Let your ink spill like tears,
And pour out your emotions.
Let it drip the stories untold,
In the most exquisite motions.

Weave your characters,
Intertwine their Fates.
Sew you chapters,
With emotional paints.

Bind the spine,
With the ingredients
Of fine wine
Then let the reader digest

Regret melts slow,
dripping from the side.
It feels like skin being tugged against,
the impression left from
my hand to yours.
The anticipation of being patient
burns and flickers,
excitedly proud to be included.

Your back, the wick that stands straight,
slowly curving,
stretching, releasing tension.
Your legs wrapped in mine.
If you were to blow too hard,
the flame would whoosh,
leaving nothing but a puddle.
The people we were
staring, looking at the mess.

The rest of my strength
supports your arch,
the curled wick that's grown tired
against my chest.
No matter how you lay,
I am comfortable in your wild stretch.
Sleep surrounding both of us—
I have your back, your heart.
The crisp edges of your hair tangled
On my head

The smoke of desire soots and breathes,
dried in a puddle of wax

In a world where we feel forsaken and abandoned,
A barren land bleaked with loneliness, forgotten, forlorn
A life so hopeless and full of desolation.
A whole generation plagued by an epidemic called depression.

An illness that took the lives of many.
Yet still misunderstood, dismissed as laziness aplenty.
Loving parents lose daughters and sons,
Still no cure, incomprehensable not even one can understands.

They've scoured books, devoured dictionaries, seeking words to describe how they really feel,
Yet none can mend a soul like them, too broken to heal, too shattered to fix it still.

But then you came, a beacon so bright,
on this dim and narrow path I called life,
A glimmer of hope in a world so dark, where it all seems filled with wrath and strife.

Be strong and make sure to guard your light,
Growing it ever more intense —impairing a sight,
Let it shine brighter than any stars and sun,
Help them light up their way till the darkness around them are gone.
For souls that dwells in void like mine,
I cherished the warmth it gives and provides,
In a world not built for us to live, rather just merely for us to survive.

Yet remain cautious of those who'd dim your glow,
Leaving you cold, it's unkind — I know.
But keep your flames burning with passion,
Nurture it, share it wisely like a precious ration,
For your light is a beacon of hope,
Guiding those lost in darkness, away from ending their lives hanging on a rope.

One day my daughter will ask me why,
Her gaze will pierce like the evening sky.
"Why don't you believe in God, my dear?"
I’ll answer softly, voice tinged with fear.

"There was a time when faith held me tight,
Its whispers soothed through the longest night.
But wounds I bore were too deep to hide,
And doubts grew strong as the pain inside."

"Perhaps, one day, His grace will descend,
To heal the cracks no soul could amend.
For now, I tread where the shadows cling,
Hoping for dawn that new light might bring."

"Each heart must walk through its trial alone,
A fragile rhythm, a muted tone.
Some rise with strength, while others will fall,
Yet none escapes their own curtain call."

"Christ taught of love, a warm, endless stream,
A truth that glows like a vivid dream.
If hunger strikes, give bread to the lost,
And love without counting the painful cost."

"Beware of those who twist sacred words,
Who wound with tongues as sharp as swords.
Let kindness guide, like a steady flame,
Not bitter blame or a hollow name."

"And so, my child, wherever you go,
My heart will follow, its light will show.
Through storm or calm, I’ll steady your way,
Cheering the paths you choose every day."

"It's fine to fear, but learn this at last:
Monsters will fade, their shadows recast.
Keep faith alive, a lantern to guide,
And love will stand as your truest tide."

As for me, I wander rough terrain,
Each step a balance of hope and pain.
But every scar holds a hidden glow,
And whispers paths where the soul can grow.

She stands in the shower.
Running her wash cloth across
Her body.
the slow rise of *******,
the arch of hips,
the curve of a neck.
The day she's had
Swirls around the drain
Between the space of her toes.
All that's left is the smell of soap.
Against her skin.
Her washcloth is not as white as it was.
She lets out a sigh.
Letting the hot water crash
Against her body.
Ringing it out before 
Soaping up the rag again.
Her body becoming softer.
Erasing every touch, every stare
That isn't her own.
Vigorously scrubbing.
The remnants of soap drip
Down her legs.
I knock on the door before
Poking my head in to check on
Her.
She hangs her head out with a smile.
The smell of soap and water
Glisten off of her light skin.
Before she closes the curtain back,
I ask if she needs help washing her
Back

You sting my tongue,
steam rising fresh from your bed
heavy in all the right ways.
You're not that hard to make,
yet I am too tired to cook.

You sit in my belly,
the way you taste still swirling around my mouth.
No matter how much you satisfy,
there is always room for you.
Your eyes, red and spicy,
the slow burn of how you spread
through my body.

Yet, I'm still too tired to cook.
I don’t want to over-season you,
the reality of part of you
becoming burnt edges on a ***.
I don’t want to waste a single inch of you,
nor the space that you fill.

I want all of you inside of me,
even if part of you is burnt

Take the scissors,  
And cut around the edges of my heart.  
Don't worry about how it looks.  
Fold whatever part of me  
That you need to make the first cut.  
I'd be surprised if you find any part  
Of me that's folded neat.  
The kaleidoscope of construction  
Paper that is me.  
  
I consider myself a collection  
Of scars and different colors—  
Of the things that I like and dislike.  
Even the wrinkled pieces of myself  
I've forgotten about.  
You've brought light to those pieces  
With each snip of your scissors.  
I've noticed how quiet and content  
You've become.  
  
You cut, and I bleed in color—  
Purple, blue, and yellow.  
Of all the shapes you've cut,  
None of them are painful.  
Watching you mix up the different color pieces of my soul,  
Your love, the stick glue that  
Gives these pieces more functionality.  
  
I breathe easier, knowing that you're here.
No longer restricted  
By stagnant stillness.  
You can even fold them into an  
Airplane and sail across the room.  
I haven’t had this much fun  
In a long time.
Don't forget the scrap pieces

hand trembling inside the pocket;
knuckles scraping against the outseam;
fingertips crawling into the deepest corner;
nails clawing at a ball of thread -
too stubborn for its own good;
wrist hair tugging at a rough patch;
fist holding onto itself;  
palm lines lacking conviction;
fingerprints blaming each other;
nerves adjusting to the pressure:  
pulsations full of dread;  

the pocket stays empty.

there’s an emptiness that
consumes the world,
like a newborn babe does her
mother’s *******:
it needs the force of life -
to become a weapon for death;
as it kills the light switch  
in the warehouse of hope;
as the sound of darkness
blinds even the bats;
as the echoes of piousness sink
to turn lawless mercenaries;
as the lantern flickers off
to the heaving of hedonism
that spawns in the void -
dark, and unconquerable.

until someone strikes a match.

When I am around you,
I feel heavy.
Everything that normally bothers me
isn't a concern anymore.
Not that it's not there,
it just softens
a whole lot.
In fact, everything softens
when I am around you.

In time, even blankets can warm
the coldest of beds,
and that's what you are to me;
a blanket so thick,
you just fall into it and sink,
You drape across me.
Your breath filling the air of my ears,
warm, soft
one of the best blankets I've been
wrapped up in my whole life.

After a few minutes, I am asleep
inside you.
My bones, my worries,
everything fades away.
Your warmth, my everything