Glitter Rain shimmers outside my lightning window

            and winds a dream—weather of dreams and nightmares,

            a reign of indifference somewhere in between the windowpane,

            the widow pain, and the windy plain—to whisper possibilities

            into the nice night of nostalgic friends, wishing friendships hadn’t

            ended, knowing it had to end, glad it did end, ignoring the ending

            of all this time, ticking away in the timely thunderstorm of the



night.

...

Viktor Aurelius read four of my poems on Whispers in the Dark Radio, a horror poetry show.

...

This Waiting Place



The can of still is entirely sick.

Windows shatter and trucks collide

Threatens the over, yet becomes the not

Of which, of one, can you speak for?

.............I’ve never felt this way before.

Because glass gives reflections until it

Breaks.

Give me the pieces, the shards, the dust.

Let me take what I can take and walk away

With the shame of fault, the guilt of unknowing.

since analyzing the bodies won’t bring them back.

Limbo of shock or grey of wanting.

Since the can of answers can be given to the dead.


...

Viktor Aurelius read four of my poems on Whispers in the Dark Radio, a horror poetry show.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?**

    Fairest of them all you ask? Your question seems unfair.  
    Am I to pick the brilliant mind, or she with pretty hair?
  
    One who stands and fights for all the things she finds unjust?
    Or for the one that gets a second look, the one that all do lust?

    She who amuses you greatly, that girl with the sharpest wit?
    Or the one with the "perfect" body, that a size two would fit?

   She who will stand and take a bullet in her religion's name?
   Or her with no talent, and yet still strives for constant fame?

   Fairest of them all you ask, this is the wrong question indeed!
   You need to look inside yourself to find the answer that you need...

The smell of brains frying
nerves running short
teenage desperation
all mixed with lubricated hail marys
poisoned self medication
because we know best
and we best know
how to do it ourselves.

The failed attempts at self justification
cling to the lockers trying to remember
a time in the last 4 years that they took a breath.
Anxiety floods the student population
when they realize that the alcohol
can't drown the reality anymore.

If you though that having me wrapped around
your finger was something to be proud of
prepare to suffocate because i have nothing
else to hold onto and i am drowning.

maybe i fell  in  love  with the
way  you  would  look  at  me
and look away when i caught
you staring or maybe i fell  in
love  with  your   smile  when
you felt brave enough to keep
your gaze and maybe i fell  in
love   with   your  demanding
personality and your reckless
ability to abandon everything
or  maybe  i  fell  in  love with
your     dreams,     fears     and
twisted    thoughts   and   you
only   fell   in   love   with  my
s      u      r        f       a      c      e

Inn-Sum-Knee-Ah (“Insomnia”)



I throw words at the ceiling fan

to break them apart over

the bleeding sheep on the carpet.


One. Two. Three. Four.


Pepper it over the bodies

while the fur is still waving

to the wind of the artificial air.


Five Six Seven Eight


My back cracks more than the

tocking insanity of the creak-squeak-squawk

crocked blame of the spinning blades above me.

I still can’t breathe.


Nine ten eleven twelve


The purple spot on the wall wanders between the bitter

clouds and the rocking streetlamps that wink,

as if to welcome me with “We are not sleeping either.”

But we will watch.


Thirteenfourteen.


That might be a good thing if I didn’t have my eyes closed,

burning from the inside out.


Fifteen. Sixtheen. Seventh

Sleep.


...

Viktor Aurelius read four of my poems on Whispers in the Dark Radio, a horror poetry show.

It's 3 am. Again.
I'm wide awake.
There's no reason for you to haunt me
And yet,
the permanent ache residing in my chest
is starting to feel normal.
I've begun to forget
the life I had before this.
I'm hollowed out,
my insides scraped away
by everything and nothing at all.
At night, I reminisce
half-fantasying a life we never lived.
And dully, I remember all the places our bodies met
but never touched.
My thoughts run away from me again.
I think of you. I think of me. I think of us.
No. There was never an us.
Not really.
There was always a space in between,
So we'd never had to feel.
And still, your departure has left me with a wound too deep to ever heal.