What is love?
Where do you find it?
How do you define it?
Is it spiritual?
Is it mystical?
Or something physical
Maybe it's fictional

What is love?
Is it a feeling?
Or a state of mind?
Something appealing
Or something blind
It all depends on the naked eye
Many are hurt
And call it a lie
“I Love You”
People use those words to much
And pretty soon their meaning will die

What is love?
Kids fall in love,
But honestly they don’t
And when it comes time to confront
The reality of things they don’t accept
Their lives will become a battlefront
And when they’re rid of the butterflies
Left in rags
And the lady cries
The boy will hold up the white flag
Lonely, cold and done
Soon their love will all be gone

What is love?
In reality love is non-existent
Idiotic, pointless and a killer
Just to end up a horror story and a thriller…

I've walked into a tunnel.
Following coats,
Dragging behind in
Abandon
The light is slitted
The shape above is
Too Close to my head.
The sharp,
Undecided angles bother me
And a nervous twitch begins.

I imagine it like a funnel,
Sorting population
To pass through in
Close quarters,
Contact guaranteed.

I sneeze
And cough.
My fever smolders
Making my skin chill,
And the thought of disease
Enters, and crowds with me,
Suffocating me to one side-
But not too close-
Don't touch anything.
Fear grows.
I am already sick
But I could get sicker.

Conspiracy drips over my thoughts,
My fever leaving the
normal functioning funnel
In my mind
To be burned away-
materializing in the city-
Around me.
My thoughts bunch
In clusters
And pass all at once,
Leaving waves of nausea
And claustrophobia
As I continue through the tunnel,
Paranoia worsening my symptoms
By the step.

It seems as if you slowly are just becoming the creature
not any creature
but that creature that has been in all my nightmares
ever since you struck me
with your power and fury.
I sometimes wish we could have had that bond
that bond every girl wishes to have
for you to hold me
and love me unwillingly
to do anything in your power to ever stop me from thinking
about death or sacrifice.
If only you could stop drinking
Stop cursing my brain with your foul mouth.
You are the reason I am alive and dead
pushing me to explore things that are uncalled for.
In my dream, you are the only one alive
killing all of us.
You have caused so many things
and you deserve so much more
than me.
I will always try and love you unwillingly,
but until you know everything about me
my cuts, my attempt at freedom,
then you shall never know how to
be a Dad.

Write everyday, too much
That's a commandment for a to do list
in hopes it will manifest into routine
I can store the text in the internet
It's safer that way, these days
Store it in a place that actually doesn't exist
How can it be lost?

There's too many spies making logs
and in the rare artful moment of an agent
maybe I'll get discovered

Not banking on it
I'm throwing all my eggs at random houses
and wearing the wicker basket as a helmet to protect from backlash
in hopes that, by then, my poet spirit could leap from treetop to treetop
to avoid hollow bullets