?
are you trying
to **** me?"
  -cute crazy-

A beautiful soul,
destroyed by society,
and left to die.
She was unique.
She danced to her
own music.
They chastised her,
tearing down the wall.
Her bricks were
torn from the barrier.
The barrier she created,
to keep her alive.
They destroyed it;
now she's gone.
They tied a noose for her.
They pulled the chair,
slowly hanging her,
letting her fade into the night.
The day before
she turned 15,
was the last of
her days on Earth.
She would breath no more.
Love no more.
Slice her wrists,
no
more.
They no longer have
a punching bag.

Her mother let out
a shrill cry,
as she entered her
only child's
room to wake
her for school.
To send her to
the torture chamber.
The place that
gently placed
the rope around
her neck.

Three days later,
she is buried.
Six feet down,
she is put in the ground.
The murderers
gather around the grave,
crying fake,
forced tears.
They have no remorse.
They have done their damage.
A beautiful soul,
destroyed by society,
and left to die.

and it's five am,
and i should be getting
ready do to something,
anything,
but no,
i decide to
sit on the cold,
white bathroom floor,
with a lit cigarette,
and an empty bottle
of wiskey next
to me,
while in the bedroom,
my lover sleeps peacefully
on the squeaky, messy bed,
and patiently awaits
fot my arrival
back in bed,
which will never come.