A bouquet of flowers, how symbolic
of a love that wilts away.
Petals turning brittle,
I watch it's slow decay.
A head that starts to droop,
a hunger and thirst that can't be quenched;
what once was lovely and fragrant
produces such a rotten stench.
Tossed out with the garbage,
a new bouquet fills its place.
The cycle then continues;
such symbolism in a vase.

"The shattered depths of her tortured soul were beyond the reach of a gentle love. She needed the passion that burned with a fire so fierce and complete in his eyes that there were no places left for the shadows of her past to hide. She needed to be kissed with such savage hunger that her breath escaped her and her lungs burned from the lack of air; her mind becoming incapable of coherent thought from the dizziness and excitement of it all. As she whispered his name with pleading repetition all others who had come before him faded entirely from her existence but for the reminders to be eternally displayed on her skin. These parts of her he loved even more intensely; the feel of his hands and lips as they brushed across the memories on her skin cleansed her defeated soul and brought it roaring back to life. She needed to be loved like this; so thoroughly and intimately and profoundly that every fracture of her soul was filled to the brink and all of the broken pieces of herself were forgotten in an instance. She knew nothing in that moment beyond their love and wanting for one another. She knew then that she had been saved."

often I think i can force the words from my throat
push past the floodgates and fix this drought
but they stick behind my teeth
breathed out - rearranged, changed - back in.
the hollow of my throat holds a thousand tragedies,
a thousand miracles, it births thoughts like colliding stars
and yet they will crawl around my mouth, humming,
a lungful of bees that sting and sting and sting
my thesaurus brain cannot find the right mixture
of vowels and consonants and breaks in sentences
to give justice to what blossoms within me
they say silence speaks volumes
and I have been shouting mutedly all my life.

my soul is a basement
flooded with un-choreographed movement,
rapid waters of words I never really meant
and empty fish bellied breaths
My heart is no different
just one big blue gilled vessel
aching
wishing for stars within black veins

"Make America Great Again"
how?
We'd need another world war;
that's when America was great.

Maybe that's the idea;
bring on the next one-
burn this ******* down!

Shivers on skin— I walked among stars;
I walked on broken edges
I walked on broken light.

The sound of space is the mourning of a mother,
a lullaby of the past,
of all the pain it takes to become
on someone else’s demand,
and all the time it takes to disappear
by your own accord.

The night smells of burnt ash;
there are no falling wishes here,
only wicked angels.

Come, let us sleep.
It does not do to step on the dead.

i am a silent soul,
forget about me, if you must.

but one day you'll wake up
to find my bed made, but empty.
i will be off to nowhere,
but i will get everywhere.

i'll scatter myself from the sky like ashes,
i'll fall like the rains of July,
i'll kiss mountain tops like the snow of December,
i'll drift around like the golden leaves of October,
and i will be left to the wind.

i will no longer be a soul
trapped in this cage of flesh and bones,
i will run through the world,
writing post cards about all i will see and do,
but sending them to nobody.

Don't give up your heart,
you need it to live.
waking up beside you...
what I wouldn't give...
Tell me your okay,
don't let me cry.
I'll hold your hand as we say goodbye...