I’m burnt out on love I’ve never known,
On writing feelings not my own.
I carve out passion with my pen,
But never feel it back again.

I craft the lines, I play the part,
But there’s no pulse behind this heart.
I’ve written dreams, I’ve forged desire,
Yet here I stand, without the fire.

I talk of love, of joy, of touch,
But none of it’s been mine—not much.
I pour out tenderness, pretend,
But every poem’s just pretend.

I’m sick of songs I’ve never sung,
Of love that only lives in tongue.
I stitch together words for show,
But it’s a hollow act, I know.

What’s love to me but someone else’s?
Their highs, their lows, their endless guesses.
I’ve written their bliss, their heartbreak too,
But none of it has felt like truth.

I’ve no muse waiting, no one’s arms,
No gentle warmth, no lasting charms.
I speak of love, but know it not,
And that’s the burn that I forgot.

The well is dry, the ink is thin
I can’t keep writing what’s not within.
I’m burnt out, lost, and all alone,
Tired of a love that’s never grown.

So let the paper stay untouched,
I’ve given love what love’s not touched.
No poems left to fake, to fake
It’s emptiness I can’t unmake.

This vessel shivers
under all of the heavy fabric
while the mind hopes for
something so sapphic

Make this vessel yours
free it from the mean fabric
make it yours to protect, yours to touch
add a little of your warmth
you know just how much

Like a weightless, wordless mime,
like a baby bird watching mother fly,
I’ll follow your lead like a dancer,
copy your moves to avoid the red laser.

New to this world and in over my head,
you’ll hold my hand as we walk the thread.
You’ll explain the rules and guide my hand,
as I hold my breath and remember to stand.

Weak in the knees and warm in the heart,
I can’t rush the finish before we even start.
I’ll slow my pace and keep the tempo
and caution what feelings are prone to grow.

I see a disturbed landscape,
With undulating mountains and hills.
I see shepherds tending
To their flock
And birds flying in discord.
The hallways are packed
With ancient bodies
Who have forgotten;
Minds filled with loss.
All around,
Flowing and moulding,
Is the ephemeral breath
Of a creature eager to please.
He’s waiting for you;
Take his hand
And walk down these corridors,
Opening all the doors.
It’s time to leave our bony clothes,
And enter the forest.

All of a sudden, I'm cold.
The air tickles my nose as it cools my throat, and my knees quiver under the cotton knitting of my jeans.

All of a sudden, I'm tired.
Everyday. All day.
The pages turn, each with less vigor than the last.

All of a sudden I'm sore.
My hands creaking; back aching.
Time stomps its stone feet on my shoulders, as it should, without regret.

All of a sudden, I'm purposeless.
The passion I admire slips through my fingers and trickles onto the floor like water from a dish towel.

All of a sudden, I'm angry.
Sounds of hate escape my soul through pursed lips.
I curse myself by laying seige to those closest to me.

All of a sudden, I'm stagnant.
Sinking in life slowly until bedrock.
My troubles rise through my toes like chains locking me in.

All of a sudden, I'm lost.
Alone, Pulling at synapses to recover what was once my image.

The air tickles my nose as it cools my throat.
All of a sudden, the man I once was is forgotten.

Let’s go to the moon
Sail upon these ancient currents
We can try, baby;
See by the moonlight.
The sunlight is imposing
Tyrannical
Almost burning

These mannacles are rusted,
Do you see?
We just ought to try
And break on free
Into the cool night

See?
Do you see, baby?
I really ought to, uh,
**** you
No, I mean feel you

This ship is safe
It only crashed last time
And before that too
But we’ll be all right, baby
You just wait and see

Yeah, all the way to the white goddess
No, I’m no captain
Only a sailor
Sailing to the moon.

Show me good,
Show me evil,
And then the wild child,
Traversing beyond,
On those pathless plains.
Oh it's the death of me,
Can't you see?
The little one
Has run on free.

There is no bank in this river;
Waters stretch out.
Tumultuous tides masqueraded by mellow lies.
They have painted over the exotic colours
With monochromatic hues.
The feast has become a rudimentary meal.
The skies have been mapped out
With cruel logic and rules.
Borders have been placed;
There is no more wandering.
The mystique has become a beggar
Living and a-stumblin’ for the Dollar.

swaying to the thick summer breeze.
the sun, always at its peak
blazing on dry floridian ground.

hand in hand, intertwined by fate,
played by the gods of love.
a spark meant to last before the bells toll.

separated by foreign lands,
unfinished plans,
waiting for the last dance.

sweat trickle on tanned skins,
bodies wrapped within reach,
passion and lust fused.

this is the curse that binds us together.
to my lover from the distant land -
may hecate cross our roads again.