Silence is the friend of lying, weeping silence
upon deafening ears. Poet, write, writing as
if humanity’s life depends on it, as much as
your own soul. Pull yourself into a frame, not
soley of creative genius, but one knowing
that one day, you’ll spark the mind of the one
who changes the shifting patterns to this turning world.
(Love me, I want to hold you in the morning,
as much as wanting to hold you during the night.)

Poetry, I have a life to live. Let me not
be swallowed in by you poetry, let not
my either, labyrinth, my mystique, or
my veil or parts of my character go in
to your fog poetry. There is more to life
than to lay down and read you poetry.
Regardless how raw or immense, or
how much I could benefit from. I have
a life to live. I just want to live. At
least as I live in solitude, you poetry
eases the pain I feel. I’ll give you that.
I’ll give you that poetry.

Poetry, is it fine to view upon
thy lover as Angel at all times?
It’s heightened in tender moments,
where she’ll rub her hand, down
my face. For how many times
poetry, I wrote poems of love,
prayed and wished upon her,
that the muses had no choice
for this uncreated love to come true.
(Now things will never be the same,
oh poetry, is my past leading to
this moment worthless, cause it
is without her or just a path in aches?
But it’s just the way it is.)

If loving you was a mistake,
either way—mine to make,
says she, to shape in my hands,
your body. And this pain?
Mine to deal with.
Deserved,

maybe, found guilty,
for trying to trick you
into loving me. Through
the whispers, the touch, she
laughs, inducing only
ecstasy—

What if the burning at the
stake is not the witch's
fate, but her pleasure?
Her final triumph. No end
more fitting. Nowhere
to escape but
in flames.

Oh child,
The void knows you by name,
And it calls to you,
The end won't hurt at all,

Oh child,
We all sleep alone after all,
Nothing and no-one,
Will trouble you dear,

Oh child,
Don't pray for your mother,
Or father or brother,
It'll be dust in the wind.

Oh child,
It'll be okay,
Another will great the day,
And take your place in the play.

Lost in a cosmos, cold and aimless…
“Amid in starry glee! A guide I lament forth- a time
Ín struggle and need!” With a goddess such as thee-
Saved from the womb of distress, in such godless infinity.

Dad, you always told me
"Don't open that door."
You would say the same words to my brother,
But they didn't mean the same thing.
When you said them to him,
They were a warning.
When you said them to me,
They were a threat.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I was the problem.
Like I am the reason things got bad.
That I asked for this,
All of this.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I was the reason mom got sick,
Like I was the reason you couldn't keep a job,
Like I was the reason we lost every house, every apartment, and every picture that reminded us that there was a time when things were good.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I was the poison,
Not the ***** in your coffee mug,
Not the bugs crawling out of the floorboards,
Not the choices you made.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I was the reason big brother won't come home.
Like I was the reason your family got torn apart.
But we were never a family, dad. Not really.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like if it wasn't for me
Mom would be so much more alive
Than she is right now.
Like if it wasn't for me,
Your youngest son, my youngest brother,
Wouldn't have spent that Christmas in the hospital,
And we'd still have that apartment.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I carried everything bad about you
On my shoulders, and that was my own fault.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I could have closed the door at anytime.
Like I purposely wandered into that room.
Like I meant to be this way.
Like I wanted this.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like it was my own fault
That I was born with the door ripped off its hinges
And that I entered the room of my own volition,
When we both know that was where I was born.

Dad, you always looked at me
Like I was a waste of potential.
Like me being alive
Was your punishment
For all the bad things you've done.

Dad, mom always tells me
How much I look like you.
How I have all your good traits.

Dad, mom always looks at me
Like I could save us.
Like I could bring back the light.
Like I just only need a chance.

Dad, you always told me
That the only person you'd listen to
About your drinking and cruelty
Was me.

Dad, you never listened.

Dad, every time I told you
That I didn't feel safe,
That I was scared,
That I didn't want to be alive,
You always looked at me
Like you didn't understand why I thought you would care.

Dad, when I was little,
You looked at me like
I held stars in my palms.
Like I could do anything.
Like I was worth everything.

Dad, I didn't mean it.
Dad, I really tried to make it go away.

Dad, I'm sorry.