I know a love
she isn't sweet
she's the nectar of a flower
whose thorns cut into my lips
when suckling her saccharine syrup
tainted with the metallic bitter zing
of my dripping blood

this is only normal she whispers in my ear
such tenderness
this is love
this is care

I've taken her for my own so
I must pay the sanguine price
How nice!
my battered lips stretch into a bloodied smile
for red is the color of love
it is only natural to bleed for love

I know a love
she isn't sweet
but she is mine

The time numbs. I want it raw like it was.
Like ******* and ******.
Something powerful and honest.

I let lies continue.
Fantasies I tease myself with.
I never follow these potential trails.
I’m terrified of not having blissful reverie.
Closure haunts me. I’m scared of definition.

I live in a time that never ends.
I breath the exhaust we know but cannot see.
The world spins upon my shoulders, I pass it on without using my hands.
People die, it’s distant.
Life doesn’t mean much.

I live here in a puddle.
I love all the potential I have to waste.
I don’t know what I would slobber on without it.

I want something raw.
Something abrasive, without some sort of superficial veil.
If I brush back another thin facade just to uncover a clearer image of *******.
I’ll slump the world with my bear hands, and whatever blunt object is abreast.
The ensuing postlude or coattail if you will, is gruesome and redefines the word genocide.

Life passes by because it’s not cut with iron anymore. It’s chiseled away with fantastic stone and underlying hopeful chimes of music. A method to which leaves reality unclear, and insipid. Quite literally dull and un-vitriolic.

The time jingoes tore babies from teats, bounced sore bosoms, and buried John Doe’s in mass graves beside schools. Is long gone.

I live in a butterfly massacre.

do not expect for this to be a poem about love.

I owe you, right?
you gave birth to me,
which means I should be grateful that you didn't yell at me today.
thank you then.

I tell you I am hurt by your words,
but I should be sorry for being hurt by you?
I am sorry then.
it will not happen again.

I ask to close my door,
but this is your house.
you ask for me to clean your mess,
now it's my house too, right.

I need to take care of myself,
I'm starting to feel better.
I am wrong, you come first
I owe you every last breath.

I avoid the mirror.
I will look fat no matter what.
I wonder where I got this from.
thank you for my self-hatred.

see I have finally realized something,
parenting was your job,
not mine.
so why the **** was I doing it?

I do not owe you anything.
you chose to have me,
you chose to raise me.
you failed but I have to pay?

I have come up with two words for your parenting style,
mental abuse.

Enlist a draft,

Reinforce the gates,

On your mark,

Get set,

Kick rocks,

Best yet,

Worst ever,

Self absorbed,

Self destruction,

Twinkle twinkle,

Row your boat,

**** is not a dream,

Fire up the presses,

Alert the media,

Step back step back,

Gather round gather round,

Pull the pin,

Blow out the candles,

Drop the mic,

Pick up the pieces,

Ride the wave,

Crash and burn,

Pop the top,

Live and learn,

On and on,

Rest In ****.

It seems crazy
To change something
Thats working
The horse and buggy
Was working
It seemed crazy
To stop using that

But then they
developed the car and..
Well that destroyed the planet..

So that's a bad example

the bad you gave me
clears away from my system
you no longer live in the depts of my being
i no longer give you the authority

the rotten you gave me
disappears so easily
you were no solid
i now see that clearly

You would say life is how you make it,
but I dont agree.
Sometimes you can try your hardest
and still feel on a ground,
not able to get up, not able to see.

There are times,
when I dont see light.
Sometimes, just one sparkle would be enough.
Thats what makes me hold on.
Life is not always bad but often it is.

I guess what makes it good is the feeling.
Being important, being pretty, being active.
Being enough and still be you.

I remember times when I didnt think of
not being enough.
I was a kid who didnt have a reason to feel that way.
But as I was growing up,
all the things around me,
make me feel like giving up,
on everything I want to be.

I dont know, is it reversible?
I always try my hardest in everything I do.
I try to be the best student,
the best friend,
the best girlfriend.
But all I feel like is fail because
everytime I turn around,
some things just disappear.
Why they cannot just be good I ask.
Why?