I won't bleed
So don't worry about me;
I won't bleed
So it's fine if you hurt me

I won't feel
When you leave me
I won't see
The treacheries you'll be giving me

So let me rot
In my pedestal
Let them do what they want to me, it's fine
I don't bleed

I won't bleed
No point worrying about me;
I won't bleed
So hurt me

I won't bleed
My blood won't come gushing out
On the wounds and scars
You made for me

I won't bleed
So do as you please
I won't bleed
I'm already dead

Scent of summer on your skin
You taste like a memory
Eyes as bright as sunflowers
Take note of the season

Dawn's dance upon the dew
Cool creek water beaded toes
Meet me there my love
In the shadows of maybe

Soft bluegrass giggle
Today looks good on you
Sun kissed freckled cheeks
Caught in our connection

Let next time be our melody
My dandelion diamond
In this season of  stars
You are the moon

monsters under my bed
monsters in my mind
masters in my head
whispering to me blind

voices that are gone
come back to remind

my heart begs to mourn
afraid of what my eyes will find

the silence begins to roam
and i'm back in rome
on a colossal tide

travelling back and forth
between love and loath

i'd rather have them both
open my scars fresh and wide

in a room so silent
where sound travels
faster than light

here darkness resides
in lust and fright

wandering all night
with stars to hide

photos to like
memories have lied

to all those who have died

since past

when it all began
with plight

of all those who have cried
but died

yet, i want to be there still
wide open
when a lonely heart
begins to beat

begging to be free
but in a delusion
that cold is just
absence of heat

give me a pill to be enlightened
and i'll set fire to every thing

for the chaos is
just a form of silence
some thing's aren't
meant to breed

so, have you been
in a thought so violent
that everything around
starts to bleed

filling the emptiness
with opulence
a forest made up
of lonely seeds

ready to feed, steady and asleep
in this silence
you can taste the essence
of the universe rearing to be free
telling tales
of men and monsters

and of everything that came to be

i love words
and you had a way with it
besides, you're a writer
the first few months we were together
you'd bask me with your sweet voice
i was blissfully, happily intertwined
in your arrangement of sentences

but

i didn't know you were a painter too
you lose your pen
and started using your hands
you'd paint on me, your favorite canvas
fingers and knuckles as your brushes
i figured you liked red and blue
purple and black when you got creative

Clinging to what's left,
The debris of us,
Floats down the calmed delta mouth,
A night of turbulent storms,
Has laid waste to our ship, "Golden Heart,"
Mighty was she, but no match,
For the storm of lies that welled up,
The waves carelessly consumed us whole,
You steered us right into the storm,
Instead of running you faced it head on,
Ramon, a formidable captain with the best of intentions,
Chose poorly that night,
Yes, he'd sailed that course a-plenty,
Assuming we could skip port and rest...
But this night was different,
The air was abnormally still,
I questioned the Captain's choices,
I too had sailed these waters,
I'd seen these types of clouds before,
I'd smelled this still and seemingly calm air,
A maelstrom of despair, doubt, and, anger
Violently rocked her,
We couldn't keep the sails,
The mast snapped like a twig,
We were at the black water's mercy now,
Two beloved crew members float lifelessly face down
Their skin, pale and bruised from the rocks,
Which tore into the ship's bow,
The black water, now satiated,
Basks in the afterglow of our destruction,
The warm golden sun rise brings no comfort,
It illuminates the debris of us, laughing in our faces,
The ship is gone,
We managed to lash together a few jagged pieces of love-red deck,
She was beautiful, a pain to navigate, but beautiful nonetheless,
All that's left of her are us,
Clinging to each other with calloused hands,
Cold, damp, exhausted, and bitter,
A waterfall is up ahead,
Nothing but a few pieces of rope and broken wood,
Stand between us and the jagged rocks below...

A tree of blood soaks the morning
where the newborn woman groans.
Her voice leaves glass in the wound
and on the panes, a diagram of bone.

The coming light establishes and wins
white limits of a fable that forgets
the tumult of veins in flight
toward the dim cool of the apple.

Adam dreams in the fever of the day
of a child who comes galloping
through the double pulse of his cheek.

But a dark other Adam is dreaming
a neuter moon of seedless stone
where the child of light will burn.