I feel sick, so sick of myself.
I don't exist: calloused layers of shell.
This world is sick. War is more real than Hell.
Does good love exist? Is it more real than Death?
What will you love when nothing is left?
The soil is poisoned. Seeds freed from cycles.
Purge odious life.
Tears salt the Earth from true peace disciples.
No pain. No struggle. No strife.
Behind the mask there is nothing.
Within my eyes there is nothing.
Before me there is nothing.
Embracing void. Immortality.
Cannot be destroyed. Empty.
Embrace the truth.
Tranquility.
I quit. I quit pretending.
Pretending I am not everything. At last,
I find annihilation
in you.

my passion is broken;
i spend my days and nights
knitting, organizing,
drinking, waiting

writing poetry hasn't ever felt hard
so maybe it's the zoloft, maybe
it's the dull repetition of days
the humdrum chaos of getting older

i want to be kissed, hard
and deep and long,
by someone with strong hands
and unwavering concentration

i am happy and quite sad
and quietly fulfilling my duties.
i'm typing this at my desk
and it feels wrong and bad

my therapist told me the antidote to burnout
is variety rather than rest--
so let the various archbishops of my life be told
that i am so ******* tired

there is a man here, he is broken,
but in his eyes there is passion,
and in between my thighs there is fear,
and i'm absolutely frozen

so tonight i'll drink,
and knit, and write e-mails,
cross my fingers and pray,
that something magical happens

Love is,
Such a random assassin,
Love comes in,
As a personal whirlwind,

An amicable tangent in tandem,
With unbridled passion & reckless abandon,
An alluring assassin an emotion overloaded with action,
It strikes like a seductive serpent when it happens,

Seemingly striking at random,
Even when the attack is the result of meticulous planning,
Leaving the subject of it’s Love looking up scratching their head,
Dazed & confused wondering what the heck just happened,

Capturing what can’t be imagined it surprises even the wisest,
Has its target in its sights for awhile while schemin’,
But the lovestruck don’t see it until love strikes like lightning,
Breaking down all the defenses of its all too willing victims,

Without pretenses, premises or agreements,
Love jumps down from the clouds pounces out of the shadows,
& assassinates all shady characters without reservation,
Striking silently without sound then vanishing like a phantom,

His heart pounds,
He’d marry her if she’d let him,
But she’s still chasing her own imagination,
So instead of embrace him she’s on the run like an escaped felon,

Scared of a future with him,
Because of the past she had way back when,
She’s so caught up in the past of what she was back then,
That she loses sight of what she has right now with him,

& that’s just one of the reasons why love is,
Such a random assassin,
Love comes in,
As a personal whirlwind,

An amicable tangent in tandem,
With unbridled passion & reckless abandon,
An alluring assassin an emotion overloaded with action,
It strikes like a seductive serpent when it happens,

Seemingly striking at random,
Even when the attack is the result of meticulous planning,
Leaving the subject of it’s Love looking up scratching their head,
Dazed & confused wondering what the heck just happened…

∆ LaLux ∆

From the new book ABC, available everywhere.
https://a.co/d/2X7iWxd

I miss the instant connection that we had

Why was it just you?
You,
who through all your drugs and alcohol could still write a paragraph of beauty.
You,
who hid your intelligence under a layer of nonchalance.
You didn’t know how happy I was then
You knew that we clicked like a lock.
But didn’t know that I’ve never felt that before.

You know what I miss?
I miss the ease of a smile around you
The lack of a guard.
The shared brainwave.
I don’t have that here

But the stars are here waiting for you to see
And the roads are open for us to run,
(even though we both despise it with a passion)
And we can sit at a table in the cafeteria and talk about the wildest things but it’s okay
Because they make sense to us.

You know what I miss?
I miss you.

She’s the kind of friend who knows what you think before you think it.
Her laugh is familiar,
Like hot chocolate on a winter day.
Her presence is safe;
She reminds you of that big tree fort you and your brother built to hide from the fairies
And forest monsters.
Her room is home to you.
It’s where you go when something goes bump in the night.
She will never judge you for the out of pocket things you say or do, and
Her watchful eyes make you feel
Protected and seen for who you are.
She leaves tomorrow.
Back to Kentucky, 2,000 miles away.
And now you’re afraid
That you’ll never have a cup of hot chocolate again.
That the monsters and the fairies will finally catch you
Or the bumps in the night paralyze you with fear.
Nobody will ever know your soul
The way she did
And you’re afraid of being unknown and alone again.