Under the cover of darkness,
I plucked that rose from its bush.
I spied it two days ago,
even snapped a photo of its lush
Foliage.
I feel guilty now,
But is that because, I stole it stealth
Or is that because it now droops, lifeless?!

A night at the Museum,
and we're dressed to ****.
The mood is gleeful–
and the people, chill.
All court the kings and queens of shill.

Our ****** deeds are whitewashed clean.
Our grievous crimes are left unseen–
sanitized versions on the tv screen.

But our steps were tracked with care
by one who could no longer bear
the growing horror, the scenes from there.
The cry of anguish, the dead-eyed stare.

Now the blood drips on our shoes.
Our deaths headline the evening news.
Yet still, the truth has only views
on internet sites with volunteer crews.

When there is no other way
Desperation will have its day

He awoke: swollen passivity; embraced in
Canvasing warmth. An-other stood taut.

Now they folded over him, caressing him,
In his sagged skeletal frame. Embroiling him
In frantic whispers. They held his sunken
Face: wet with old-worn sobs and tears and
Shouts and fears, primal moans and hunger.

He turned to look into an-other's eyes:
His brimming.

Next he would come to see
The things themselves.

Creativity is an opening,
A struggle fraught with doubt,
Unlikely to produce something beautiful,
Yet reverberations mount,
A gathering of half-ideas now
Open to others to make once
Yours, fully theirs, a bow
To the dimming pulse
Of an idea meant to endow

Tell me not to think of you anymore, tell me to disappear without a trace.
Tell me to shut the **** up, that you don't even want to think of my face.

See I can't stop until I'm embarrassed, apparently I haven't reached that threshold yet.
Tell me you're so mad you can't bare it, that every minute of your time went to waste.

Tell me you don't like me, don't sugar coat it like you tend to do, tell me to go back to whatever hell I came from and that you'll be better off if I'm far away from you.

Wash your hair
Pretend to care
Sit and stare
That feelings there

Tiptoeing around the tension,
“I don’t know”  overwhelms my veins.
But lately I’ve had an idea,
Maybe it’s time for change.

No more hiding in “maybe,”
Or feeling safe behind “we’ll see.”
There’s no comfort in ghosting,
Just the crushing weight of accountability.

Or maybe the lack of it—between you and me.
I said I was protecting myself,
But this can’t be what that means.

I tried not to love you, kept my distance from the start.
But your charm cracked open
my reluctant armored heart.

You were clever, made more sense than others,
Quick wit, no regrets, and never forced me under covers.
So I let myself fall, thinking I’d be caught,
But my parachute? Just bricks I forgot.

You were ready to catch me, hands up in the air, it's not your fault that I crashed out, you're lucky I didn't land there.