i like angry poetry
the kind that churns
in your gut,
with razors for teeth
and gums bleeding.
i like the violent sound
of verbs clashing
on a decaying page,
like the shot of a gun
on a quiet day.
i like the poetry that stays,
that lies in waiting
like a dog in a cage,
words that creep like
voided birds into the
wired tress of my brain,
that pay their rent
like drunken travelers
and trash the place.
i like angry poetry
the kind that sears it's
screams to my lips,
which spirit echoes and
moans for eager,
****** eyes.
words that hit like *****,
giving their reader
a killer hangover.
i like angry poetry,
the kind that leave you
with a smoky exit.

Faces only remind you of
How lonely you are,
You say you've swam too far
Into the sea of your regrets
That I am your lifeboat
But didn't you hear
I sank long, long ago?

You've been searching
For a new home,
One that doesn't creak
Or shudder at night.
But homes are not people
And your voice cracks
As you point out
There's a welcome mat
By the front door
But I never answer
When you knock.

It's been a while since
I started attracting
Strangers with flashlights
To search me like
A haunted place.
I finally realized they
Were the ones that
Needed scaring away.

It's so odd to think,
You once told me
You saw beauty
In clifftops,
And I thought you
Were talking about
The view.

You weep, I wept

slept in
until the earliest of hours

cowering
you watched me walk into the sun

Avail my mind to find the key to your heart;
Sojurn my soul to lift you to higher levels.

I seek to discover the richness of your love.

Let my ardor for you find peace in your heart.
Oh, that you would want me with fondness!
Voluptuous is your beauty; veracious my love;
Enriching our lives, our hands interlock.

Yet you do not see this the same as I!
Offering my heart to you, you recoil;
Undone is my spirit, mangled and mutilated.

I’m here in my mask;
I only wear it on good days,
A mask to hide the scars;
The scars of my life and yours,
Reflecting away my fear;
Ever present yet unseen.

I’m here in my mask;
I wish I wore you more often,
Without expression or feeling;
Undeterred by glaring eyes,
Hiding unkindly shadows;
Silent and passionless.

I’m here in my mask;
Another lonely hidden day,
Sharp yet poker face grey;
Unbetraying to all my secrets,
Shrouded in mystery,
Afraid to feel; to live.

I’m here in my mask;
Yet tire of the truths you hide,
Every-time I wear you;
You fit less comfortably,
Pitted with imperfections;
Cracking like the man beneath.

I’m here in my mask;
But for how much longer?
Dissolving before my eyes;
One day I will take you off,
Lower my guard and reveal;
The mask beneath you.

I watch the day gently bleed-out to night,
Its intangible essence descending deeper now history,
From the sun we run in darken cowered gloom,
Then gone, sanctimoniously conjuring forgotten mystery,


If only I could paint the sky green with agony,
Then regress and re-address its call to dark,
Or blue like the back of a postage stamp?
To arms we fly, to bed to death to disembark,


But it’s forgotten torment before we lie,
Ahead another morning again to wake alone,
Now spent fruit of a wasted liberal cleansing,
Walk the carpet, denounce fate; atone,


Welcome back the glow of life this day,
Beauty will bloom and bask in splendour beneath,
Disregard this treacherous luminescence,
For this right now, I lay one final wreath.