my moral metabolism escapes me
trapped in decaying flesh
these combustible meanings
and disarming thoughts
it's like seeing the word in greyscale
through canine eyes
translating the future into wet dreams
and false disciplines
we move mountains but see only jewels
brainwashed societies block out sun rays
and trap beasts within walls

eat my heart
I no longer want it
make me a tin can
program me
create an automaton
I'd rather see in greyscale
it's pale I know
but it doesn't hurt
to lack feelings when they should be present
depend only on my metallic casings
become indifferent to this worlds meaningless agony
my notions and emotions
these eyes will be void of consciousness
lost in unoccupied nothingness
believe me
delete me
reformat my existence
I want to see in greyscale

Was this not what you wanted?

A sliver of hope--
Instead you ended by shivering out on that unsteady-tipping *****.

And for all those somethings, I hadn't  know,
well, I had to let them go.
Now I am, all alone.
But hey, it's not like you would've know--
Too lost to see through your own moats murky waters.

Was it One; Two; or Three;
Captured sirens swimming with you,
within your clouded judgement?

Or is it, One; Two; or Three;
Vile hags trampling with you,
within your undeserving life.

Are you feeling empty yet?
Or are you full of your lies?

It appeared to be a feast--
While in harsh reality, you were plucking at nothing...
Nothing except brittle bones.

Its all a shame,
for it was a dream spun upon spindle--
Lost in a cowards looping *****.

Was this not what you wanted?
                Hmm-
          What a shame...
          What a shame...

He will appear out of nowhere with his confident stature,
animated laugh,
the body that you could only assume is an illusion,
comparable to a Greek god.

He will draw you with his beaming features-
his perfect mouth upon his perfect face with his perfect eyes
that are looking only at you
as if you are worthy to even see something so beautiful.

His radiant allure derives from a level of bliss and euphoria you'd never seen anyone acquire
and you don't want to leave his light.

His intellect will entice you
even more so than the essence of his beauty
and his soul will mirror kindness and freedom.

You will deny him any interest despite his perfection
and you will do this for a long time.

You'll wake up to kiss his face in the mornings
and you'll see the emotion in his eyes
when he tells you what you do to him.

You'll avoid the conversation when it's staring into the face of the future and asking questions about tomorrow.

He'll cook for you (significantly better than anything you could cook yourself)
and he'll watch your favorite cartoons and
you'll relay inside jokes that make you both feel at home with each other.
This will be both comforting and terrifying and
you'll wonder why you won't let yourself feel the way he wants you to.

You'll scan his face and find it exactly as flawless as it's always been, abnormally beautiful even,
and you cannot decide why he's there wanting you.
But he is.

And your weariness will leave you on emotional standby and undoubtedly conflicted.

Give me your inspiration.
Come on, you have enough already.
This isn’t fair, I protest;
how is it that you can create
a dozen pretty iced-cupcake poems
a day and I can’t?

Honestly –
sharing is caring.
I don’t want it all,
just a little bit.
A tenth will suffice.
It won’t take much from you,
I swear! you’ll still be writing
ten-point-eight cupcakes
a day.
Now would that be so bad?

No? Well, then.
Be like that.
It’s not like
I need inspiration …

Dearly beloved
A thousand strides
Will make flesh into dust
Before the altar arrives

I will wear you through
Before time can etch
A laugh line from your smile
Forever transient

Finite space within the palms
Of two celestial halves
They brought their hands together and cursed our eyes, and mouths, and hearts
Imaged us in self-belief
Perfection in the unity
Of lesser mortals, incomplete, forever searching for the second piece

She paced the gaps
Spun and leapt
A half circle
Slipping through the cracks
An arc entwined
The empty divide
Too short to reach
His side

Incomplete in death as in life

He tied a tongue around
To make a noose of himself
So when the noise finally died down he’d found himself within a crowd
Laughed the loudest at the end
With no breath at all
Attention at the precipice, from misfit hearts. A lifetime gone

Knitted hands and pieced-together arms
Hold so little but warm so much
Quilt-made lips on cotton hearts
Grow such itches in the strangest places
You can’t quite scratch out