I helped build high walls
Set up defenses as well
Blocking out the pain

How can I hear
Past the noise of all beings
?
If my own being cannot be
In quiet breathing
?
I can't
.

Pink eyes, and
     Teary cries.
He tries against
     Liting flies.  
Sticking lies.
     Goodbyes!

My eyes slyly asked yours for a breeze
But your lips quickly gifted a tornado.
Uprooted, with you  I flew across like a bird,
To an island where your sharpend  nails,
Etched murals on love going sweetly violent,
On every inch, making the pain pleasurable,
All over the canvas of my down turned body.

Night’s open black book,
Tells million stories of light;
Ever expanding!

White night, frothy light,
Moon wears a mischievous smile;
Take a deep breath, wait!

Lost bearing, a bird,
Slams against window pane;
Nature’s guards forced down?

Liquid courage to numb the pain.
Intoxicated to forget.
Offbeat blood, sent from heart to vein.
Returns with a guest, she just met.


She closes up, leaves the bar clean.
To her apartment, around three.
In bed she lays, counting some sheep,
That mock her, thinking she will sleep.
She hears the crickets’ lonely beat.
Reminding her of creeps she meets.
Sometimes they have a potential start.
But never truly go that far.


Each night dealt with some other cards.
But slowly starts to build up guard.
She puts less time in her makeup.
But drunks continue to pick up.
She joins in shots, hopes to pass out.
But in her head she hears the shouts.
Her heart’s hunger for real love.
Her clouded thoughts rise above.


A newly turned insomniac.
No longer sleeping on her back.
Till curtains peek with starry eyes.
So bright, leaves a forceful rise.
Her sobs like strings of violin.
A void no liquor can fill in.
Despite how much she tries to drown.
The aches resonate with shrill sounds.


Another night, still found no one.
A man enters, two drinks and done.
She questions him, “What is the rush?”
Always pulled into a quick crush.
But never really tends to last.
As he mumbles about his past.
A bartender, like therapist.
As alcohol reveals the gist.


Now drunk and loud, he starts to shout.
Before his crash, he raises doubt.
He talks about, the best he lost.
Always at home, waits for the toss.
She cheers him up, when in a rut.
He gets up again, “That **** mutt!
To see her hurt, curled up in bed.
I held her paw, up till her death.”


The next night, slept pretty early.
He was perfect, brown hair curly.
Her eyes were lost, but not with lust.
Enjoyed his smells, delicious must.
A piece of her, became a part.
Happy to save his sinking heart.
Rescued him, he slept on her rug.
Named Milo, her three-legged dog.