Lock the door.
Close your eyes.
Embrace the dark.
Slide down onto the floor.
Feel the cold wall.
Against your back.
Hit your head on the wall.
It sounds like a heartbeat.
Just listen carefully.
Block everything else out.
It keeps on going.
Then suddenly, it stops.
Just like your own.
Now, again.
Open your eyes.
See the light.
Embrace it.

if heart cells have formed
you take away our rights
you take control of our bodies
though what’s inside
is smaller than a grain of rice

neglected by the ones
who claim they’re pro life
they must be mistaken
there’s no sympathy in sight

to hell with the poor
and those seeking asylum
to hell with healthcare
that’s not a god given right
and to the lives taken
at the hands of a gun
thoughts and prayers to you
i’ll continue to have my fun

why don’t you say it to our face
we mean nothing to you
you simply love control
but that, we already knew

the drum inside your
chest is my favorite
lullaby

A beat
It took no longer than a heart beat
Then all the memories were gone
But I could still recall
That it was a moment
A moment in which I knew
A moment in which I was whole
Was it a dream?
Was it a parallel universe God wanted me to see?
And the person I was in it, was that really me?

Inclination is a contagion
         that affects the cerebral cortex.
Infecting other organs in a complex
                                method of defilement.

Once one has succumb to the influence
             of this pathogen, the following
                                 is woeful in its method

1. Heart rates do palpitate to an extreme beat
2. Part of mind isn't playing on the same spreadsheet.
3. All reactions of thought & heart aren't as discrete.
4. AWOL are the rationalities within every heartbeat.

But still those who fall foul of this moment,
                           do not wish for a cure even though
out of ten three prove semi-fatal for a time to these organs.
            They still live,
                       but singular,
                             alone,
                                desolate
                o­­f what made them in pain.



But they will once again look for one who is a carrier,
                        to be once again infected by this moment..
                        

I must confess that I have fell foul,
               and my clock ticks with not one
                      but another beat..


Infection isn't as bad as I once believed.
                I just hope that I contaminate her
                life with more than she infected me.