Weathered stone
        Patiently waiting
               Watching seasons
                      Wanting only To return

Someday soon
  Ash and bone
We will be too

If I were to describe how moving on feels,
I’d liken it to a rehabilitation center
that broke me down
until I wasn’t even sure what to believe in anymore.
It made me doubt my passion,
and turned it against me,
until all that’s left was deep seated bitterness,
and the feeling of utter betrayal.
After a while, I thought I was cured.
But then, the withdrawal kicked in,
and I found myself consumed
by an intense longing.
I can’t recall how many times
I’ve been told to go back,
but each visit was always as miserable as the last.
And now I don’t feel like going back anymore,
since the medication doesn’t work at all.

P* erception of perfection you peep through,
Pasty pallid skin, polished and hairless too.

O rifices overloaded with objects inserted,
Onus on organs contorted and inverted.

R ated R for restricted but,
Revered in every racing, raving heart.

N o escape, never real, a never-ending reel,
Note now how it is the act and the squeal, never the feel.



I t is its own doom, on a breakfast platter, glittering,

S erving your imagination an unforgettable, unfulfilable fantasy.



A lways present to build a prison cell and still calls you free.



T rue to itself but a lie nevertheless,

R uinous rapture you have there, rupturing a future,

A way from the light to higher heights of depravity fly,

P ursue a mirage, put on its chains now.


Did you fall too?
I was hoping you'd give me a hand.

with time
we'll grow accustomed to the sweet sting
of this cyclical Life
which writes and erases
flies and falls
stops and starts
flares and extinguishes
unites and parts
inhales and exhales
gives and takes
fails and flourishes
lives and ends
as we grapple in the middle of it
looking for normal
while change smacks us
off our mortal feet and
leaves us
breathless

these scars
of when you
consumed me
inward, outward
and I could only

watch as the skin hollowed,
sinking to pull fingers apart
tendon from bone, ashes;
flesh dripping through the
cavity where a heart once
grew

yet we know; I know
when the ground shakes
and my vision fades it will
still be you who brings me
back to
life

(A.H.Z)

You think you’re slick
with the games you play
and the charm you think you have.
One moment doting
and the next ignoring
because the depth of your love
is as shallow as a puddle on the ground.
I’ve timed when you come around,
sniffing for the ***** in heat.
A constant merry go round of frustration.
But I have news for you,
the only cycle I am on
is my own.

At end of old day  .  .  .
White butterflies disappear,
  .  .  .  Wings return in morn.