she looks like me, but she does not
hate like me. she loves,
and she loves you, but you
have always wanted to be hated. and i
can hate you.

and i can hate you.

If
you had enjoyed the touch
of the grass on your skin
only a moment longer
than you did.

If
you had given into that
sweet street side indulgence
and walked but
twenty more steps into the night.

If
you had loved the lights
of the Paris city center
only thirty minutes more.

If
the sound of your opinions
fell quiet against
the sound of someone trying
to silence you with theirs.

The silence rings
like church bells
at three in the morning,
counting off
your debts
to you, me,
and everyone you've never spoken to.

I locked you in my closet,
And put your memories under my bed.

But now,
the flesh has fallen
and you are the skeleton in my closet
and beneath my bedframe,
your memories have spawned
a monster.

i myself
an amalgamate
of little words
long pauses
you are without brackets
we multiply, divide
but never add

Fading,                                       I
remember    the     days    when
you  lingered   in  my  mouth—
like    the     small    yellow    pill
I    placed    under   my   tongue
to dissolve into my bloodstream.

Little slow suicide boy
Has lips tainted frozen blue
From threefold the norm amount
Of ecstasy's strong hue.

Little slow suicide boy
Has lungs of ravaged tar
*** combined with cigarettes--
Mind gaining ground on a star.

Little slow suicide boy
Finds sunshine in the rain
Happiness in depression
Places the needle to his vein

Little slow suicide boy
Scorns the girl with a slashed wrist
Scorns the boy who is dying to exist
But one fall into a lifeless choke.

Takes another drag, blows out smoke.

You were the kind of weird
That said hello to strangers
Who did not want to be said hello to
And the kind of weird that
Sat in your mouth for a week
Under your tongue while you stewed the decision
Do I introduce you to my normal friends?
And the kind of weird which
Sat on the couch and stopped talking to me
On our first night together
Just to stare out of my window
In a melodrama fashion that I am guilty of hating
But guilty of once enjoying on you.
The kind of weird which
Intrigued me enough to let you in to
My bed—as well as other things—
After your eyes returned from the window on
That first night together.
You were, however, the kind of normal which
Took me in and never talked to me again. Not kind at all, but normal, very normal.

i still look at the recipes you wrote about me.
you told me that baking requires trust—
maybe that's why my macarons burnt.

you were the most sobering experience.

there's ecstasy in empathy
or was it the other way around?
i forgot on the day
i needed it most.

i will be alone now
walking naked from the bush
drunk stumble down quadra st

the *** may have been brief
but the memory of ******* will stay forever
in my wet dreams

Like, unlike.
We collide:
head on.
Shooting back instantly,
we ricochet:
never returning.

tHERE aRE pLENTY oF fISH iN tHE sEA


i swung a bat and hit the ball—

and the ball kept talking to me until he found someone a little cuter at work. or that's what i assume.

you keep saying, "at least you played the game,"

but i would rather have missed the ******* match.
crane my neck like a swan. hang my head. give up good, give up so good. canadian geese.

it happened again. it ******* happened again.

Fall in love with the insane—
Because crazy nevers leaves the honeymoon phase,
sadness can always be romanticized,
and appreciation stems from contrast.

Do not fall in love with the insane—
Because you will never realize it, but you'll know it:
that nothing sober will ever match up to psychotic intoxication,
and you will always be living your life
knowing you can't be satiated on sanity.
You will settle, and you will be happy:
But you will always be looking for the madness in people.

Sad night for reminiscing
Charlotte counties, kissing missing.
Cinematic. Systematic. Relationship: static.

Charismatic with the diplomatic.
Rib cage chapel &
A phone call.
Traumatic.
A needle.
Ecstatic.
An addict.

Cold blooded creatures need warmth to live
Shiver without a light to feed.
*Is that why you call me
your sun?

Musei Vaticani may be meaningful, however
I would rather pace the hallways of
the thin spaces that part the seas of your fingers.

Maybe Michaelangelo was wrong
The creation of man isn't meant for Sistine ceilings but the head of our beds.

Fighting was beautiful while it lasted.
Appreciation stems from things contrasted.

The only difference between you and I is the lettering.

Can you sense me in your stomach?
I am that little colored pill.
Are you aware of my presence as your blood-alcohol level?
I am rising with every sip you take.
The cigarette which seeps into your lungs and infects your system like a snake:
That is me.
No matter what you do to your stomach, lungs or iris.
You cannot escape.
I am a violet-tinged virus.

Loneliness or luckiness,
Mean or meaning:

I don't know anymore.

Was it selfish of me? You
have no commitment to
the world but still we
frown upon you as you
marry the only thing that
gives you happiness. Was
is selfish of me? For the
love of God, at least use
a sanitary needle.

what was i to do
we had some human-sized bumps
and she smelled like campfire

Language is a tricky thing,
It changes as we do.
What now is slang could possibly be,
A speech so far from new.

Wording, 'tis a fickle being,
Doth grow along with humans fond.
What now is jargon could turn to be,
The poetic script of times beyond.

I tried to write of you.


I really tried to write of you.






\i don;t know Why i't didtn work---


I tried so hard, I tried
so hard, but it
was just a sign--
just a sign-just
a
sign.

companionship, not compatibility.
i have chosen immobility.
once i lived in instability but now i live
in his advice.

so water melts to ice,
my science trusts the imprecise,
thus in this world,
such comfort will suffice.

thus in this world,
that i created,
my latest, unadulterated:
i will live in shallow vice
i will allow
such comfort to suffice.

I dig the guilt out of my rib cage with my fingers and
embrace it.

i pray to your temples
with every slighted
touch of forehead

"i am the scientist sitting on the pew
holding a textbook bible.
i don't question you."

i have built a
rib cage chapel
out of love and letters.

There are skeletons in my closet
And monsters under my bed.
My ears are ringing,
with threats, unsaid.

Voices whisper,
but never caress
my body, no.
My mind they adress.

A thought that always
grinds with frustration.
Is this all real?
     or imagination?

There are skeletons in my closet
And monsters under my bed
But none of them compare
to this demon in my head.

Cycles always tend to repeat themselves in circles but
I find myself standing in the corners of them.

my friends do not believe me
that love can, yes, truly, begin with a black eye.

Breathe out. Breathe in.
Ideas high-strung,
out of your grasp,
in crossbars above.
Find a topic—
Angst, grief, fantasy, love.
Reach. Stretch.
Contort your body into long and thin.
Breathe out. Breathe in.

Live to standards man has set.
Emotions. Thoughts. Blood. Sweat.
Fealings on paper, sealed in ink.
But no words to connect and link.

Dig deep into the corners of your mind.
Find the place where it's just instinct.
No hearing.
No sight.
Become deaf.
Become blind.
No mental thought.

And write. Just write, about the expression you sought.

Hurry up, dearest poet.
The deadline? Tonight.
Pick up your poetry and write. Just write.

I kissed a woman to forget a girl—
with pearl earrings and diamond snakebites,
black tights and blank skin.
I kissed a ***** to forget a ******.
I kissed a ***** to forget a ******.

That's why the sun
makes you cry
When you stare him
in the eye.

Overload—
Love: authentic.
Benefits: carcinogenic.

here we are again
midnight.

as we count the new day away/
one, two, three
in the morning.


four, five, ***
seven days in a week.

playing on our words.
we're weak.
i'm weak.
so weak.

here we are again.

Your skin is soft and mine is rough
to the touch—but somehow
you still let me taste you
with these rosebud fingertips
which have kissed pinkies
pricked thumbs.

Read, and regurgitate—review and reiterate—perceive and perpetuate—
Agitate the invertebrate—
Spineless, mindless,
     your body is a mess.
Your finest has blindness but he still could pass a test—only of literacy, of liberty,
     of mystery and misery.
We don't possess the ability in the end
     to comprehend.

You can use blue words
to describe a grey canvas
but that does not make
it colorful.

Sanity, stability, sobriety.
Everything you've never
given to me.

"everything you are
is a product of all your interactions.
you mirror your friends
or you mirror yourself."

heaven may not be a place on earth
and you may not be oppenheimer,
but now you are become death:
destroyer of worlds around you.

she had eyes like diamond


i kissed her lips
and she sighed

it echoed in
the coalmine

Maybe in another world,
All soldiers come back at ease.
And out at sea the only sound
Is nature's tender breeze.
And in your head,
And in my heart,
The embers of love ignite a start.

But in this world,
And in my life,
As ashes, a husband returns to wife.
Disrupting nature's careful flow,
A blazing hate sets cities aglow.
And in this world, a sickening view,
My love is not returned by you.

A thousand wind turbines stand like men
on a hill in Texas. Each with a red eye which
blinks in the night. A thousand men stand
like wind turbines on a hill in Texas. Each with
two blue eyes, shut the entire night, the entire
day. There is a chapel on the hill.