tell me a story, my dear, ill fated lover. my white dress floats in the bath water. i want you to stand next to the tub and tell me about the first time you saw me. you were a prince, and i just a girl. tell me about how you fell in love with my walk and my curled toes and my cinnamon smile. sickening spices. uniquity. grace.

biting my bottom lip, i ask if you will say hello again, blooming.
why is it that you always whisper goodbyes like autumn leaves?

you are catastrophic, and i a mad, young, silly girl. but you used to be perfect and i used to be wise, and our most promising traits are announced to the tides as i pull the drain stopper out. wait! i laugh. i put the stopper back into tub. row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream.

i’m wondering as you look at me with those empty eyes.
i wonder, if i know i have gone mad, am i mad after all?

i don’t see it in your eyes, my dear, ill fated lover. i only see death, death, death and love. you used to utter sweet words with warm breath in my ear. i’d dance for you until my back hurt and my heels were sore, until i wanted to cry and laugh, for you were so enthralled by the movements of my body. I don’t dance anymore. and your breath is cold, your words sour.

the tub overflows and i shut my eyes, although they beg to see.
will i laugh when you scream my name, saying you can’t swim?

my breathing hurts; without you i see stars.
brown eyes dilate and my warm heart boasts,
hardly focused and you’ve too many bars.
pushed away but you know that i care most

i roll over in the sheets you just spread
but you can’t even look me in the eye
so you decided love is buríed
and the idea of us must soon die

my heart is sick of putting up a fight,
ever since you held me i have foil’d.
the hardest thing is feeling very quite
of you, and with every sigh, i’m toil’d.

just know you’ll always be my beloved
and i’ll remember you wanted me removed

a.d

I do not want to talk

You turned me into an ash tray

One that is smaller than you,

But has been put to more use

I am overflowing with carcinogenic filth



However,

Now I see you are more,

Far more than an ash tray

You’re the whole apothecary



While you drown your worries

Mine fill me up

Just another tap from another’s cigarette

The ash piles up

Onto the mountain, without a fuss



I have lost the desire to dine

And whine

With you

Oh sweet and true apothecary, I worry about you

Hello, Romeo
Tip-toe, So slow
Bellow from below
Slay foe, Must go
Can't know of love though
Death glow
Such woe
You go, solo
Oh no!
Follow with fatal blow
End Show

To eat or not to eat, that is the question.
A doughnut, ******, airy I’ll consume--
adjust my diet later to make room--
or falsely reject pastries’ sweet delight
while bingeing pasta deep into the night?
Doughnut, thou art satisfying, sweetly
filling morsel, savored now discreetly—
perhaps a little midday’s sugar craving
is better solaced, hunger I’ll be staving
off, resisting better night time craves.
‘Tis better, easier to have the faves;
by portions small on calories I’ll save,
and skip on other dishes that don’t taste
as sweet and crispy, but go straight to waist.

It may all depend
On the silliness of a boy
Sitting on the roof of a car
In a graveyard,
In the gentle shade
Of a summer afternoon.


© 2016

A leaf fell, twisting in the Fir Green Square,
Like a spear thrown through the air;
A dog, distant and real,
Has barked five hundred years on Sheep Street.
Holy Trinity, the bone keeper, keeps doors open.
The Avon, not so sweet now, flows on;
Swans swim and preen, and tonight,
Henry will rage on Agincourt again,
Calling on his brothers, and me,
To breach the vicious cycle of lonely barks
And the immutable march of time.
Take my hand, look into my eyes,
My brotherhood of men.

This is the story of my Juliet;

Of her Montague and his Capulet.

Roses smell sweet with no care of their name,

But with “Montague”, this just isn’t the same.



As a cruel joke, fate bonded their hearts,

For fate knew too well that they’d be torn apart;

Torn apart like the brawling in the public square,

Where Montagues and Capulets disagreed there.



I am the one whom Romeo loved,

Before he’d first seen his Capulet dove.

It happened quite fast, and inside the year,

We were something akin to the three musketeers.



We knew if the secretive lovers were caught,

They’d both be destroyed; impaled on the spot.

So I covered for them, and I helped them along,

And I did my best to sing over their song.



I witnessed the wedding, the friar’s compliance

In hopes that the families would form an alliance.

And while I had my doubts, I kept my lips sealed;

I allowed them to hope the tooth fairy was real.



Soon after that, I was with Romeo and his friend,

When Tybalt came along and caused Mercutio’s end.

I ran after Romeo, begging “Please! Use your head!”

But it was to no avail, and soon Tybalt was dead.



So Romeo was banished, and I sat with his wife;

I comforted her as she wept of her strife.

She was almost alright, but fate slipped on its gloves,

And she was betrothed to a man she couldn’t love.



Three times, I convinced her to put down her knife;

“You can do this, Capulet, don’t you take your own life!”

I spoke with the friar, and he had not a clue,

Till I formed a plan and a mysterious brew.



I sent a letter to Romeo, warning him of her sleep,

And so Juliet drank into slumber most deep.

Two days went past, then I felt my heart stop-

My letter had been returned, and Romeo’s address dropped.



I tripped a few times as I sprinted towards her grave,

All the while howling out Romeo’s name.

I leapt across ditches, I dashed around trees,

And I fount Montague, fallen to his knees.



“She is pure beauty, even in her death,”

Said Romeo as he took his last breath.

I lunged, and I screamed until my throat bled,

But bleed as I might, Romeo was now dead.



Juliet yawned, and it turned into a cry,

As the sight of his body burned into her eyes.

I stood up, hands shaking, and reached out to my friend,

But I knew this was a wound my soft words couldn’t mend.



“Juliet, don’t,” I pleaded weakly.

She shook her head sadly, said “I’m sorry, Rosaline.”

I held her small frame, and I felt her depart,

As she drove her own blade into her broken heart.



Montagues and Capulets sat together that day,

And they mourned their children and regretted their hate.

I stood up, though it pained me, and they looked distressed

At Juliet’s blood that soaked through my dress.



“This is your fault!” I yelled hoarsely at the lords.

“You ran your own children through with your swords!

If you are so noble, ordained from above,

How could you destroy their lives and their love!?”



“Don’t you dare let their sacrifices end in vain!

They were my friends, and they died so you’d change!

I hope you make peace, because your bigotry

Took Romeo and Juliet away from me!”



So it was, that the families have since lived in harmony,

But that is something that now hardly matters to me.

A rose by any name would still smell as sweet,

But if “Montague” was different…





This would not be a tragedy…