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I suppose it's better that way.
User cannot be found.
So I wouldn't try to say "Hey"
User cannot be found.
A hole grows larger in my heart.
User cannot be found.
This is absolutely tearing me apart.
User cannot be found.
I'm sustained by the memories I keep.
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And by the dreams that haunt me in my sleep.
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I hope you're doing alright.
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And that someone is appreciating you, holding you tight.
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Entangled in plastic
and  fishing line
eyes pecked by
crows; a new
America.

Did you edit away the fire,
  in your attempt to be correct

Do your words make you a liar,
  as they break and disconnect

Is that order you chased after,
now deserted no-mans land

With your mind and spirit sinking,
—in a literate quicksand

(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)

The Dark mist, it beckons,
It curls its manicured tip.
I twist, no, I resist,
Pleas die softly on my lip.

I conjure my life's images,
Of decent well adjusted folks.
Crumpets, giggles and tea bags.
Pinks and yellows that it evokes.

But fragile as an egg shell,
The cracks they show some more.
Lust and desire bubble forth,
Crimson lies sprawled upon the floor.

I'm told that I'm the Good Girl
Of frocks, and poise, and grace.
Yet the cracks they draw me in,
Fingers touch velvet and lace.

The Good Girl she suffocates,
In deaf silence she screams.
Awake she hides the gaping cracks,
Plays freely in her dreams.

So, Good courtesies in the light,
Smiling pleasantries at the fore.
But with heads turned I come to life,
Filled by the Dark I fight no more.

Two lives I live in parallel,
Soft moan sneaks past my lip
I am the dark, I am home,
I curl my manicured tip....

Flecks of gold stardust
got caught in my weary eyes
and awakened me.

don't mistake my value,
i am a man who wields fear like a would-be sword
who trembles in the most assertive way
who lives in the future,
and was cradled in the steel beam winds from the past

my cry was a howl,

my submission was a song

with eyes too full of light just like the new roman complex
you know anything could happen
i am your scorched anything

It’s harder to lie in verse or a poem,
  than it is with dialog or prose

It’s harder to bend the truth over a feeling,
than around what you or someone else knows

It’s harder to feign an eruption of light,
  or the isolation of being alone in the dark

It’s harder to mislead with a few chosen words,
  than with tomes that were written to outsmart

(Villanova Pennsylvania: August, 2016)