No drug is ever
Worth the price of your pain. The
Cost outweighs the high.

In that slum, cried a soul
A guttural cacophony with frown
"Bring me some food
Or else I'll lose my hue"
Nobody responded and so the son
Dear fainted with the thirst of love
Day in and day out
As the soul slowly drowned
Nobody cared and so the son
The dear died drowned in hope
Nobody reckoned nor even the son
The departed soul
With the cacophony in frown
Cried, "May the Almighty bless you
For I've faded my hue..

1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.

Making letters out of the noises
of night paranoid minds hear, changing
their order, their
          direction, ******* on context,

Demanding a second look,
a third look,
looks
upon
looks,
and the ones I gave you
before I knew what they meant.

Three words, three shovels.
Three words, three graves.
Three words, watch them move and
still under your stare.

I counted the words on my fingers.
I counted them
         over
               and over,
mumbling into mantra,
words and numbers,
                    numbers and
words,

A combination for this safe,
a name for this needle.
I sit back and watch

the years stitch together.

sometimes all i want
is an ending

for everything

to

just


                                    s  t  o  p.

and never start again

my mind is a crimson sky.
stars hidden by the red hues of summer.
clouds cannot be seen beyond the stormy chaos that is free thought.

my hands hold crumbling wheat fields.
each plant destroyed by a sun that shines too bright.
the roots are torn up along my fingertips.

my eyes carry empty oceans.
once full of life, purpose.
the corpses of dreams lay scattered along the iris,
battered by flame.

my wrists are a crime scene,
life ripped away in a single, crisp action.
hanging from each violet vein is a rope of red intention.
skin pulled by string, a tightrope of regret.

my mind is a crimson sky.
stars hidden by the red hues of summer.
clouds cannot be seen beyond the stormy chaos that is free thought.

my body is...
a landscape of colour,
a sky of regret,
a sun that destroys everything in its path.

but my mind is a crimson sky,
a beautiful sunset,
masking the truth.

THE POET IS AWAKE AT NIGHT
HER PENCIL SPEWS OUT PAIN AND FRIGHT
A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP IS OFTEN RARE
WAKE HER TOMORROW IF YOU DARE
THE PAIN IS RAGING, COUNT TO TEN
ERASE IT ALL AND START AGAIN
A FEW MORE WORDS, YOUNG LOGOPHILE
THE TORMENT ONLY LASTS A WHILE
THE LYRICS FROM HER SHATTERED HEART
THE SEAS OF DULLNESS SEEM TO PART
HER BODY AND HER HEART GROW COLD
SHE HOPES THE AUDIENCE IS SOLD
THE POET IS AWAKE AT NIGHT
HER PENCIL SPEWS OUT PAIN AND FRIGHT

my pale blue hand
hovered like a baby bird
over the mirror shards

a starry sky, a starry sky

my pale blue hand, the pendulum
drained cardinal sins
in the blood-warm bathwater