i'm too sad to write today
idk if i want to keep breathing or not

She's beautifully chaotic
a whirlwind of makeup and hoopla
she'll kick bushes on her way;
to a can of beer and a good comic book

Sometimes I write landscapes
sometimes I paint abstract thought
sometimes emotions split
the iron I have wrought

Don thy best armours
For your heart flies
a lock of her shining hair
betwixt the spear shaft
to pierce the hearts of men
their broken forms lay strewn
across aphrodites battlefields
Beware you glimpse
such grace as ever strode
the folds of firmas breast

pound the table
another round
here liquid courage
is to be found!

out flow the ales
pour forth the meads
hoist axe and buckler
there's mighty need!

For bearded froth
and battle hymns
tonight we drink
we drink from skins!

we drink from cups
we drain our steins
we'll drink until
our eyes go blind!

So hoist yer glass
join us tonight
put up yer fists
prepare to fight!

Put down that barstool
Ha! Ya missed
And sing the
Cadence of the ******!

Then pound the table
one last round
there's liquid courage
to be found!

When the night is clear and cold
and the stars poke through
the pine branches
hold yourself closer and block out the wind
and grip my hand tighter in the dark
I'll keep you safe
from a startled deer
In evenings shade

Sit on street corner
with my hand written sign
Delicate letters
and scriptwriting fine
whisper your desires to me
love loss lymric & rhyme
I'll promise you sweetly
it's worth your dime

Writing a thousand
angst filled lines
isn't soothing
my ache

I don't know what I'm doing anymore
but I know I'm doing it all wrong

my feelings overflow
with nowhere to go
waves smashing against the breakwater
spraying sea foam
a cacophony no one can hear but me
because it's roaring
inside my head

Moon of my heart
I haven't called you that in awhile
in the language that isn't ours
or heard you say it's response back
Even so
you are still
Jalan at'thirari anni

Being awake at 3 am
Cracked red eyes
shaking with anxiety
is such a contrast
to a warm arm wrapped peacefully
around you asleep

I'm irritated and I'll
pour this bowl
of wrath on all
the things
around me
punch holes and
shiver through
the sudden bleak
Emptiness
around me
fill it back up
with liquor until it
sloshes away down this
knife hole and it
clatters to the ground
even though it's got my
fingerprints on it
I can wince through these
tears and cover it because
I'm irritated

I write this after reading your letter to me 3 times & smelling it quite a bit more. Sadly I am sure it will disappoint you, For I am no poet. I consistantly Fumble with words (and my hand writing is horrid).
Whilst I am clearly wretched at these things there are a few I am okay at feelings of course, I can barely find the words to describe them but I am certainly capable of expressing them, And Moments I live off of moments. The moment in which i loved you or realized I did (or at least choose to recognize it) Was on that hike, with the rain and

the streams of sun gazing upon your face. But if I am being totally honest with myself, I loved you before that moment, that was simply the moment of acceptance of my fate. But truly I already loved you, already knew it, but knew I could not. I hadn't any choice though. It just was. I love you in a way that even metaphor cannot handle I love you more that the moon loves the tide, and I, like the moon want nothing more than to anchor you to me and pull you closer. I want all of your faults & stress

your anger, your stories, your secret, you past, your present, your future to sink into mine and become one entity, I want to hold you long enough that our souls meld together and never separate in this life or the next. I hate me & I dont like the thought of "you" I just want Us. Ive never been truly happy, and then there was an us, and life made more sense. Days had a purpose. Things are better, and there are all of these moment that continue to build that

and it is perfect

Force my chest
deep on the grinding wheel
firing sparks
into my heart
ill burn myself out here
so the razors of yesterday
won't sting

Tonight I thought about
pushing the accelerator to the floor
And turning the wheel hard
the roads were icy
and I was already going pretty fast
it would have been easy
to blame the weather
instead of me
but I kept the wheel straight
I'm not sure why

My thoughts won't stop
like the 5 o'clock rail
that's running behind
look at my pocket watch
I want off

Oh goddess
Let me kneel before thee
in supplication
Arms outstretched
the temple's forbidden smoke
burning in the brazier
is your perfume
How may I best worship thee?

In the summer we shall
paint your alabaster idol
Her lids be the color of bruised fruit
She is nameless in our tongue
but the people called the Greeks
name her Aphrodite

The farmers pray to you for wet summers
the masters beg you let them cling
the dregs plead for full bellies
They do not know you
They do not commune with you
in your temple
and yet they have the audacity to lament
when you turn your face from them

What brings the rain and corn
Is sacrifice and devotion
it is the doorway you enter through
But even that is meaningless
for your beauty is a mask
and you are not your face
or your idol
behind it
is your divine truth, secrets lie there
gods demand beauty in spirit
so if they be hideous to mortal sight
they will still be beautiful
to Aphrodite

So bring the oil
cloying to pillars our garlands
touch our forehead to the cold stone
and lift our spirits
to meet your painted own

What makes a hole in your chest
doesn't **** you
but
makes you feel like you're dying
over and over
again

Blurry eyed **** of paper
and memory
quicker
pull it open
oh
I love it
Bring me more

follow skinny white legs up
that slipshod hill
of cascading pebbles

sun filtering down on your hair
i wish i could run my fingers through it
and smell its flowers

my chest tightens when i peek over the edge
but you aren't afraid at all
balancing when you lean over an edge dropped rock

Ah! to see the flash of your eyes again
in our youth
when i close my own

I have the flu
and that is perfect
It's not sarcastic
because now I can be
rotten
on the outside too

Midnight and it's a pitch black
ceiling
I'm staring at
feeling alone
and hating myself
for every little thing
all the muscles
tightening
with stress and regret
How unlovable and pathetic
is wretched me

I like to remember that time
that we went to IHOP breakfast for the first time
You didnt know
but i was really nervous
and you started singing bohemian rhapsody
and i joined in
it made me feel better

being separated from you
is suffocating
and i wonder
if you feel the same

Sometimes when I'm driving
and I'm alone
I say out loud
"I wish I was dead"
without thinking about it

Afraid I may have  accidentally awoken something dark. Dreamed of instructions most cursed and ******, the architecture is all wrong. A 2d face devours the page it was inked on, I'm a awake I'm awake I'm awake

Today is my last good day
and although you normally don't know
that is coming
I do
and If I could have pushed back the dawn
of this day I would have
for more time with you

Sometimes I stifle
under this silence
I feel like a tv on mute
around other people
and I was starting to feel like that
around you
the walls had gone up
and you built them too strong
for me to see you through them

Miles of dusty polished marble
In half lit carpeted corridors
Of abigails and millers
Furnished lobbies that
Pipe down in soft tones
For absent auris
And present shells

Sometimes what is
and what would have been
or what will be
slips
Through your fingers and
possibilities and moments
that never were
or won't be again
flicker through
single frames on a
film reel
and if you could see all the frames
At once
you would be God

We are here to remember a woman. For indeed. She was one of those. A woman so vile. So repulsive. We remember her today because we are glad she is dead; for certainly, she may have become the next Idi Amin; for she wore a similar countenance, a hideous sneer permanently grimacing upon her wicked face. Also her love of torture. I recall the other day, when her black steps still cursed our earth, her slapping a cup of change from a homeless man’s hands while a nerve grating cackle escaped from her lips. She screamed into his face, him very frightened, her quite drunk, “Get a job you worthless Jew!”

On top of being a wicked ice queen who was a fan of Aaron Carter, this rotten corpse;  who will more than likely sour the soil here and create a pet cemetery effect on the other corpses, was an insatiable ****. She was the female Wilt Chamberlain. She will add one more to her long list after this service, when the gravedigger defiles her body for the last time, but really, he is the one who will be defiled and I feel sorry for the poor corpse ****** autistic mute who shall soon insert his semi-flaccid member into our not-so dearly departed. His **** will probably fall off.

How unlovable this creature. Quickly now. Help me grab her legs and heave-** her into the woods to be torn apart by the beasts she resembled, body and soul. If indeed she possessed a soul. Who can say? If she did, console yourselves in the fact she is gargling on gallons demon ***** at this very moment.  Her suffering will be legendary, as was assured to me by the Hell raiser himself in a dream I had.

Her death was a brutal one. And ******. Good riddance. Thank you to mortuary affairs for providing a closed casket. The smell was overwhelming. Especially when she was alive.

She leaves behind not just a cheering crowd of happy people, but a child, who now an orphan, will be put to the workshops immediately. Sewing Nike swooshes onto LeBron James limited edition pumps in the triangle shirtwaist factory. Which our society has deemed appropriate for soot covered orphans and their small hands.

Of course. None of these terrible things are true. The deep love I feel for this woman is only matched by the loss I feel at her passing. She was beautiful in life, generous and giving, she expected nothing in return for her many kindnesses. She loved to experience life, and I loved experiencing it with her. I enjoyed every minute I was lucky enough to spend with her.
Certainly, she was a magical girl. Colors will dim, Sounds will be muted, and the world itself is lessened. Goodbye my love for the last time. Rest easy draped in your silken clothing, forever underneath the shades of mountain wildflowers.

Robert E. Howard — 'All fled—all done, so lift me on the pyre—The Feast is over, and the lamps expire.'

William Butler Yeats’ epitaph:
Cast a cold eye
On life, On death
Horseman, pass by!

So light
I brushed the drops away
With a wave.    
But long enough
To soak the earth
And fallen timber.                
I balanced on precariously
Traversing effervescent deluge
Losing purchase
And contemplating a sanguine palm.
Empathy swells the waves
That wash from each other.

We sat on the floor
Of the antique shop
Thumbing through a large box
Of old postcards
Some of them have writing
and were mailed a long time ago
You buy only one
It's a faded love letter
With a line
"I love you in the same old way"

The stones of lambs – and folded hands
grass as green as Seafoam
summer sky – this place we lie
The flowers grow as brushes
to paint our fates
- in heartbeats

I followed you over arbitrary timbers
Crossing rushing torrents
For intense love
Secret nights
And permanent kisses
Riotous sunset smothered mountains
In fields of wrought iron autumn
Meandering monument moss covered lichens
And beautifully broken stones
Our names are carved in promise
Clasped hands spun gold
Close to you is moments of peace
Heartbeats unforgotten
Moments
Every breath adored
Past a worn marker of this
World so dark until resurrection
Dark dispersed
By the only light I know
Blue orbs extinguished constellations
Tell me your secrets
They are our secrets
Your stories
Are our stories

I want to read the kind of poetry
that sears it's verses into you
that makes me want to turn
yellowing corners to read more
and squat over my treasures
In the corner of the bookstore
Arduously inked thoughts
of tortured frame and stories about
passive aggressive dinner parties and
sun drenched lost ethereal loves

I'd break my body
on rocks below
to a million pieces
just
to hear
Your voice
once more

Silver Forest
Glinting Steel
Pierces Me
From Every Angle
Walls of Razor
And Floors of Blade
Slowly

The deer are buried up to their necks
in the sandy soil
the struggle for purchase
frees them
into a pack of black wolves jaws

with a black sharpie smile
and two scissor holes
my brown paper bag face
lets me walk out the door
and interact with you
its safer in here
my brown paper bag face

I can see that double blue horizon
where the sea and sky meet
Barely
through the trees in the parking lot
There's a little gravel trail
leading through the ground cover
called Pacific Mist on both sides of the trail
that leads down
to that sea salt smell
and the loud echos
of water striking cliffs
and large jagged half - islands
farther out into the bay
the longer you stay
the more you belong here

myocardial infarction Eldrich power/ed
Chosen brisk perpetuity motion machines
Pumping nodes to arterioles backwards
stenographer tap rapping webs to dull the
Stoking sin flanged might gate cell shape

I swallowed this coal
in the pit of myself
it's just there
weighing me down
making me slow
curse you circumstance
you're never in my favor
I think I'll drown you
in liquor and pour decisions

My outlet is this ink
and there is no other

Some think this world a vale of tears, or worry and of sighs;
That Life's a great big lottery, in which few win a prize.
I read some hopeless verses once that don't deserve to last,
They told how the mill can never grind with water that is past.

I'd like to change that fallacy which has caused so many a tear,
And by transposing make it bear a message of good cheer
And point the way of winds of hope, like pennant on a mast,
For I know that the mill can grind again with water that is past.

A mountain stream comes trickling in the sunlight down the hill,
And gathers volume until it has strength to run the mill;
It happily continues then, upon its useful way,
Turns other mills still further down, until it joins the bay.

Its temporary mission o'er, it sweeps out to the sea
With other useful waters bearing it company;
And there all peacefully they rest, beneath the shining sun,
Who seems to think their mission is scarcely yet begun.

With gentle force He lifts them up in vapors to the sky,
And gathers them in fleecy clouds in His domain so high,
Where kindly winds then waft them back to that mountain home,
From which a few short hours before we saw them start to roam.

The cooling night then causes them to fall in gentle showers,
A blessing to that mountainside, to grass and trees and flowers;
And in the dawn of early morn we find them back once more
In that same little mountainside, but stronger than before.

They gather volume as they come a-tumbling down the hill,
And then with added vigor again they turn the mill;
And then in play they rush away, through meadowland and town,
And every mill again is turned as they go dancing down.

The brightest day is no more useful than the darkest night,--
Our troubles soon would disappear if we'd view them aright.
Good fortune may be holding back her best things to the last,
For I know that the mill can grind again with water that is past.

And that same little mountain stream
Has always been to me
But one of Nature's many proofs
Of Immortality.

I want to build
an epic blanket fort
so deep and tall
you'd think the
vietcong dug it
warm walls to sink into
until you can barely
Breathe
like drowning in comfort
I would never come out