Admire them from afar,
Like the beautiful constellation they are.
You want to feel them close,
But is it worth it?

Your eyes will melt,
And your skin will burn.
You will turn into dust,
While they keep on shining and sinning
With their mere existence.

Is the cost of turning into ashes worth it,
Just to feel them close for a brief moment?
Where their brightness makes your irises explode,
And the heat makes your soul melt?

Is it all worth it,
Knowing it will end you and erase your timeline,
While this is just another fleeting moment
In the endless light of their life?

Occasionally I struggle to write,
Eyes glazed over late at night,
Drinking ink instead of ****** wine,
Breathing in antique paper smoke.
Chewing on pen tips,
One slips, I cut my gum,
Tell the dentist it's a canker sore.

My soul whines for true release,
For me to free myself from the foolish games we play,
But instead, me and Spotify play the polo,
The Gentleman's shuffling game.
So the night wears on,
I udder not a single yawn,
Lost in dark times,
People say they're scared for me.

I don't know how to end a story, don't see when the plot has died
Especially when it's a good scene, and the mood is always just right
The sun is setting- there's lovers on the beach, the future stands before them with nothing out of reach
Maybe that's not in the cards they pulled, I should let the story line fade out, but that makes me physically ill,
"They belong together" I shout-
And I'll stall the scene with every breathe, hoping hope can out-write loves death

It’s like the water my chapped lips crave,
Like the yard wishing for sun after a rainy day,
How grateful the dark is for fireflies—
How the stars settle into the pitch-black sky.

It’s reaching for your favorite pen to write a note,
Warm honey tea to soothe an aching throat,
The hush of 5 a.m. broken by birdsong and soft light,
Sipping warm coffee prepared just right.

Tie me up in
red silk rope.
Bind my breast,
shoulders,
arms,
and belly.

Take the threads
to lasso
these
thick
thighs.

Tilt
my head
back
and slide your fingers
into my mouth.

Force
them
open.
While you
pat my soft
pink cheek.

Gag me
with your poetry.
Force
it
in
through
my lips

Let me whimper
and tear up.
As you feed me
word
after
word.
Metaphors
of panting painting
and other wives
who don't get fed
as well as me.

Make me beg
for your
pen stroke,
pleading
for your ink.

**** I love your poetry

It's actually a pretty simple formula.
You inquire about
All the folk & mythology
Of any given area.
Investigate the philosophy
Inherent or lacking of each.
As a whole
And by each parable.
Reduce the content
To a "digestible" format.
Substitute words or phrases
Which do not conform
To the rest of the tapestry.

And the first to sew
Did so to sow¹,
Not to make sows².

A condensed collection of the known world's beliefs!

That is,
They wanted things to grow.
To fruit rather than in snout style.

Silk, amber, jade, spice, salt,
Tea, tin, & royal.

Those routes we did the walk
And therein had good talks!

It's been completely butchered beyond recognition!

I want to die
not in the way that I’m supposed to,
Cause I never do what i’m supposed to.

I want to rot in the corner of someone’s conscience,
Like the lost friend from your childhood
Loved, forgotten and ignored
But undeniably present.
I want to be forgotten
like the scream muffled under a party song,
like a suicide note
burned before it was read,
Or never found,

Not a name forgotten,
but a name mispronounced
Or just on the tip of your tongue
By someone who pretends to care
By someone's mind that is painted red,
With my blood, but no guilt,
As I must always forgive
I don’t want a eulogy,
I want to be the glitch in a childhood memory,
the static between the channels,
the reason you pause mid-laugh
and feel sick for no reason.

When I disappear,
let it be like ink bleeding through your skin,
beautiful and wrong,
disgusting but permanent.

Let me go like a sin you almost confessed.