Sometimes, I wish
I was as deep as the surface -
only what you see in front of you.
It bothers me that when
people look into my eyes,
they don't see pupils
enveloped by blue,
they become mesmerized
and tell me they can see the ocean
and they're **** right;
in my soul there is an ocean
of threatening commotion,
but I wish it weren't visible
by simply looking at me.

I wish people would not tell me
that I am an open book
because I know that
I am the complete opposite;
what I tell you is just
scratching the protective walls
I immerse myself in,

Don't dare tell me you can read me
when my mind speaks in
linguistic hieroglyphs
not even I comprehend at times,
let alone you, a complete stranger.

she follows me everywhere
does what I do
says what I say
brews what I brew

she wears what I wear
and eats what I eat
plays what I play
and meets who I meet

she cries when I cry
and talks how I talk
she drinks what I drink
and walks where I walk

but to think what i think
is not her cup of tea
her name is depression
and her target is me

i like angry poetry
the kind that churns
in your gut,
with razors for teeth
and gums bleeding.
i like the violent sound
of verbs clashing
on a decaying page,
like the shot of a gun
on a quiet day.
i like the poetry that stays,
that lies in waiting
like a dog in a cage,
words that creep like
voided birds into the
wired tress of my brain,
that pay their rent
like drunken travelers
and trash the place.
i like angry poetry
the kind that sears it's
screams to my lips,
which spirit echoes and
moans for eager,
****** eyes.
words that hit like *****,
giving their reader
a killer hangover.
i like angry poetry,
the kind that leave you
with a smoky exit.

on October mornings
when the world outside my window
is lost in a pale fog
& faint white light slips between
the spaces in my blinds but spares
me, cloaked in shade & free
to sleep a little longer (if i could)

when the cozy scent of coffee
drifts upstairs, through the chilly air
& kisses me awake
how to savor a stillness so delicate?
threatened by little more
than the **** creaky floor

on October mornings
born mild & undisturbed
i tiptoe through the quiet
vacant rooms that smell of
spice & stale smoke
all is as i left it.
(draped in loneliness)

when i've accidentally made
one too many pancakes
& the wind's whistle haunts me like
a distant friendly ghost
it seems to always be
on these October mornings
that i wish you were here

the most

Fragile creature
Deeply steeped in bags
Of bold red and blue
Black, from lack of sleep
And painful, from want of hope

With cups that help me hear
And lines that make me smile
Social being socializes
And dying beings help the night sparkle.

While I tone, phone
Bring my lofty thoughts
Or else hatred
May be my *****

What can I say,
To rocks picked up by you
Can't I be collected, listened to
Hoped for like those others?

I hope so, I elope for that idea
And I cope, grow forth
Bashful plants turned brash
And flowering with colours not yet seen

Not yet considered by rocks or man

I am a petal.

Sometimes
She felt his skull could crack under the passion in her fingertips 
And wouldn't that be beautiful
To end here, in the immediacy of desire
And wouldn't that be kinder?
Than the drawing out of this pain of inevitability 
The guttural ache
Before the final crack
The splintering, not of bone
But of two hearts 
Prised apart by the fingernails of realisation 
That their shattered fragments can never make each other whole.

Do you know hard it is
To fall face first, stand up,
And show off that toothed grin
To disguise the loosening cluster of bones?

Ivory on ivory,
White horse on white horse
Clenched tightly
While you also struggle to keep
Your elastic lips from snapping
In trying to keep your incisors from falling.

But then there's an ache
On the left hemisphere
Of your itching face
And when you realize what it is
You shut off your vision
With the worn down excuse:

You close your eyes when you smile

But that is also to stop yourself
from flooding your face,
putting weight on that strip of muscle
That prevents your teeth from falling out of place.

when the moon
blinked, he saw

me, angry
but not mad. i

have stars under
my tongue.  i
won’t swallow

and my bones
scream to be let out
from under my skin—

they are the fire
on the surface