I've killed more creatures... and people, with my dollar bill, than I could ever count...

And I'd do it all again if it meant spending another day with You.

Not a player,
but player tendencies are prevalent in my ways.
so is Denial and Guilt,
not to mention emotional regressions met with selfish intentions.
now I lost you,
or maybe you lost me.
Cause maybe I wasn't the problem,
you just weren't the solution.

I don’t want fame or riches
I just want those solid fixes
I don’t want that perfect house
I only want a way out
That everyday
Clarity
And certainty
That my thoughts aren’t me

Boats of green, jets of red
A cry for help from the oppressed dread
Abodes of old, but now torn down
Unfurl the white or face the crown.

The mossy bricks and the gravel black
Wooden pyres and bodies stacked.
Battles and wars, left and right
Millions die when hundreds fight.

Homeless, vagrant, dignities defiled
Childhoods lost and old age viled.
Breads of honesty covered in mould
The plight of the plebeians hidden manifold.

A ruthless purge or an exodus to the unknown,
Parochial choice the guiltless bemoan.
Encumbered voices laden with rue
Dead men may tell no tales but the persecuted do.

And so,
We reach towards the stars,
Our unspoken dreams lingering in the stale air,
Our worries locked away in a wooden box hid beneath the squelching soil.

We will not speak of those we left behind,
Or of the grit we scrub away each evening,
We will not try to remember the pain we’d caused and the lies we’d sold.

We will not speak of the Night of Slumber
Or of those that rot beneath our feet.

We will not speak of her,
Oh crimson moon,
Her body enshrined in fuel the color of her hair.

We will not speak,
For if we do,
We’ll meet her soon,
And our guilty souls will be laid bare.

I'm walking all alone
Through a dense and dark forest
Whispering surrounds me yet there's no one there

"I miss you."

The air is thick with regrets
As the fog builds up so does the guilt
Was it something I did?
I won't ever know at this rate

I reach out to grab ahold of something
Anything that could help me
I stumble through the trees
Heading nowhere yet searching

When did it come to this point?
I can't even text you to ask how you are
Will I ever get to see you again, let alone hug you?

"I'm so sorry for the way I've been treating you. You were always there for me."

Yet there was no change
I still know nothing
I'm still without any answers

I live with
holy sunshine—

but I wake to weep.
In the sun,

shadows stretch
long behind me,

where some things ought to
remain buried.

I did not go digging you up.
Bees do not normally

nest in skulls—
but I know

they hum in your head,
dripping honey of me.

Gentle wolf,
you came in the guise

of a friend.
They tell me that they would have

rescued me
as you made your advances—

except
they were never there,

in your lair.
And by that time

I had already
been eaten.

All that exists
between us now

is a history;
the guilt that still

weighs on you,
and poetry.

And if your guilt ever becomes
too much for you to bear,

and if you ever feel like
confessing,

my poems can be
your Hail Mary’s.