I don't seek your permission...
To write about the what, why and how.
It could be a haiku or come in the shape of a cow.

I don't need your approval...
When I don't sound the least bit poetic...
In my mismatched metaphors or ill-rhymed acrostic.

I'm not asking for your blessing...
When I pen down and put up what I think...
Be it in cloying cliches or in tear drenched ink.

I don't crave for your understanding...
When my 10 word poems weren't filtered through your poetic lens,
Or if my contributions in collaborations lack in sense.

I don't hope for your likes...
If my content does not tickle your fancy,
Or if my words just rubs you silly.

I mean no disrespect...
But don't be too quick to click on the 'comment' button.
Private messaging has been put there for a reason.

I don't mean to cramp your style...*
You're entitled to your own opinions of course...
But if you've got nothing good to say, please save it and shove it up yours.

And the fire burns cold."

"What?" He whispered, eyes wide.
"It's true," She whispered. She cried. She shivered.
"There's no warmth by the fire's side."

"I'm the fire." He murmurs.
"Yes." She replies.

My ears are stopped with tapers, so I'll hear no more
of this ****** farce you and he have going.
Every time you ask for more
abuse, I realize I'm better off not knowing.
But my playlist is full of sadness,
and the rest is a bore.
So your screams are my melody
and I'll listen as your blood keeps on flowing.

They say fools rush in, and more the fool you.
More the fool me too, to listen to
your pained cries for more pain,
as your skin is red glowing,
The bruise slowly growing,
as you exult in the sick high you get from his backhand;
as I listen to Red Jumpsuit Apparatus ask him
if he feels like a man.

There's no pain more complete tonight
Than the ringing in my tear soaked budded ears
when he says "**** my ****, *****"
with those lips so sweet... "and tight."
And you oblige, because you're too used to it to fear,
and it makes you feel beautiful,
because only angels weep, right?

That's the sad lesson heard here.
I bid my sad playlist goodnight.

Rhyme night with light.
Rhyme love with dove.
Rhyme pain with razors,
and when that's not enough
mix in some words about heartbreak and the mock-laughing moon.
Catch some eyes, smoke some starlight.
Dream about raves full of lasers.
Drink till you're on the floor,
then shut the door.
And lie alone in your room.

Smoke.
Drink.
Live.
Die.
Wait for the pain
to make way for the high.

That's the path to the floor where I lie.
The train's in motion.
Its brakes are broken.
I guess that means I'll see you all soon.

My tie is formal; the coat's leather dark.
Face rugged; unshaven, eyes twinkling bright.
Perfect features form a question mark:
Would you care, perhaps, to stay the night?

If you told me no, you'd not be the first,
but I doubt you'd regret it over much
if you used my body to sate your thirst.
Just leave the money on the dresser, if that's your intent.
It's free to look, but it costs to touch;
Even pretty boys have to pay the rent.