fake roses, I desired;
authenticity, was never important
because with a beauty just like real roses
even if only from afar, even if only external,
it was all blissfully, naively, enough.

fixated so long with dozens of fake roses,
for fake roses I burned, for fake roses I wallowed;
the burning façades, the far-off daydreams
I thought it was enough
to add color to my garden of thorns.

and for fake roses I pathetically plundered,
for fake roses, I wore myself out;
but amidst sunflowers and lilies, I'm content to admit
for a tangible token that could never fulfill,
for fake roses, I'm glad I've outgrown for the real.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Ain't I the fairest one of all?
Thou, art the fairest in the land

The glass I adorned,
around my body like a cloak,
like a cloak of transparency;
instead I built up an armor,
to spite myself,
to surround myself in pressures,
reminders, sincerity, and heads.

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Ain't I the greatest Queen of all?
Thou, O Queen, art greatest in all the land.

Now shard of glass little linoleum floors,
remnants of a forte never mastered,
or never mine to lose, to break, to tread lightly,
so bare feet dig into every blade,
to feel something,
to cover myself in silent, ******, transparency...

Mirror, mirror on the Wall,
Can anyone even see me at all?
Thou, O Queen, adept vanity ******* all.

It seemed I was dying,
with feelings that choked me
and ripped apart at my skin--
but you were a ruler, a lord, or a saint
praised by a kingdom
while I starved in alleyways.
so, may I inquire
why you maintained all
while I looked for an answer?

In deep cleansing breaths,
I rid thee
of the holdfasts
that once anchored me.

Distance, my greatest companions
With space and time, on my side,
I relinquish my suffering,
to let it die, let it lie all covered in lace.

I called out to strangers and lovers for mercy,
to please stop the beatings for I'm no longer study;
my cries that were met with angels in a crescendo
the lost light that appeared in a bright yellow.
Then what had materialized on the other side
emerging with arms open wide,
but that of my glittering prize,
and I was embraced and loved by the kindest of eyes
'twas gone prior thoughts, instead a newfound sign
and for that, I'll love you a long time.

Mundanity, what a story to sell
reflecting off black mirrors, shallow stories to tell
amidst the living rooms, amidst the park benches
all the same sullen faces, stuck in the same dredge.
I've seen faces merely pass on through
not a word for thought, just a something to do.
And it's a saddening scene to unfold
even sadder as a story untold;
"Line up kids for a nickel, for a buck
a white paper, a white dress, a white fence, who gives a ****"
but I've seen faces in the red and blue delirium,
succumb to the sold requiem.
There must be more,
alas I'm immersed in the same mundanity as before,
the same as the faces, dragging home at the 5
and the same as the faces, at the same local dive.
Or perhaps I'm among the ones looking for knives,
or the derelict ones with the hungry wives.
And I cannot help but wonder if that's all that we get,
am I wasting my life to wait for the not quite best yet?
Because I've seen faces that I suppose are still on a line,
for a dismal sublime and it's all madly asinine

How beautiful—today the birds are chirping,
sun agleam against a cobalt backdrop
no clouds in sight and buds blooming through grass.

How uplifting—today the world is singing,
a staccato symphony of voices crying out,
singing from terraces, yards and windows, for all to hear.

How ironic—today is the death of the world
as appears, yet it’s backdrop, it’s soundtrack
unlike what’s been imagined, at least not exteriorly.

How instead—no fire and brimstone
with tears in the eyes as loved ones embraced
instead of through Hell raining down, it was a silent, melancholy spring.

Brand me a cynic with theash on my forehead,
For I’ve renounced my faith;
Scream out in shock it’s sacrilegious
But I’ve sympathized with the Devil’s kind

I’ve fallen to my knees at altar feet,
Two clasped hands bound and salvation cries,
Clad in white, chugging confessional wine
Yet sacraments restore no foundation.

So, you can claim blasphemous thoughts
Must be exorcised from my brain,
In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit,
Then please, excommunicate my weary soul, amen.

And to your capricious testaments,
For I’ve witnessed no miracles, evangelists
And now I am jaded by deity agape, bruised
So, apostasy is easier to preach.

I've sauntered upon valleys of emerald grass--
but my head, the object of dismal reality--
and I've always imagined it greener.
though I've seen pools against a diamond sky--
covered in crystals, singing enchantments--
but I've always imagined nymphs with waterfalls.
and maybe it was a blissful mirage,
a shimmering delusion in grand schemes,
another inkling of a paradise lost,
but they're never anything like I seem to dream.
yet, still, all the silver and gold to buy
all the peaks so as to kiss each horizon
for that, I would risk it all
for I've always imagined it greener,
what an addiction, I cannot break.

Desiccation, besieged me,
crawling through a desert on scrapped knees,
twirling slowly, arms to the sky
summoning rain or anything to get by;  
pleading for Death,
with every quivering breath.
I sought after salvation
yet hapless findings brought forth only damnation.
My eyes, I questioned of deceit when I stumbled
an oasis open wide, once then I crumbled,
lying finally quenched and finally anew
like spring thunder or morning dew.

I miss the fireflies
amidst the mild summer height
hidden under a kaleidoscopic sky
and towering elms.

The fleeting feeling of running rampant
and scabbed knees
I miss the brick by the front door,
yet with every passing year I forget it some more.

It’s been years since fireflies,
now only suffering under suffocating heat,
a life entertained under the mouse trapped pink skies
and false palm trees.

And with every thrill that arrives every year,
reeling down highways with music a blast,
I miss the brick by the front door,
yet with every passing year I forget it some more.

You were dropping hints like dynamite,
trying to rumble me off my feet,
but you’re too predictable
and I was made of stone,
unwavering through it all.

You threw pebbles at my window
in the middle of the dark
fruitless attempts, as you pined for my heart
but I have a window and a heart made of stone,
unbroken, untouched, unwavering through it

Fingers like ice,
so now I scald my body
to burn off the traces
to **** off what lingers
in the air with the frost;
and it's my own cold fingers
that always bring me back,
so then I walk through fire.

I’m cosmic, I’m floating
far beyond the stratosphere,
in zero gravity territory.
You called for me to come back down,
said I was flying too high now,
that the bright stars can burn right through me;
said I should really come back down to earth
that all the bright stars burned right through me
yet all the spaceships can’t drag me back—
—for Heliocentrism is boiled down in my blood
and I come from the longest line of it,
so now I’m cosmic
now I‘m burning brighter than the sun

gone with the wind I went,
one summer day in sixteen;
behind in a slew of dust
I left them with the sidewalk chalk.
'should I stay or should I go'
is the question I'm still answering.
because fragments exist all around
where the sidewalk chalk use to be,
slow burn of a fire that burnt through the inside
and now the structure wavers,
littered and haunted with the winds of the past.

I took my time,
I let you marinate, cooking tenderly
I let it burn
until it engulfed into an inferno
it was all so slow
   was
           all
                so
                      slow
Yet, I took too long
and I overcooked your skin
I favored a slow burn
now the blaze is a wildfire;
sweet time how you tasted, sweet time how you lied
for slow and steady didn't win the race this time.

I am older now,
I suppose that matters, but how?
I fought for time,
against my side,
buckled and battered was I,
for something no coin could buy.
I fought against the withering wick
as the light died down and candle burned quick.
I looked for solutions in mugs and spirits
but in return, gained nothing explicit.

And I lived so long in the kingdom of my mind,
begging for answers, begging for a time
when the blackened clouds didn't dry out my night
instead something else besides these strings bound so tight.
I bargained with my brain,
for relinquishment, even just a grain;
yet, crumbs for the mice
were all that were left for my price.
All that glitters is gold,
or at least so I'm told,
yet nothing golden lasts so long
or so I've been aware--Lord I beg that it's all wrong.
Yes, I'm older now,
I suppose that matters, but how;
I'm dubious, but your guess is as good as mine,
and I suppose there will be time.

we spoke the same words,
but yours were never meant for my ears...
these revelations, all buckled underneath me,
because all I fancied was to be all you wanted
but desires meant nothing to your shallow perceptions.
and amidst the nights of tears and bottles as hollow as my heart,
epiphanies that dragged me out of every cave,
into the light, and gave me wings
I drank up these revelations like a cough syrup to my cold
and I put all those same words in a box in a drawer.
and the revelations that once shackled me down,
starved me to death and drowned shallow pools,
these revelations that broke me, then saved me, then made me.