I self identify as the blood that drips down your thigh.

I want to fall into your bed and
rest my haunted bones until they
crack under the weight of your lies.

I caught you in a lie that you tell everyone.
You said I was the first person to ever figure it out.

That meant more to me than it should have.

In truth,I will never know you.

But you will never know me.
That's why you call me mystery.

“Does he make you laugh?”
I closed my eyes as his loving stare flashed in my mind.
*“He doesn’t make me cry.”

How dreadful to see
Those that I cannot read.
All over the latest feed.

Not poetry,
Like puppetry.
A repetition of words, numbers, and symbols that aren't clever in the least.
And users with names
In impossible tongues.
Their gibberish reeks!

Line after line,
All the same, it's uncared for.
They write marriage, black magic, and European countries.

It's daily infinity,
Thieving the spaces from more thoughtful writing.
Shall I fight just to see the absense of these;
And say hello only to real poetry.

[for Joe Cole's challenge, Imagination/ever changing clouds]*

How can we endure reality,
that lukewarm dullness,
if we can fly our hearts
in nimbus of paroxysm?

How can reality endure us,
with our wispy layers
of heaped, uneasy, pain,
our eyes in sighs of blue?

How can reality cloud the real,
the true perfection of rain
and the hail to a rainbow,
that we - uncaped heroes - see?

The best way to escape reality without running,
is smiling even though it's obviously fake

Like stars spilling from whiskey dewdrop lips 
Words streak across a midnight sky of longing

What proverbs may come from these whiskey lips For every lightless night spent apart For every unspent voucher to destinations we will never travel to
Find something beautiful
And don't let go
All things of beauty
Must pass away
Maybe one beautiful thing can stay

Hold tight the breathless moments spent dreaming in aurora skies
For every darkness carries the remembrance of the sun
How it left warm kisses upon fluttering eyelids 
In this way we too will find heaven

That undiscovered heaven whose patterns we have run through
and dimly remembered sun
the hopeless light that sits quietly
In the souls of the storm-born
That far
that distant
That's where the hurt is
That is the proof of love

i’m broken
the way every writer is
broken and the words fall
out of the cracks.