Kiss me moonstruck
in nightly shores of
opalescent cobalt tides.

The musician and the poet
such a cliched pairing
in love with brutal love
our melancholy muses
chasing shadowed souls
into the brightest of light.

I.
Sometimes drunken flowers are placed between books and
his lips are clamped shut
while i walk past trashcans and find letters
buried,
like his bones
with forced smiles carved upon each and every one
hands reaching out, grabbing
i could feel its yearning
from a mile away
and i shut my ears and clench my eyes
i can't stand the feeling twice.

II.
My soul was shot;
i later burned it with matchsticks and clouds
sand pricked my feet
as i sit for hours on end at gas stations and sidewalks
lamps were never lit in my house and
i was left
among the darkness.
i never saw you behind the trigger.

III.
I don't trust the black and blue hue
growing on my chest;
they say its from my heart.
I laugh them away and
tune out the rest.
"I have no heart, you made sure of that."
emotions i used to scorn and
cringe at
appear on paper and skin as words
that looked like my
splintered bones and
broken footsteps.

can i talk about the time when scarecrows were making torches and chairs
or will someone realise that i'm talking to thin air?©

Sometimes it hurts to watch sunsets.

they remind me of old addresses and lost graves
scribbled pages of notebooks talking about dark nights.
    a
        n
            x
                 i
                     e
                         t
                             y
I pressed a knife to lips and shattered cries
does it hurt to push past your sadness or will it feel like
clawing your eyes out?
there wouldn't be a pinprick of light on the highways except for a figure
on the roads
crying out to the oceans underneath, tearing apart smudged letters
like the ones I filled in my books.

now back to sunsets, will you watch them with me?©