The boxes
which keep my blood clean
are stacked as tall as I,
a monument
in the spare room
to past battles.
Too many words,
too many thoughts
******* in the
hand-to-hand combat
with mortality.

No more.

What life I have
will not be defined
by an indeterminate end.

I live to write poems;
I will no longer die in them.

-
bypassing the construct of
a paragraph.

necro-sculpture
                          that is bucling
point for normies...
akin to
                the solitude of
             watching a television...
              i managed
to grasp the worth of
                      a tomb
      as if i perpetually
had itchy fingers...
               the last time i forgot
walking through
                      museums,
i had the "pleasure"
of walking into
         two cemetaries,
with two
                    funerals taking
place...
      yes, i can ******* count!

   crow, two wings,
one tail, two legs,
looks like a god begotten as
a hunchback reduced to
walking,
among birds,
  the most curious specimen...

              the price you pay for
appreciating necro-sculpture...
entertaining funerals...
                      oh great...
now i get to fiddle with
content providers while choking
on slavic toilet brushing
sessions...
                 call the indigestion
police...
                  
   because at what point
is the appreciation of necro-sculpture
the necessary appreciation
of greek marbles?!

                          shveeden he-veen....
   *******...
                     how unfortunate of me
to appreciate necro-sculpture,
and also have to entertain
              two funeral processions...
                          if ever
there came a better appreciation
of wood,
       it sure as **** wouldn't come
in that sort of carving,
worth a depreciated form of door,
and instead, elaborate:
                               packaging.

green carpets of grass
spread their verdant coverage
over the landscape

little raindrop tears cling
to the carnation's petals
like spray on pink cheeks

The fear brings anxiety
The anxiety brings panic
With panic comes pain

Hope fades away
Depression sets in
guilt becomes your companion

The struggle is real
But it is not mine
She is the warrior

She fights
She reaches out
She crumbles

I watch
I listen
I cry

I am humbled by her strength
I am proud of her courage
I am broken by her sadness

But....I'm here....
For what ever she needs.....always.

What does it mean to be me,
The soul of a brother,
In the light skin of another..
Mulatto.

That biracial boy with white walls
And white bars,
A prison of stolen identity.

White & Black/ Black & White
Day & Night/ Night & Day

I'm the gray and the dusk inbetween