stricken by love or bitten by pain
it can be written by blood or written by rain
leave the pen on the ground if its ink's lined with lies
put the paper under your wrists or under your eyes
and drop drop your life blood
don't stop let the lot flood
so when the well's dry you'll know then
that you've written a poem

Sadness is when a child wishes their mother a happy father's day.

people always say that you are
what you eat
i lost my appetite
a while back
does that mean that
i'm nothing?
or maybe "you are what you eat" means
you are
what you experience
you are the people
you choose to surround yourself with
and the people who
surround themselves with you
you are your favorite song
your favorite book
your favorite poem
you are musical metaphors
the shows that fascinate you
and the characters that steal your heart
people like to say that
nobody is unique
but everyone eats differently
so how could that be?
my question still remains
if i have lost my appetite
for life
then what am i?
if i take in
only what i can choke down
only what others force down my throat
then what am i?
if you are what you eat
then i am withering
away
to
nothing.

we're here and we're reading
you lost souls, you bleeding
the poets collective dead poets connected
with a near perfected objective
of hearing your prayers when no one else will
while dissecting the layers in your soul or your quill
we're here and we're reading
please keep writing i'm pleading
for whether I'm screaming or weeping
believe that you're the reason I'm breathing

i want to share everything
that i am with you
from the love that i give
to the taste of my mouth
    l.r.

Your bed, the world
we tumble across all four corners
show me unchartered regions,
hidden treasures,
your wilderness.
I get lost, gazing at your navel.
You find me.
hands at the back of my head
draw me to your face,
mouth, eyes...
Delirious,
lost again.
Tell my folks I loved them.
Tell them to
call off the search