Starting up you're all I want to touch
just us, half naked
weekends wasted
stripping, sniffing, sipping
its star splitting

you stain my brain
and thoughts on my sheets
its been weeks and I'll always choose you over sleep

you're smug
cos you think I'm in love
but you know I'm caving
the hum of your presence I'm craving
the lull of my lust misbehaving
all senses wavering
I stare my issues in the face

spiteful inflictions influx your world
this happiness is on borrowed time
as a sun bleeds beauty
my heels ***** with demise
staged under skies of potent paradise
and I've lost all sense of myself
smothered by mental health

there's toxicity to our proximity
that renders all possibilities for me
I sigh to leave behind heavy lies
but at least I'm half free from anxiety
and I can smoke again

yet there's more bad decisions in the shape of you
and we know its not true
but I decanter out the decadence
so I wont feel possession
obsession can maintain you
don't use it to sustain you

the complications spring my elations
hallucinations that restores clarity
tiny triggered spores open doors to expose your vanity
egos obscured what our reality ignores
as we explore each other's minds and sanity
potions of emotions keep the notion
that were not too eager for unhealthy devotion
we climb on frantic antics and struggle with the semantics
of what we want to say...

if we enjoyed being bored
not living for drama
reserving our pain
and deserving our karma

my cat scraps the shadows as
my mind maps the gallows
feasting on conspiracies of negativity
but hardly mindful to see
they'll always be a distraction
an infectious interaction
that puts things off track

mellowed attributes and more attention
make room for romance soon to be rotten
a spark of love so soon forgotten

apparatus attitudes
practice in ventriloquism of truth
an alchemist interlude
as I manoeuvre to conclude
these epiphanies are constant
then snoozed away
I don't owe you
in blue to choose these lazy ways
days of ***** are hazy with
drunken clues, to forget the thoughts
bought from the hangover before
this is gifted guilt but I know me by now
and its obscurely ordinary
to be deliciously disgusted by you

A bouquet
For you
Not of flowers
But of shrooms

Mario's favorite
To save the princess
Alice's secret
To defeat the queen

Food
For the gods
And Home
For the Elves

My offer
Of Love
Magical
And eternal

someone told me i fall for kind people because i can't stop letting everyone walk all over me, and at least the kind ones will try not to leave bruises. and i laughed like it was a joke and i was the punchline, but i found another bruise in the mirror last night.

i fell for another kind person, but the problem is that kind people lie. and i never know how to distinguish the black and white from the grey. i'll never know if you like me because you treat everyone like stardust and glass.

but i actually am stardust and glass. i am precious and fragile and everywhere and i need to be held. i want it to be by you. but people that weren't as kind already broke me and now if you touch me the way i want you to you'll cut yourself. and blood doesn't wash out of a doormat.

so i don't initiate conversation. i hope you can't see my broken heart on my sleeve because it has your initials written on it in ink. i haven't decided how close i'll let you look. but maybe one day i'll let you walk all over me and hope that i feel like home.

There once was an brave mushroom
Who happened to be named Clyde.

Clyde had a quaint little log
Inside which he did reside.

He had strong opinions on politics
Which created a bit of a divide.

Clyde never let this get to him
And to the haters, he exposed his backside.

It was for this outrageous action
That he became known worldwide.

Clyde used his new popularity
To speak out against mushroom genocide.

He attracted the attention of the revered Society of Toadstools
They, just like him, were rather dissatisfied.

Clyde and the Toadstools went to the king
Who told them his hands were tied.

The queen, angered by her husband’s apathy
Exclaimed that the killings were unjustified.

Clyde and the Toadstools stared in awe
As the queen strode away from his side.

“I have a solution for this,” she announced
“We shall rid the human murderers with cyanide!”

Clyde and the Toadstools, though frightened,
Still with her plan complied.

Inside the human structures they released the gas
Finally, with glee, watched as the humans died.

Clyde and all the other fungi spent the rest of their days in peace
And tales of their bravery that live on are not one bit glorified.

Hush Hush...
the mushroom
an ascetic
gives no room
for the thoughts
to mushroom.
Shall we be quiet!
But to meditate together
alone
intensely
under it's
umbrella's shade,
Matsutake Soup
And Mushroom skew,
Hush Hush.  Together,
we reshaped and danced
after reformed flavours

Lucifer, to the Enola Gay
by Michael R. Burch

Go then,
and give them my meaning
so that their teeming
streets
become my city.

Bring back a pretty
flower—
a chrysanthemum,
perhaps, to bloom
if but an hour,
within a certain room
of mine
where
the sun does not rise or fall,
and the moon,
although it is content to shine,
helps nothing at all.

There,
if I hear the wistful call
of their voices
regretting choices
made
or perhaps not made
in time,
I can look back upon it and recall,
in all
its pale forms sublime,
still
Death will never be holy again.

Published by Romantics Quarterly, Penny Dreadful and Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: Hiroshima, Enola Gay, atomic bomb, explosion, mushroom cloud, death, Lucifer, Satan, Devil, chrysanthemum, sun, moon, voices, choices

It must've been that odd mushroom:
Its pungent spewed spores have made me
A fungal all-fours beast of gloom.

It couldn't have been my own brain:
So toxic, rotten, and seeping
Out meanness, spreading all the same.

Infected, that's why I'm absolved
From sinful guilty reflections,
It was them, not me, that mushroom.