The month of crescent moons and indigo flamed candles.  
Of burning sage and twinkling hooded lights flickering in frosted windows.  
Of chipped nail varnish and lips chapped with bitter cold.
Of darkened mornings with knitted scarves wrapped beneath pink noses and wet lashes.  
Of lonely evergreens and sleigh bells a distant howl in the wind.

*** a couple times with your hand that
    has one vein popped up over the knuckle. sheets crinkle
    laundry sits in the small humid room.
    smells like roadkill and peppermint,
    like christmas eve with dinner down the toilet.

you've *** four times in an hour,
rubbing at yourself through your underwear.
don't touch skin. it's off limits today.

getting raw means you can feel
how it stings when you cross your legs.
it's not about pleasure. it's the reminder:
   you want to know what you look like,
   what you feel like.

next time you're ******* down some boy you ask him
"how does that feel?" he says "good."
            quick kiss, his ****** is archaic and copper.
            you like how it tastes. now it's your turn:
but of course he won't make you *** unless
you take your hand and rub while he *****,
your hand a barrier between his body and yours.

          "please be quiet," you say out loud
the boy furrows his eyebrows, "i didn't say anything."
you laugh, "no, my stomach."

pretend to *** for a faster exit.
give him a tiny maternal kiss.
let it linger out the room where it's cold but he's still warm.
you don't want a warmth you have to love because it's too much.

the scab on your neck is now a scar
       and you have no make-up for the ones on your forearms, but
       really, most of you by now is star dust and tobacco leaves.

               the sun is in our eyes. i want to know
               what makes a circle go on forever.
i think about ****** a lot.
dreamt two nights ago chris sold me some,
it was in that tiny wax bag with a "king ******" stamp .
when i texted him the next day said "i dreamt
we did some together," he said
                 "that's funny. i've been doing some definitely
                  but not really selling."

     the Chicago cold does something odd enough to you.
it always seemed like you were alive as a kid. well,
were you?

               where is your body? out in the storm.
                are you a ghost? no, it would be nice though:
                    the lack of responsibility of life,
                                    a state of impermanence.
    it would be nice.

Possibility A:
I still love you-
(Hip Hip Hooray!)
I pretend that I'm okay,
but I'm not the same soldier...
...now that I'm older.

It's all in vain,
turning on the porch light.
And it's only right,
that I dream that you would come home,
or change overnight.

Love overall
relates to a prescription thrill:
I want to feel good,
as long as it doesn't ****.

Under the tree,
doused in gasoline.
I would have burned for you
for however many rings.
For however many rings.

Possibility two:
I would have loved you,
the best that I could,
until my lungs would collapse.
And I would have pulled you
out of the car crash.

But I watched blood stain,
while trying to save you.
But it was washed by rain,
as you grew blue.
I didn't know what to do.

I waited for the ambulance,
the sirens blue and red.
Did they know that I loved you?
Did I know you were already dead?

Your breath still lingers,
swarming in the night air.
And I still feel your fingers-
God, it isn't fair.
God, it isn't fair.

And you would have loved me,
under falling tree branches.
And I would have kept you warm,
after avalanches.
After avalanches.

I would have kissed you,
as the snow crushed.
And I wouldn't have missed you,
if my hands rushed.
If my hands rushed.

Possibility last:
It's all in the past.

It's
all
in
the past.

Why are people intentionally cruel and malignant?
Are they too blind to mistake their Achilles’s heel for their forte?
Or do they intentionally enjoy obliterating anything that comes their way?
Indubitably, reeling into their self-destruction and collapse as the roof caves.

Repelling any benevolence into their lives,
They will close all doors with their narrow minds.
Atrociousness will prevail and set forth unfathomable tongues of rhyme.
Seeking insatiable supremacy governing in disguise.

Clearly oblivious to the detrimental exploits they expose,
They will lead a life that is solely self-imposed.
Cultivating an environment of animosity is not astute you see,
People will always revolt and eventually be set free.

Unless you morally evolve and realize you have wronged,
You will embark on a journey that will negatively consume your soul.
It begins with your physical state, depleting with every irrational action you make.
Ultimately, deteriorating your body into an anemic vegetable state.

Reeking of insecurities through the infusion of wretchedness and despair,
your life will begin to turn inside out transforming into an eternal torment of misery and hell.
However, it's never too late to change your tyrannical direction.
It's only compassion, empathy, and altruistic love that will be your salvation.

By: Michael M. De La Fuente

I will grasp the will to write,
To search my finite vision's span
And find some words for our delight.

Using energy to fight
My body's battles, when I can
I will grasp the will to write.

Shining darkness into light,
Spirit raises up a man
To find some words for our delight.

Simple structure's levered might
Rebuilds a level place to stand.
I will grasp the will to write.

Poems don't bring all things aright,
Just perspective and a plan
To find some words for our delight.

My search for beauty, glowing bright
Will not be taken from these hands.
I will grasp the will to write
And find some words for our delight.

i feel sad at 11:56 when ive had
cups of coffee
the sadness lives in the back of my neck
the pit of my stomach
behind my eyes
it's the uncomfortable impression carpet leaves on every palm that holds weight for too long
feet cold enough to feel
lump in my throat

Forming my mouth into a smile seems like the world's biggest, most useless lie
Useless.
I still haven't cut my nails
they are nice reminders of my own anxieties
my palms haven't made up their minds--
whether they should stay or go
stay and hold

who knows if this is art
i can't seem to think
analytically
rationally
clearly

but i know i want to be smaller

I know i shouldn't want that

I know I miss her.

I don't know how.

12:09 and it's dark
I am s[o confused]ad