I am a single point
I am a hole between
the threads of a quilt
these strings amongst me
are my thoughts intertwined
with the words of others wound
around countless other spaces,
little voids filled with warmth of
fuzzy yarn spun from the
tongues of old
days past
Oh, how this fabric
so filled with holes
keeps me from trembling

I write
because I cannot speak.
I cannot say these things in front of you,
I cannot peel apart my ribs and expose my heart.
To do so would **** me.
but on paper, I only bleed.

What's  hidden behind,
What we don't want to see.
What we create in our mind,
What we want there to be.

This green curtain,
So ornate,
Keeps secrets to well...
imagination must create.

I always want
what I haven’t got
and I want it now.
I’m not sure exactly what it is
that I’m looking for
but I know that I want it.

Everyday
I wish
I’d made less mistakes,
and everyday
I wish
that I was strong enough to make more,
but I’m too scared
of getting hurt again
to take a chance

Regrets
ride on a wave
of loneliness
and broken dreams,
and I’m holding out for an extraordinary love
to brighten this ordinary life.

I think too much
and need time to complicate things
so that I can make them impossible.
I long for love and affection
but worry that I’ve spent too long
trying to be invisible

Perhaps
I’m just the selfish son
of a selfish man
and maybe
I need a hobby
so that I can think less about me.

Sometimes
it all just seems
so pointless.
Feeling as temporary,
as summer holidays
and the promises in love’s sweet kiss.

consummation and corruption,

my life in two.

a product of both,

and so are you.

I know next to
nothing about myself

It's like I have
never even met me

If the day comes
and I still know
what they can do,

I would surely
not shake my hand.
(b.r.o.)