My words cease to mean a thing,
the air is crisp and cool.
The trees that were once a flourishing green,
now look dead.

I wonder what makes them,
what makes me.
I'm brittle and rough,
like the bark on the trees.

I'm brittle and dead,
like the bark on the trees.
I'm nothing but me,
anything but free.

Quiet in my corner,
I wait for the coroner.
Quiet and dead,
and nothing else.

Write me something epic,
pour your soul
into inked stanzas,
help me to feel your heartbeat,
make me understand
what makes you tick,
see the starlight
in your veins.

I'm not insane
so use any words you like,
I can read.

I can't fall asleep
On those nights
When I
Don't even know
If you'll be here
When I wake up.

Those nights
Are
All nights.

life, i cannot begin you to describe beyond my dreaming self your how divine moments of simple nothing.

your body is not, and i love it the how it is not. it is

and not it's


some muscles firing with hurt
seething to ache
so horribly
wondrous. it's driving

to the beach

too early in morning and you're heads not clear the sky is so wide and the sun is barely. it is

the uncurling of your fingers between
dishwater
and the winsome triteness
of the caving instant of your breath
caching in your throat
as you realize the dying
of your frail self,

clutching furiously the mundane heady song
of a coffee cup

(and in perfect silence emitting
the most enormous roar
of surging electric stillness)                                .    Life

you are half terribly
painful to. and life, you
are half splendorous to ****

sweating in the heap of your
car behind

the creeping sweep
of raging vein. Life

you are perhaps nothing. But lifE

you are the most,

and nothing hurriedly to slowly
take between the unutterably tiny *******
of snowgirls

their coldest song of closing lips,

and speak something hot

(something big).

I dive headlong into the fray
on a secret mission,
so exuberant
craving the lava flow,
the adrenalin fixation,
creating an *******
in the warrior-mind,
she covers me with
explosive pixie-dust.

Lust shakes my rivets loose
in a fiery demise,
'till I see
those Chakra-eyes
begging for release
again & again.

I'm so explosive
You're the sweetest receiver
Of my vanilla

I want to split you in two,
tickle your cherry stem
& sprinkle you with sugar drops.

I've thought about marshmallow,
some vanilla cream
on top of your lemon tarts
& rolling my tongue
to spread it.

Honey dripped onto your flower
would be tastier than flaked-baklava,
a little whipped cream
& nuts would certainly
finish you off.

But I do dream of stuffing your pastry
with my creme-filled cannoli.
That would be the ultimate dessert,
don't you think sweet lady?

A constant stream of justifiable lies. Contorts what I want from my life.
What used to seem impossible is now my reality
but I'm not so sure I want it anymore
because it is different
so different than what I thought it would be

Is it worth the games I'm forced to play in order to dream?

Today is hard but tomorrow will be worse because I will wake up to hate
reflected back at myself

There are so many things I should do. There are so many things I should want.
Do we not define our own success? Each to their own version of happiness?

But all I keep thinking is
I shouldn't be eating