closing
lights:
floating
dandelion
gold
on the harbor of
your
first kiss
(the water is
warmer than the
air)
the september rain
is in your august blood
like a beacon guiding
the summer sealights
to the tips of the waves

their holy radiance
breaks
the surface,
permeates
the depths
than
gradually
fade
into
the
blackness
of
your eyes

Sometimes I wish I was a taxi driver because I don't believe there is more honest person on earth.

They hear the apologies of intoxicated teenagers on their way home from club, that they used to fake ID's to get into.

They hear quarrels between frisky lovers who drank too much on their dinner date and can't wait to shed their clothing.

They hear the rumblings of elderly folk complaining about gas prices and the brand name stores that put the local businesses under.

but sometimes, they hear the confessions of lonely travelers who were wandering the streets at 3 in the morning, contemplating how they would like to take their life, until they saw a taxi cab driving so fast and realized it was their sign to go home.

on  Wednesday I have to go to school for pre-registration
I just want to
shoot myself
seeing all those people again.
happy smiles on their faces
having to face those certain people I happily avoided all summer
I find out whos in my classes
I find out who I will be sitting next to while being taught a lesson
school really brings me stress
just knowing I have to deal with all the judgement all over again is torture
it wouldn't be so bad if there was no one there
this generation is horrible
criticising everything you do!
no wonder some people avoid going to school some mornings.
I would too.

My life is a mess
     no metaphor
     could ever mean

My ambition
is being held captive

Lost
in the chaos of logic

Like a game of chess
    I need to be saved
    by the Queen

Wishful thinking
For divine intervention

Summoning
*The Goddess of this machine

613 poems in my inbox.
Will read them all,
Each and every, will be
Unwrapped and refolded.

When I am done,
there will lovely be
613 more.

God needed six days to create the world.

For the love of poetry,
I will do it in all in one,
For I owe it to you,
For trusting me with thoughts most
Sabbath Sacred...

August 30th 2013

I never had the chance
to hear 'I miss you'
uttered from your lips
with any hint
of you sincerely being serious

I can feel the freedom
tearing me
limb from limb
because my core burns out
but my ribs cave in
and every notch on my bedpost
doesn't feel like victory
or anything, really
because the last time I felt
was the last time I said
I miss you
and I won't put myself
through righteous hell
(again)

even though here I stand
pulling excuses from thin air
like,
you forgot your pen,
you still have my sweater,
I still have your virginity,
tucked into that drawer
that I won't open
because it smells like home
and
we both know that would drive me
right over the edge

yet you also know so well
that if I was presented with 'home'
I wouldn't be able to tell
the difference.
So when I say home,
I'm inferring
that it tasted like your absence
and passive aggression
and sheets tangled with sweat
no longer from passion
but from the constant
cage of dreaming
taking a weightless axe
to throats
to home
to anyone
who dares to say
that I've moved on
because

I've moved seventeen times
and never once
have I felt like
I did with your face in my hair
and my chin on your chest
like home.
and I've avoided it so long
and now it's or I am gone
and either way
your eyes shift past my face
past my naked sincerity
past my begging for
'I miss you's
that won't come home.