I hope karma’s fake

I’ll confuse the universe

All this guilt I feel

Her long black curled hair
Shoulder blades and collar bones
Naked under a strategically placed towel
Candles and stripper heels.  

Seductive poses, he’s thinking about ******* her. Wanting her. He yearns for more. Wondering how this small frame feels.

My heart sank, dread filled my body
I expected to see fields and melting snow in that camera. Blinded while deleting all photo’s of you and I.

I didn’t deserve this, now I’m left with insecurities, anger and grief.
While you are just left with your lies and “erotica”

A lonely haven  
In bed, her legs astroon and face numb
hot tears drags across her cheek
And no one can see

She functions in a concrete box
Graffiteied with smiles and nice sentiments on the outside
Only to be relieved by a lonely haven

But rainfall breaks the silence  
Every sound slices her eardrum
Each trickle more agitating than the last
Hoping sleep will be a remedy  

There is no where else to go
Even nature wants her out of her lonely haven

She is numb and foggy
every tremor and twitch is a protest
trying to stay still in order to stop feeling
insomnia, she stares at a wall
thinking she doesn't deserve to dream

Now she is punished by day dreams
filling the gaps in her mind
visuals of isolate rooms and dry valleys
she shuts her eyes as guilt fills her chest

Shuddering, she shakes her head
thinking its foolish to feel this way
when freed she moves with grace
and drifts to dreamland with caution
knowing again she will be paralyzed

The sunsets are unsaturated,
landscapes lack detail
and my portraits are missing teeth and eyelashes

as a rule, all my art is unfinished
due to the fear of a final product
that is just going to break me

canvas after canvas I collect
overwhelming amounts unfinished work
there's too much disappointment in a finished piece

it's dangerous way to live life
giving up to protect myself
nothing will be as beautiful as what my mind can make up

this is a repeating influence in my life
and satisfaction may never come,
But I am trying to see the beauty in imperfections

So this is a first draft of a poem

The gears of a clock
Powered by battery
We are forced to keep going

Living systematically without regards
It will continue to click
The sound reminds me of the time we have left

But when my battery runs out all is silent
And I am abandoned with my thoughts
So I reflect in the unsuspected silence

Here we are forced to live on a wall relentlesslly in this beautiful world of suffering.