slipping out the night
all my dreams are black
no night visions
accompanying my day
this is it bland colourless
nothing happening with
the subconscious made
conscious unless
this is a dream come true

I’ve been saying, “tomorrow,” for the last three months, dreaming again in a bent and hollow sort of way, shoving myself into all of my crooked corners. I’ve purposely avoided it up to now, trying to dodge it, like an expert lightning runner —my sad attempts to slip unnoticed past the inevitable summer months.

It denies my wishes for a moderate temperature and ruthlessly tortures me with its slow crawl in my direction, wrapping its clammy hands around my throat to pin me to hot pavement; sparks within me and kindles unkempt fires, burns me at the shoulders like Memorial Day fireworks —feels so potent I can almost see it tucked behind the horizon. Waiting.

I want to taste a sky that slowly darkens, bowing its graceful head to welcome a storm that may never come, existing only to fool me into praying another day for rain.

sometimes it tickles when you say a word like
"cheesed"
or "shmuck"
and i want to pull you right out of your dirt saturated overalls
and plant a fat one on your cheek
as deep as the roots
of all the goods that you have taught me to plant

romance the burnt sea
love its stain on your writing hand
romance its dark waters
and the stillness of the words it creates in your heart
evening light shows the beast of tides
gnawing at the sandy shore with restless hunger
feed it your naked feet as you run through the crashing waves
feed it your devil fish of ******* clad thoughts
but hide your face lest it see you and desire you

the beast of tides feeds on the velvet sands of paradise
while its offspring feed on starlight
ever hopeful of redemption foolish as it is

she tells you she loved the beast and the burnt sea
opened her heart to its plain plight
cared for it mended its wounds
spread herself to its darkness
now as it lay off shore she longs to swim in its dark water
she speaks of joining its bitter love
the burnt sea has hills like waves in the grasslands
creates creatures to chase this butterfly
all must taste of salt
even the sky
and the beast and the burnt sea shall see it done
she surrenders her naked feet to the
and rejoices in the salt scent
romance the burnt sea
for it is loved as she is

Cold steel slides across my skin.  
In so much pain. I let you in.
Now I bleed red.
I'm better off dead.

My life is cheap
30 pills and the bottle only puts me to sleep
A rope from a deck
didn't stretch out my neck
A gallon of gas
But my life didn't pass
And a blade, at least one for each finger
And yet my life seems to linger

I'm come to the conclusion
that happiness is an illusion.
And the only one who can take my life

Is the girl I gave a knife.
The girl I owe my life
The girl who causes my strife.
The girl who I love.

On a day—alack the day!—
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind
All unseen ‘gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish’d himself the heaven’s breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alack, my hand is sworn
Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn:
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet;
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet!
Do not call it sin in me
That I am forsworn for thee;
Thou for whom e’en Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiop were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love.