there's a dark girl I know
so beautiful
can't help but want a handful,
can't seem to help but get a mouthful
of words
all sputtered up and un-thought,
mostly stuff I thought I forgot.

I tell her my issues, my problems, my dreams,
she doesn't give me pain
no she doesn't give me grief
but she's twisted my beliefs.
reminds me I'm sensitive by letting me relax
without emotional tax, gives me love without pointing out the facts.

she found me two feet on the ground
and shook me, took me to the skies.
I was proud to be around such a daring creature,
I am proud to have been bound in such a brilliant gaze.

love is in all places all faces all things
but there is no substitution to what her friendship brings.

I built for you
(another nightmare).

goodness,
is your heart still broken?

I consider your names from time to time
and fall under in wonder,
if the syllables were just an uttering-reach
for your attention,
or if they were failed attempts at catching
amusements-daze for your entertainment.
my sound waves wanted to cradle your letters,
to give you the alphabet in symphonies
harmonious with my admiration for you
and all I thought you stood for.

you flipped me on my stomach,
face down
trying to muffle the sound of my love,
what pain!
trying to force me not to love so loud.
I felt less than proud to
pull you out and leave you empty,
wishing, for once, not to be so untouched.

your passion for passing opportunities
to prove yourself worth the patience
was the only thing you held onto
when I opened my arms.
your touch no longer comfort,
more infectious and breathtaking
in a wind knocking your lungs down into your guts sort of way,
with all your broken promises jutting into my rib cage,
shredding the butterfly wings that used to arise that love-sick shutter
until I'm sick of love and left with blinds
that leave me to mutter about the darkness.

you were a creature of great wonder in the lack of light,
the shadows painting angels wings
sprouting from the backside of your heart
shooting through your spine,
your halo shining so bright that I lost my concentration,
I took a second look and lost my path
in a concentrated dose of your praise,
witnessed the sin seeping through your skin
as you sweat and soon there was nothing left
but the sound of your breath and the words
and the words and the words and the sickness
came creeping in like a crash.

your wings melt in the daylight
your teeth rot in your cheeks
halo crooked and eyes clamped tight
you sleep because you're too weak to speak
to another human being face to face
and from your face sprouted flowers made of meat
but the bees stung me when it was time to eat.

guilty by association.
guilty of procreation tendencies with absolutely no intention
of creating anything but distance from the wreckage.
broken hearts are broken bones
are breaking our breaking
we've broken apart and my heart
it has been shielded, restored into a beating,
living, loving organism.

for someone who wanted so badly to play the part of jesus,
you sure didn't pray enough, laugh enough or heal enough.
you didn't even try.

you were a wreck that I couldn't withstand,
a self-imposed torture,
because the thrill of losing everything
was too intoxicating to escape.

you were a right handed lover
and a left hand driver
with a ******* and not much else to say
with all that anger in your heart,
with all that hatred in your bones,
you will tear at your flesh to dig deeper
to try and understand something that's already been explained,
as all who once loved you will watch you rot away.

silver tongue city slicker
stay at home in your cabinet
don't come calling or knocking
it's too shocking: I'm thankful.

most positively,
I am free,
because without the wreck
there wouldn't have been anything to feel at all.

lightning pulses through my pitch
strike me with your presence, stitch
the gaping ridges of the aftermath.

dark, is my prism.
weak, is my shell.
loss, is my repetition.

my gaze is shallow water
as the sun begins to bend.

when nothing grows, we hunt each other.
attempting satisfaction of the flesh, we eat meat.
carnivorous campers hiking through hail, we retreat.

parting clouds,
beams,
breaking through our moisture.
the rays build our spirits to cast
shadows.
evening arrives.

flames draw our photographs
and we're captured in thought.
candid sweetness, through darkness we fought.

today is the first rain since those memories
and everything I swore I couldn't feel last
winter comes rushing, swinging limbs,
swinging branches and I'm barreled.
all boxed up in the lack of things.
swinging gently before the snap,
my body descends
as I open my wings for flight
there's no surprise in my eyes
as the past repeats itself for I am
punished by gravity every time
I surrender to survive.

education:  takes my motivation
                           and squelches it.
                    plummets me deep
within the caverns of responsibility.

the fight for pleasure without pain.
taken aback and washed up ashore,
what's more? I'm buried.

chippin' rocks at last
sunrise 'till sunset, convenient lover
conventional friend.

at each beginning I sense our end.
each tattered piece of your broken heart is clenched,
your muscles aching.
bleeding and blended into a bitter batter, what's the mater?
you haven't always been this tender.

you shiver in your regret
the tension's in your sweat
and I bet you're not as sick as I was
when I felt you beside me when I was all alone

your arms were a death bed
reaching around my shoulder blades.
not a moment until the understanding
pulses and fades as your love
shimmers and dissipates.

comfort kills this fragile figure
rotten molten black lunged angel,
I fear the moment I can no longer
feel that you are unlimited in your tender form.

porcupine, devil's receptionist,
your splinters are aching again.
manifested figure, you are alien.
more so are your actions.

I am thoroughly impressed
by the displays of your affections
boldly handing them to me,
so rudely beautiful, and my limbs
are too shocked for movement.

each layer within me shifts,
black goes grey, blue goes green,
brown goes red and gold, weeds
become sunflowers, the ground below
us begins to heave, volcanoes splinter
and split down their middles, ridges
of lava gasping for air, bubbling, black to grey to white
to blue and purple fire. sweat, we sweat but we don't catch flame.
sweat, and I am liquid at last.

sweet,
considering possibilities,
shuffling my vocabulary like cards in a deck,
preparing myself for the most difficult game life could offer,
preparing myself in tender fragments of flaky crystal.
words become thin glass in my mind, and I
begin to feel the cuts in my throat, 
climbing up my tongue trying to create some movement,
even if that movement is pain.

movement has suddenly shook my bones out of their choke hold.
I gasp for air, grasp on to what you hold out.
your outline against my insides at last, your third eye cracked open
and I see behind and through the meshing that takes place. I see so
much that I am blind, torn with black and white.

I close my eyes with good intention:
I am black.
more dark than thorn roofed ships,
smashing against waves made of shadow.
I open my eyes with impression and find you white.
more white than the ghosts in my bones,
winter shivers back with thoughts of you.
I close my eyes with good intention.

I tire more and more
my head weighs down
with all the color.
I want no more black or white.

you tire more and more
your head weighed down
by holding your colors in.

we become tectonic
and all goes grey.

ashes of what we felt that day
aches of what we did

morning reaches my empty lids,
you've taken all I could say with
your silence. a plague. a bartenders keep.
I saw you again before the moon,
I even saw you standing beneath it's reflection,
staring.

I wake to push the sunrise back,
peeling my face from dreams
reality beams as my passage.
light storms through the peace,
questions arise, flooding in.
mourning commences routinely
as we find ourselves in the rapids.

white rocks, rocks that look as if they might explode.
rocks of your eyes, as they change color.
trees as your arms, with mountains for scars.

raw skies that break
and bellow
as they laugh with us.

leaving minds, we sift with fevered hesitation.
gently crippling for a quick ****, the catch
was almost effortless as my mouth became
a staircase. as I watched everything I wanted
ascend with my assistance, I realized no more
of it was for me and there was no more I could take.
No more that I could want.

desires chants no longer engulfing this fragile figure,
transparency threaded through the thick and soon
this figure became no longer lace, no longer tender.
this figure molds, meshes with the recess atmosphere
and dissipates into structures too bold for distinction.

This page is terrifying,
        and now it is mine.
There are no rules on this page,
        my eyes are all that see it.
        My pencil greets it with my hands stroke.
        My movement takes it where ever I please.

I would like to enhance my style with technique.

People:         my greatest fear
                                 &
                     my greatest love
                         intertwined.

Often times I mistook that love for hate, yet
looking back upon the reasons, I realize how
vain they were. How horridly timid I was to
let the truth, lies and rumors all become one.

How silly the grief of things.
         How rude of me to focus in on them.

As if the plague was the cure to the madness
engulfing me as my friendships grew and
declined in number so rapidly. If only I could
say that I knew what I was doing.

How glad I am to say that I was not.
         How glad I am to say that I learned to move on.

I have learned, at that.
I will bloom at winters end.

I see you, as if for the first time,
and my heart collapses upon itself
a million times over. I see you, and
my tongue tastes like silver as I speak.

Words cannot contain themselves within my vessel.
Words cannot escape the realms in which I tread.
Words fall short and I bend over to pick them up.
Words slip through my fingers and burn my skin like acid.

Words trip me over myself, myself breaks habits
and creates new ones, new words to fall after, new
webs to catch opportunities to catch you to leave me
bruised.

Morning fails me,
afternoon and you lose me,
night beckons my entirety
and my self is searching.
I can no longer control my direction
as I am pulled by "fate".

I saw you again for the first time in forever.
Your eyes were sad, curious, and tired.
They were hurried in their silence, and
screaming in their wake.

"I will see you again!" they said, "I don't know when,
but soon..."

Now is forever, and I will see you again.
Now is a friend, the past an enemy.
Now is reality, and all else a memory.

I am dissolving in my madness,
having days that run like snakes,
I want to slam the breaks of my wake
and shake the feeling that I am a mistake.
Each day that passes tells me to take myself
and go, find a ride, hitch hike, **** yourself before
it's too late to stop breathing, semi-comfortably,
in these darkened days that bud neglect, and
self-destruct. I enjoy the rude and malicious
taste of nutrition after being starved of all
passion. I enjoy the pain-tattered crack
in my skull from the thoughts I collect.

I want to project something worth a lifetime.

I will soon create
I will soon abstain
I will soon.
I will...

Whilst I was searching through forests so lush
I came across a red wood, she soon became my crutch
I fell down in weakness, leaned beside her roots
she told me dark secrets, of the one beneath the lake
my heart was no match for her brilliant gaze
she watched me run down futures past
fleeing the scene, with a cave-dweller dream

it was magic
that I was after
it was magic
that was dark

the dragons wait restless in caves with my soul
they want me to drag the witches from their hole
temptation is frightening, I want to grasp it all
the power of darkness beckons me too deep
long nights before me, the monsters will wait

it was magic
they were after
it was magic
that was light

I found myself dreaming, dragon hearts in my hands
blood more black than night, blood all in my eyes
no more sight, no more thought, but I feel
a presence
what's this? I'm here.

The darkness calls, the darkness screams
the darkness keeps me in her arms.

I wake to a noise of a branch, breaking thin
it's wood, it's the tree, she's a blaze in her red
in my head, I try and hold her, in my hands
I'm a flame
I am free
such as a stream
I am tame
such as a whisper
I am free.

my wolf is yet a plague of thought,
again I am consumed by loves gentle rock.
the more it shields me from the stench of my rot,
I remember all I once forgot.

no one has caught my heart,
in fact,
I think it's torn apart
so raw, the tragedy of desire
the smoldering fire of blue flames
burn my love into a smoke,
which I inhale with the attempt
to recycle and filter out all the hurt I've caused.

to myself
to others
and for no one.

a romantic dying hard
trying not to escape the truth
while at the same time trying not to create any lies.

the deep water I believed to be treading through
was mud all along:

bed side table herman hesse
looks up to see one of van goghs, wants to undress
doesn't have a ******, this *** is a mess
she's not surprised
'cause she's a pessimist.

to her loves affairs:

she's keepin' shut
no more love left in her gut
the feelings escaped her through the cuts
one for every lover
she didn't give a ****
don't worry about her wrists
instead she likes to use her fists,
bad throws, punching chains
lets the men drive, fast lanes.
bruises are the names of the faces she misplaced
in her bones where she resides,
it's a pillow that she lies beside.

she's not a trick
she's not a *****,
most feared is to be a bore
so she smiles and speaks,
too much? doesn't grieve.
as long as what she's saying is something to believe.

as long as you're in the mood
to laugh
there's no need
to wear a mask
just leave alone
the aching things
that bring you
beneath
the weight of gravity.

heavy heavy heavy
leave me to my beats

I'll walk the streets

heavy

The yearning to dissolve
is sending subtle attempts at destruction of self.

Yes, I continue to struggle with the same subject.
Pulling at the edges of what I thought I wanted
so hard that I cause a rift in my desires, finding
that there's nothing I want or need in this life.

Simply fleeting are all the things that happen to me,
all the things I do to others, and whatever it is that
will be the end of us.

it's the end of me.
right here.
last night.
this morning.
one year ago
a love killed
everything I was.

an escape.
escape from me, I'm toxic
and I'm bleeding
and I'm going to drink that blood.

I made a promise not to hurt myself...

nothing more or less
I am what I am, but the more I feel,
the more I feel like I'm less.

wanting EVERYTHING all at once,
not caring this time, I'm going to scribble,
it's more beautiful than not being understood at all.

I'll scribble and let you think what you want
as I taunt myself with the truth of things so
painfully that I feel like it has to be a lie.

yet

here I am spilling my guts
my insides
my self
all by myself I am tortured with lovers
from all angles
some call me an angel
yet all I want is black
and the darkness within me is screaming
telling me I'm not doing what's right for my soul
yet all I want is black
and the darkness within me knows
telling me I'm doing my best for the ones that surround me.

I keep wanting to remove myself from this life I'm living.
too painful to look in the eye, I just stare at myself as if I am someone else.
knowing that I am who I am and that each time I meet someone
I am NEW, a creature they have never seen before and to them I am NEW
and FRESH and beautiful
and..
tortured? you?! ME? NO, they could not believe it.

I am a thinker, I am loved
I am special in their eyes
a gem or a diamond, a reflection of my insides is what I hide behind
perhaps never to find what it is that others see in me.

depression is something I can handle,
oddly enough it's something I can't schedule,
it's not something I can comprehend, it's simply something I live with.

I hold it in strange faces,
you know the ones that are so often played with,
fake smiles.
except you make me smile!
it's not fake,
it's just easy to dismiss the sadness when in your presence.

this!

I don't want to have to be around others for happiness.
I don't need to be.
I haven't learned how not to be as well as I'd like to have learned by now.
I ought to have learned by now.
I'm making progress.

I cannot afford to attach myself completely,
because as soon as I detach then there will
surely be not enough left to be complete alone.
Barely now, I can stand on two legs without
some sort of destructive quality in my heart.
Barely now, do I remember how to love.

Do I remember how to love?
or accept it?

I cannot accept it
unless I do not realize it.

I do not realize what or who I am
and I wish to find without search.

yes, I am thinking.
thinking too much?
if that's what you say then I agree.
not thinking enough?
I agree as well.

it's all about what you think about that determines
the amount of "too much" and "not enough".

don't give me grief because my focus is not yours.
don't give me attention.
I'm a child, crying out for attention.
if you give me what I want,
all I'll want is more.

step up and sink in
my mind is a riddle
swollen with thinkin'
surprised at what you made me feel
I thought it was impossible.

is there something so wrong with me
that one mentioning your closeness
and I'll get up and run to you?
even if I'm sure I'd break more?

you words are strings
and mirrors, I don't want to be so caught
in your tangles. don't tell me what to do.

painful to see you
can't hold back my grinding teeth,
striking again and
I'm shocked at myself for not being
honest about the
gravel I chew in your presence.
wondering if I was
ready and pushing myself harder
to try to see you.

all of what I desired so painfully
is suddenly open armed and wanting
me back, won't leave me alone about
it. pouring out your heart now will
only hurt you more, for all that I am
refuses to move anywhere but forward.

you say you want to move forward
and to do so with me, and that you
will let go of the memories, and yet
that is all your soul seems to pour.
all your pen seems to shoot out and
the second I tell you a no instead of a
maybe, you go home and write about
how ****** up I am. Yet when I was
willing to still ******* I was some
sort of goddess. you were "honored"
by my presence. now it seems that
because I am my own person and I
wish to explore whatever excites me
after drowning in my love for you.
hating myself for feeling like I couldn't
live without you, or that love, and
constantly being another object you
could use at your leisure. *******.

everyone makes mistakes.
I made a big one and you made
small ones constantly.
I was going to be calm with the
words I spoke
for you did the same thing I did to you
with someone you claimed to love
who you loved and had been with
for 3 times longer than we've even
known each other.

the more time that goes by since I ripped your heart out
the more I wonder if we ever really knew each other in the first place
the more I see who you really are without the blinding curtain of love
the more time that had gone by since you ripped my heart out,
without even realizing it.
the more time I spent repairing it and returning it to you,
and again, the cycle continued until I physically attacked myself.

"my heart is so raw I think it forgot how to break"

I'm going to be free. I'm not going to dwell.
You said you wouldn't and you're happy and you've moved on,
perhaps it was all a lie you told yourself, perhaps it is true, but
if you don't stop writing **** about me,
then I'll just slam my pen back at you.

often misunderstood
because I'm running.
no more keeping up
with myself.
fevered flowers:
the scent is toxic,
moist petals are
slowly drying as you stare.

love confessions, it's
intelligent not to touch
those thoughts.
my skin screams,
resistance is useless when
a mind is set.
let's enjoy listening to
the wind dancing with water.
abrasive weather
whichever way you stretch.

calm bleeding
only the eyes are shocked.
ultimatums of
healthy habits
only make the sickness creep
harder to keep
back from the surface.
sharp neglect    
there's a lot of goodness here.

cornered commitment
maybe all these tricks aren't magic.
ill tricks in disguise
all encountered is an illusion.
take time
see what pleases and let all else fade
or pass through the transparent torture
that is easily forgotten.

sweet spins
strong arms encase a shattered weakness.
strong sense
for breaking shells built based on fear.
some sanity
in telling the truth boils into insanity.
sane souls
just want crushing cement for breakfast.
smashed spine
twisted into fine petals which cracked.
slowly sweetly
the wind poured down upon the fire.
sweat soured
each hand that reached for another.
screaming search
eye to eye to soul to heart to ache to no.

frightened frustrations
confusion will keep the puppets hanging in waiting.
suspended in space, it's not a race.
a test in patience which will soon be aced.

my days are long like mothers nails,
the light smiles I fall asleep to wake
the demons, which I feel are slowly
dragging me down.
                               listen to yourself.
transcend what you think to be true
and create truth with all that you do.
I won't hurt myself if you don't, not
only
because
we
promised.

I want to fall asleep to your light and
wake up to it. If your demons awake,
push them away. you're stronger than
you think.
                 let's make as little sense as possible
              and try not to ask or answer anything.
that's something I might be too good at.
just like thinking.
and contradicting.
I often say I'd rather think too much than not enough.
something painful
to live out daily. I
feel a small sense of rewarding for my abundant thought,
and a large amount
of surprise at the lack.

take it or leave it.
it's all an illusion.

my skin is splintered,
it's not the wood inside of me.
maybe's are seeping through
my heart holes.
all form is out to play, I'm on
the 19th hole of destruction.

experiencing myself
empty of desires,
yet continuing to fulfill my promises
and keep myself alive and active.

hard work
isn't as bad if you meditate,
formulating ideas while sifting through memories.
a strange form of meditation while cleaning houses,
yet all the same distracting from the present reality
until you're on your way home with the funds to
provide healthy food, shelter, and a bit of recreation.

hard work
is barreling towards me.
I am planning to jump over and on top of that wheel
which I was in constant fear of and conquer it.
Not only for myself, but for the ones I care for.
If I cannot be there for myself and conquer my
own demons, then I cannot be there for others
to help them conquer theirs. If I am a poison I
shall only continue to seep into those I hold closely, I
refuse to any more. I'm
withstanding.

I will fight the major influences which rest within my being,
I will trim down the fat to create the muscles to carry myself.
No more leaning.

I am standing on my own two feet.

Until I can control my desires,
I cannot stand with you. Until
I let go of desires and just be.
Strength will help me to let go of the
poisonous cracks in the morals I have
so easily let sink beneath me.

I recognized myself as the person on a horse,
while the horse is up to it's eyes in mud, as
I continue to whip the horse to move forward,
rather than getting off and helping it out.

I realize now that I am the only one who can bury my strength,
just as I can choose to let it carry me. I have found that perhaps
instead I should be carrying my strengths so as to only grow more
powerful, within and without, so that if I need to set it down to
help rescue another's, I shan't be just as helpless.

here's to building on top of what is, rather than taking apart
what was, so as to create something new out of the old.

creation's purpose is beauty  
destruction is wasteful

let us create and if we are finished
move on to the next creation,
rather than continuing to
poke and **** at the old.

The excitement of not knowing.
Curiosity has got me on my knees;
you are a bundle of learning.

The descriptions in which I dictate thought
are nothing more or less in which the way
you think, and the only difference between us
is the fact that I say them aloud.

Love is loud, yet knowledge is knocking.
Perhaps
touching is feeling, and
knowing is believing.

I find that I strive for more than
which it is that I accept.

Although,
I accept more than what it is that
I wish to accept.
Wishing to attract what's apart from me,
simply because of a few common interactions,
and the comfort it brings.

I love in many ways, some that are destructive,
(which I acknowledge), and others that help me
to breathe, think, write, and speak.

Although others doubt the power which I can share,
I will continue to carelessly be the person which I am.

Willingly trying to give up on being the person which
others tell me I should be, or rather, neglecting the "who"
in which others think I cannot succeed.

Friends are special and sacred,
I find love in all cracks,
and I accept the dark,
settling,
I am.

Love is in all places,
all faces,
all things.

Give yourself up and be,
manifest.

it's strange how easily one can convince themselves
to do anything, especially things they'd rather not.

the more you hate
the more you waste
the more you lose control

crisp from the core
cut in half and a bore.

I want some more sand!
I'm tired of cement beneath
the slabs of meat I call feet,
the movement doesn't beat
the heat:
it fuels it.
burning
on my way uphill, the stretch
is between my thighs. Sweat!
this weather is no good for fancy clothes,
I've got pit stains up these hills.
I'd say I'm looking on the bright side, but
it's more of a stare, or perhaps it's the light
that's stalking me, because I can't seem to
escape it!
burning!
this soul is melting through this flesh which
can't let go of winters breath, what once was
afraid to freeze to death wants nothing more
than a cloud or four, to shade their skin from
sinking in.
the rays,
the haze,
the heat begins.

Summer is no enemy,  
Winter is no friend,
all I want is Fall again!
The spring is here,
my nose is rose,
the seeping of color shall spread
ahead,
down and all places around,
it'll push and shove as
my body is covered
in the guilt of not taking
the time to properly supply myself
with sun screen.

summers seduction returns
with burning rays of light.
I find my resonance with night
has been reawakened as I can
roam the streets without the tease of winters chill.

my bike and I have had somewhat of a falling out
yet I feel the urge to grip the bars
and pedal until my breath beats
me for the lack of it, and my legs
turn to jelly from the unfamiliarity.

I walk the empty road of hurried days
the dark holds opportunities that the light burns through.
Nerves have been narcissistic
in that self-loathing battering
that I promised you I wouldn't commit to again.

is it different if you're a witness?

Hiding isn't part of the agenda,
if you could call irrationality an agenda.

here's to touching upon a few points in which I don't show all sides.

I'm nervous to talk to the people who make me happy
and I'm jaded to their presence,
because I'm a modern-day gatsby
with a touch of bukowski (or maybe a slam)
and all I want is for  this romantic inside of me to give up on the struggle
and give in.

I want to let her form allude me because it's not important,
she just wants recognition for the fact that she has an education
and knows how to use it.
I'm just going to let my words smash onto the page, maybe edit
before a show, maybe not.
Probably go drink a beer on the local trail and stare at the back
yards of the wealthy and sharpie in an eye ball on the cement
brick on which I set my empty bottle for company, because
flowers don't get far in foam.

Nostalgia here we are again,
this time there's no search for meaning,
I know you completely and ever since we've met
you've refused to let go (somewhat of a curse, yet I love you).

If I want to let myself be free, then I have to let go of others judgement.
If maybe for a second I didn't think of what others thought about me
and I didn't think about them to occupy the empty space, then I would
truly return to the person I was before my self-esteem plummeted beneath
all that I knew to be right and wrong. Before it hurt to write my feelings
because of the fear that what I wrote wouldn't be good enough, or long enough,
no matter how many compliments came shooting through me.

"I forgot, you're bad at accepting compliments."

I don't want that to be true, I don't want to beat myself up
over the fact that someone else has great beauty simply
because I am blind of my own.

Self-love, here I come,
it'll help me live life without tangles.

my laughing is a sign of panic
due to the indigestible actions;
the piercing made me *****.

slowing down to an interlude;
the interest is waiting patiently
for you to make your way through.

destruction of self is a bar fight:
joining in those actions isn't on
my schedule this evening, nor
shall it be for as long as I can help
myself from myself, in the reflections
of fear that are so often transparent
when I find myself surrounded by
those who only wish to forget.

the forgetting is what forces me to focus.

crowds are a collective of nervousness
and a strangely large number of people
who refuse to be honest because they're
trying to hide the fact that they care about
what every set of eyes has to think, and the
self-centered inner voice
that thinks they actually care
about what they themselves are doing,
or look like.
the sad and beautiful truth is that people
are too worried
about themselves to think of anyone else.

my projections are reflections
of all within my vessel
pushing outward.

is ju,st an exc:us:e
to a"voi"d using
punct. u.at!on
cor. rect.
ly

;)

my rhyme schemes
are often best
to be replaced
because you
can't hear me croon
in the afternoon
as I type out my feelings
alone in my room.

there is a world beyond the window:
to remember that the window is there
and to look out of it, is to come to the realization
that thoughts are small and actions are somewhat of a promise.

I guess
a shift,
can't
help
but
feel it.

"We're killing our bodies
while they're still capable
of being killed." -Said a teacher, said a friend.

"The only good thing you have left is yourself.
It's all a matter of the perspective you have of this
life." -Replied the other.

curiosity tainted
music's coursing wild through my veins

prelude to making love on pages

your soul opens, dark pools that flood my heart,
warm, balanced, alive and carefully sweet
(yet not too sweet,
the risk of letting go has been conquered,
  and the freedom prevails),
our dance is symmetrical as we shape into each other.

your skin teaches me how to be smooth
as the distinction between your hair
and your face fades,
just as your body and mine intertwine
until your hips are all I know and
your lips are all I see with my eyes closed.

a comfortable lack of noise apart from
the pleasure of breathing. I remember
every detail of the pounding flesh, the sweat
carving rivers on your chest, the kiss from
my neck to the breast.

I've never known a closeness such as this,
your gentle gaze has gripped my heart,
some times I want to tear it out
so as not to get overwhelmed by the beauty.

your love is art, and your expression is priceless.

I often find it difficult to hold myself back,
our love is raw, but I'd rather my ****** not be.

a jealous heart
wants no more
than to forgive.
even when there
is nothing to be
                           forgiven.

this pulsing, throbbing energy,
takes refuge where you choke.
terribly sick from the throat.
my chest is a boat, and the
drowning doesn't cease with the life jacket.
vibrant and not easily forgotten
and yet still, you seem to have forgotten
what it is like to breathe with me, or rather
my feelings escape me as soon as I achieve the ability to explain them.

I reject the first thoughts that I recognize as uncomfortable
and give them to you for further translation, yet the energy within
those very words haven't diluted before they reach you and you spit
them back as "Ego".

I cannot help myself as much as I'd like to,
yet I try.
I cannot remove the parts of myself which I see in you,
yet I try,
because of the terrible, knee in my gut feeling,
and the rejection of willingness to expend your energy to help me find happiness,
because somehow if you can make me feel intensely about any emotion,
then to you that means I am only happy when you make it so.

**** that idea.

I make myself happy, I make myself sad, I make myself whatever the hell I want to,
although I sometimes fall into feelings, (a mistake which only proves more the imperfections
of being human), and the lack of control over everything.
Yet I try to take heed and pay attention to myself and how what I do effects others.

You bring immense energy, but you are not the source of my life, my light, or my darkness.

We simply share both,
from your prism to mine
and back again.
I shine through you and make color
and you shine through me to do the same.
We help cast shadows and peek through darkness,
******* hell, my heart feels so raw that I think it forgot how to break.

A jealous heart
wants nothing
more than to forgive,
and be forgiven.

I am camille for real I'm awesome

treat yourself like a lullaby
soft and sweet
give yourself away to the restless
biting their tongues and twisting their bodies
(like I do, 'cause I can't help it)

attraction pulses through poison
I don't want to hurt you
attraction is deluded through conversation
I know your annoyance stems from over-stimulation
and that  maybe if I'm alone then you won't be afraid to be,
or at least if I am then you won't
'cause as soon as I need someone you're there.

here's where I jump from one thing to another
this isn't about you, I know what you're thinking
this is the problem with explaining poetry, or maybe it's just my problem
but I can't hold on to the same point, even if I were to die without one,
and if I were, I'd die screaming, "**** me!"

here is where all things I've never found inspiration in meet
where at more love than hate explains how I'm not alone,
and that after meeting a real-live-manic-depressive
(that I really hope doesn't own a gun)
can help me more than I can help them.

I had *** without love
and realized what a love meant
and the distinction between the two.

Without experience, there is no learning, for me.
without reading, there is no knowledge, for me.
without interest, there is nothing, for me.

caught up in the heart drop of loss,
I decide to learn as much as I can
and not give in to myself,
distraction is paradise, lately.

I know time is just a measurement from the way you looked at me,
the way you held my face, and kept moving no matter how tired you were.
sweet sweat tired breath repetition redemption saliva salvation
I love you, I love her, I love him, I love them
I love me, I love us,
I love all.

whoa there, you're so personal.
you're so jaded, you're covered in attention.
I'm not going to let go just because you want me to,
I'm not going to hold on just because I'm scared,
I'm just going to go in whatever direction I feel is best,
no matter what whoever thinks.
Rebellion on my finger tips
watch out for yourself and I'll do the same for me.

I'll send you sweet dreams while I can't sleep.

bukowski taught me to let go of feelings
except
to also feel as much as you can.
I, however, cannot help but do what I've been taught.

only to my demise.
I'm going to keep ******* up, but I'm too afraid to be alone.
I feel alone, but know certain decisions will leave me completely alone
..in the heart.
I know I don't make sense but I'm trying really hard to explain.

..earlier today, after crying, I went into the kitchen with intentions
of conversation about what's been eating me, there were tools of pain
which I placed upon my flesh,
I didn't break through it.
I wanted to bleed
but it wasn't worth it.

what does that say?

perhaps I'm growing
perhaps it's not enough

I'm not sure why, but my heart is a wrench
and although it's a tool, I can't seem to find how to use it.

ego
wants
needs
me
you
I feed
on blood
**** me
**** that
I am weak
cannot choose
yeah
this isn't poetry
but neither are you.

a day of chalk
and bruises.
your strength is flexible
I am curious how much
effort I have lost in thoughts of greatness
rather than making that greatness reality.

words have me in their throat
I can't help but scream with them.

I didn't wake up last night, not once.
It was a miracle and I woke up to blood,
which was also a miracle.

I threw cotton on my back,
I got caught on the door ****,
I thought I taught myself how to move,
guess not.

I sorted bottles from lowest to highest
I sorted ideas, just the same (how useful).

Using my tongue seems inevitable today
opening my throat, I'll talk to myself while I look others in the eye.
I'll let them know how I'm doing in robotic undertones
and wish I could bring the real conversation out every time.

It's too personal to know how someone really feels. It's too dramatic.
Love & ignorance & arrogance & waiting & chasing & giving up
trying to get over what you can't change,
about others & about yourself.

If this and because of that and you should have because I couldn't
and backwards again because I keep forgetting to breathe through the stress
that I inflict upon myself, so I choose another infliction and risk an infection.
You're not a disease but this won't last forever. I'm feeling like a tug of war tease
that can't stop begging for attention, although I can't seem to hold my own.

I've got a key to an open door and yet still I stand
with my frame in it's frame wishing for another
frame to place myself in. Maybe even hang myself,
suspension at it's finest. The elevation of my image might **** me,
so I'll save that trick for the dead and wait my turn like everybody else.

Take my number and count me out
ring me out like a wet rag and then
let me try and help you in other ways.

The graveyard was twilight and the fox was silent.
I was chalk-based chemicals, caffeinated and drinking, still.
He was worried about the unborn, our talking was a storm.
Emotions running wild through my speech, I wanted to shut up
but couldn't help speak. That happiness got me laughing, and it
got him a little too.
The madness was my walk to the car
but it didn't end when I got there.  

I kept on thinking like I like to.
I kept on talking like I like to.
Then I fell apart
because the most positive fact
that I will be alone forever.
The small pieces of chapped skin
which I ate off my lips
soon became a reflection
of how although I'm not always okay,
I will be after a good amount of pain.
Something shy of heartache shouldn't fall so deeply
for someone whose attention is so easily caught by
the seemingly unimportant. Something shy of heartache
shouldn't pay so much attention to the moment when
they finally hit the bottom of that abyss they fell into.

Something shy of heartache
and I'm turning into a ghost,
a shell of a baby that has the
ability to speak with knives
even though they're too afraid
to hold them, because they know
they'll just hurt themselves like forever.

I want to shut up about forever and give myself now.

I'm feeling lonely and I'm feeling raw, keep making fun of me.
I want to crawl back into the blue from which I came,
where everything was dark.
Ever since I've seen this light I've become increasingly more blind,
I'm torn in all decisions, keeping myself weak.
I'm buried in my own self too deep.
It's time to climb. I believe in myself this time, unlike the others (which aren't important).

Success is inevitable.

I never knew of love this strong,
it's healthy glow illuminating happiness.
Proving to me that I was pessimistic for too long,
and that pessimist point-of-view sort of liked it when I cried.

she is golden
she's been gotten
she waits, she rots in his gaze
a trap, a maze
she's chinese plates,
he takes,
he breaks.

she hides
in the cracks.

no coming back.

painter of dreams
living through imagination
a fragment of reality running wild
I release all my sanity for fantasy
don't wake me up

raise your standards
self-hatred is weak

he moved his body, I followed
I touched myself, his hands

such a disgusting beauty
a silent high-impact force of comfort
his anxiety traded for a poison
my poison traded for his nectar

don't let me go

not much left
it's incredible how easily one becomes jaded
how easily we forget love in the absence of presence
the top of the mountain isn't so intimidating when you're being carried
the bottom is the hard part

our purpose is to fall
building friendships, fragile beginnings with shattering ends
trying not to be so intimate

leave me alone

weird crazy stupid
there is no room for elegance
elbow to elbow, hip to hip
I'm a ******* paradox
leave me alone

blanketed in white
skin. that shadow
creeps me out of
my own. it's you
that burns through
gazes, not me. I
burn through pages,
in wrinkles written
with pen. loose grip
on water, I slip into
habits a little too big
for me and it's the same
as being held as a child.
when the distance grew
as I did, my underarms
began to ache, that familiar
fear of being picked up. taller still,
I am, standing in a pit that raises
to my knee caps.

I'm often caught trying
to keep my roots warm
while my face melts.

removing the "I" from the "Self"
is a concept that I, as myself, have difficulties understanding.
perhaps it's the culture that I live in but it seems inescapable
to use "I" as a helper for description.
To call yourself One seems no different to me than
to call yourself I.

Apart from the fact that to say, "One is hungry for flesh." There could be zombies through the miscommunication.
Rather than to say "I am hungry for flesh." You are a cannibal.


I and Ego
have roles each in their own,
but I do not believe it's egotistical to say I
when describing how you feel, no feeling lasts forever,
for feelings change just as the I changes.

To open your mind, ("your": anyone who believes that I and Ego are one)
to the idea that it's not how one describes themselves or their feelings
but perhaps how one acts off of those thoughts or feelings
and chooses to live their lives and how they treat those around them,
as well as themselves.

Ego, to me, is a behavior,
deeply rooted within your shadow,
which is cast by your soul.

Then again, such as people create their own religions,
I tend to create my own definitions for words that already have them.

I said hello like I thought you'd notice (you didn't)
and for once I didn't feel like repeating myself.
*******, you helped me notice all the things I hated,
all the things I loved.
Kept me wanting change.
Detoxification of thought,
purification of the soul.

You speak in sentences that are based on creative-product output,
it seems you don't care if you make sense or not, 'cause nothing in
this world is trying to fit to you.
So, why try and fit to it?
Or at least that's what I perceive you to think.
I guess we could think better of each other in a healing space
if we're all touching each other with good intentions.

Yet it seems these fingers that reach you can't heal in the way they intend,
'cause this nervousness is stemming from the inappropriate feelings that root themselves
from my core. **** love, **** this feeling.

I want a love that doesn't make me wrong in someone else's eyes,
much less my own.  **** this feeling.

*******, you are beautiful.
You are something else,
someone that would smile at the thought that
this is about you.
*******, I can't stop saying the same things.

Keep me close, I've crept out of my hole
and I can't stand it alone.
I haven't even touched my water colors.

Too afraid to poison you with the truth,
too afraid to taint what is beautiful.

**** this feeling.
I want to.
**** this feeling.

dish water rattling
i want to take my clothes off
my neck is slightly aching
and all thoughts of love come rushing
through my lungs and constrict the position
that I'm placed.
privileged kids with big egos, big brains
heads full of assumptions because of the clothes you wear
or the friends you've made.
and it just so happens that you're one of them,
the strategy to get out of their judgement's alignment
alludes you and you fall into patterns like clay bricks
stacked one on top of the other in a straight row with
no cement between and you're restlessly waiting for them
to tip over and make your escape.

friendship wasn't so much as a license to love
as it was to be stepped on back then.
when the realization occurred in that brain
you framed impatient, the agreement to share
thoughts expired and you gave in to the dreams
you fought to suppress.

I want to undress.

my love is shy but he's all mine
he gets distracted and forgets the time
but look at me,
my love is bold and I am lost to it
I stare at the clock so long
I might as well marry it
oh, **** me please, I just want to carry it
this heart of mine in my chest
no, **** it, I'll just bury it.

if I wrote the things I wanted to say in anger
then I could just crumple them, just like my bones
do when I've jumbled them, and I can't get a grip
with the tip of my lip on your lip,
or
maybe that's the only way I feel I can in some moments.

here I am, killing myself.
don't worry, I'm doing it slowly,
and only slightly on purpose.

keep telling me you're trying,
I don't want to hear you've given up.

My friends mean ***** business
when it comes down to the bottle.
I want to share what I've brought,
for I brought it to be given.
Yet it seems all these people rest uneasy,
and tonight I'll join them.

Corpse hands lost her sight
perhaps it' 'cause she lost her mind
in tryin' to find what's beneath the rhyme,
rather
than enjoying the movement language can take.
Speech
is technique of the tongue.

I've been spending time trying to see how far mine can take me
if it's enough to raise me and if it does, how long will it be until
it breaks me?

'Cause I can't seem to learn enough words,
and the ones I already know are too many.

Is there a structure to look up these feelings in a dictionary?

I find that not knowing how to say what I feel is lash back
side-effect of not being able to find the words to explain
anything that's going on, inside of me, outside of me,
much less what's inside of you
or perhaps what it is that I could do.

When it comes down to doing there's too much to do.
I find myself stuck with expectations and goals that I give myself
that I'll never live up to. Yet I keep surprising myself all just the same.

When it comes to the Self
there is no way to explain,
living, breathing, kissing,
stealing, loving, cheating,
you're going to transition,
so **** it.

Just be yourself, whoever that is,
and your friends will love you no matter what.
If they don't, then they're not your friends.

Keep your mind, heart, and soul open,
for this seemingly never-ending cycle is happening for all of us.

I found this poem doing algebra,
or sometime after the problems
that crept up on me
in word form
yearned to
join the page.

My face began to rot out the very words
I felt like saying but knew I shouldn't.
The pencil told me it was okay to make mistakes
and I think I went overboard, for the fear of drowning escaped me.
Every memory of the sinking ship I called home held promise.
Sweet salt singing
in and out of my mouth,
I told you I loved you.

bones bones bones
you're bathing in wood
and taste like molasses
thick in my throat
-a knot in the spine
that you tied because
you wanted to suspend yourself in my comfort.

I held you too close and came out with ****** ears.
aching for sound, and screaming
for any answer, some sweet melody that told me
yes
that told me
no.
let explanations take their time,
you deserve it.

desertion of desire
leave me to my streets,
where forgetfulness is salvation
and the path is better than the destination.
lean against me in the form of gravity,
your warmth is firing my senses.
I'm re-experiencing freedom for what feels like forever ago,
for what feels like never.