Immersing within cardinal
    droplets, each seeping from
the veins of life, clarity of white
now drowning within a sea of
fuchsia that is like a rose petal
liquefied, its essence smelling
                                like deaths kiss.

Abstracted songs of weeping
                                  moments.
Restless that more isn't being
given. Even though to open
more fissures would smother
every light within.
           Fading with the
                      last droplet given.

Tears etched like ravines
    flowing to feed the lustful tides
                                  of her needing.
She touched upon there features
vowing that they would
                                            live on
within her, a voice within the many.

Still all were crying, but never tears
of fearful wows, as they knew they'd
                                  live on within her.

Shadows danced around the room
effigies of what had drained before
those now opening life,
                              to feed her hunger.
Death was a perfume that she bathed in.
             Putrid desolate veins rejuvenated
her carcass to a beauty only time held.
But only her voice called inside,
       the others screamed in silence.
their shadows trying to tell others
but silence dances where
                                     no reflection hears.

im there when you want to
rip out your
hair and scream ,

knees on the floor, your face is
in my hands  .
                          .

there seems to be glass everywhere
you look
and
you're crying ,

you can see it.

i dont know who told you i was dangerous --
but

i can only be so kind .

Every tear I’ve cried,
Every complaint I’ve uttered,
Every cry of pain I’ve screamed,
You’ve been there.
I’ve laid my heart bare to you,
Always open, available, vulnerable.
I’ve given you my all, 24/7,
And yet what do I have in return?
A mauled and maimed heart,
Torn apart from exposure to the world,
To you.
Yet I can’t find a way to shut my heart,
My nature won’t allow it.
I will always give away before I take.
I’m always open.

It's midnight and it's silent,
Just the roar of passing vehicles
Every ten minutes or so.
And a shouting man
Perhaps of being too drunk.
And it would've been pitch black,
If it wasn't for the light from the window.
Now I hear the drops of rain as it touches the roof,
Have you ever wondered
If these raindrops were the tears of our loved ones
in heaven?
or the souls who couldn't enter heaven?
Funnily, it could also be ***,
Of a larger being on top of Earth.

But in reality,

It's midnight and it's not silent.
It's the time when you hear more of what surrounds you,
Even what's inside you.
Your heartbeat,
Your growling stomach,
The voices in your head.
It's the sadness and pain behind that man's scream.
The rush of the vehicles passing,
Their desire to go home,
The rush of holding their beloved in their arms.
Say, close your eyes,
Now you see pitch black,
And some memories
You wish you could relive.

— j.n.

Can't you hear it?
Every day
can't you feel it?

would that I could
draw hundreds of pictures
in lieu of thousands of words,
jumbled.
lost,
without point, without bottom
chickens, cows, cats, macaques,
crowded classrooms
and hearts, spilling out in a thousand directions

Don't you hear it?
Don't you feel it?
Screams, vibrating the walls
the collective wave of something we walk by every day
--and don't ******* me about your progress--
Can't you hear it?

How can you not feel our body bruised,
thin-lined, square, red ditches pucker fields of flesh:
if wasted sweat were rain, we'd be fed.
Necks stiff, eyes low, teeth bleached and thin.
lips chapped.
Seizing from impulse but too dead to act

The world is shaking
crying, laughing, moving, screaming
waiting for death
praying for life
singing

Can't you hear it?

When a man can hear
a woman's screams and sobs
thunder across an empty parking lot,
from a lone truck
partly hidden by the blanket of night,
that man is faced with a choice.
He can ignore the cries
and continue to move forward,
or he can turn and fight.
Such terrible options are rarely requested,
and no matter which decision he makes
that man will be haunted
during the quiet moments
for the rest of his life.

Goodbye. A word that haunts. Echos through the dark and paralyzes me with fear, enough to tremble and shake similar to the way a weak hand grasps for months, clutching onto life. When you leave, how do you suppose you hear me. I shout and scream into the cemetery of everything that once was. The lesson of a lifetime is say goodbye early. Say goodbye to the possibility of departure and leave before they leave first. Thats how you say goodbye to a ghost, in a way that will haunt them to their grave.