i remember hating myself,
filling journals to the brim with criticisms.
i used to spend time at the herb garden plucking mint leaves from their stems,
and in the branches of apple trees at the far end of the orchard, picking ripe ones.
i climbed as high as i dared to get them, muscles burning.
wiping my forehead with the hem of my shirt, standing on a branch,
when i licked my lips and looked at the next one.
then i had enough pages in my journal to use my bobbin and stitch them into wings,
to fly close enough to the sun,
to see my tears turn to steam,
to feel the wax burn on my shoulders and mold into thick skin.
i started to lift myself up, to put the other foot down, and the branch snapped.
a gasp escaped me as i pressed both palms to my chest.
i felt the monster of pain again,
writhing in the empty space in me.
then i wanted to die.
the monstrous pain had its claws around my throat,
i twisted and put my head between my knees,
when i finally found a solution.
figured if i cut my wrists enough gravity would let me go.
but i kept breathing until the strangled feeling left me.
because life is taking all of the love i could never give myself,
and putting it to good use.
so when i told you,
that you almost make life worth it, i was not joking.
when i tell you,
that you almost make me forget how much I hate myself,
it is not poetry.
it is reminding myself that if someone can care for the scars,
administer the pills,
absorb the bad moments,
then i can try to breathe again.
don’t hide because it will only cause pain.
i know this because i did it myself.
and i learned that just like a clean slate, everybody needs a new journal.

It’s me again
Have you remembered my name

That you called out
To every star in the sky

Hoping that one would answer
Alas none ever did

You died waiting
So I brought you back to life

For as long as I exist
You shall too

In sullen spaces night by night you keep your eyes
Those seducing hopes and a darker mind than mine,
You see yourself a pure, wise madonna,
But there you are, a shadow in some evil webs.

Overseas I summon you for innumerable times
You fill your ears with flesh and Sunday dreams,
I’ll drown you when your clippers meet
My loving arms you used to care.
I have been blessed with another chance
You ate your parts, thousands of souls,
Far away in the murmur of the air you breathe
You better run, faster than a bullet; as you know,
I never sensed a bit of fear
Even if it were to be buried afront, so close,
I’ll take a sip from you, a black widow wine.

Twin love

Infest me with your stolen kiss.
The very heart shaped lips I miss.
Creating love, within my breast,
a swollen heart, unfaltered test.

I sit here smiling, I am free,
to sail the stars, just you and me.
I woo, just you, and you, me too,
I love you my sweet Evening dew.

You are the sail. I am the song.
You are the wind. I am the gong,
that goes ahead, a heralds cheer,
and proclaims this... Twin loves are here!

The oceans bow to see our form.
The sunrise cheers to keep us warm.
The breeze regales a soothing balm,
as all about the world is calm

And so...

Aloft into the skies we climb,
two hearts as one; one heart in rhyme,.
And we will here,  forever be,
a single form, to sail the sea.

Anticipating the absolute worst.
Needing to escape the situation.
Xanax isn’t a pure solution.
Isolation becomes worse with time.
Everything seems out of control.
Taming abnormal fear by recognition.
Yoga is very a therapeutic approach.

Coming clean,
Running my blood down the sand,
It'll filter through the cracks until it reaches my corpse,
The corpse of mine will be revived,
Coming clean as they wanted me.

I won't be gone,
I won't be gone,
I won't be gone,
I won't be gone.

Coming clean,
A new father reaches through the veil,
Setting fire to my bones,
Lighting my passion ablaze,
He runs the blood back through my veins,
Casting a new spirit to life,
Coming clean, is that what that means?

I won't be gone,
I won't be gone,
I won't be gone,
I won't be gone.

Coming clean,
I'm just a son,
Who's scared to try,
Scared to see beyond his own irises,
Shake me down and rid me of these vices,
Coming clean, as I lay in the blood-laced sand.

I won't be gone,
Tell the father I'm sorry,
Tell Him I'm sorry,
I won't be gone.

The silence is closer than before, after all, silence is the chorus of life and death, As all things alive will die and silence follows.
I have seen the unfathomable darkness in the universe and all of it is silent from the particles of Iron that is in every one of us, in our blood to the nuclear fission giants of stars.
This all takes place in the unending darkness of space and not a soul to try and hear this thundering silence.
We are one and the same be it the iron in our blood or the oxygen in our lungs it is and always will be the same particles of Starstuff even after the silence of death comes to us.
We cannot escape the dark abyss of our seemingly unending universe no matter how we try to love, laugh, live or die.
Silence is the song of life.
Silence is the song of death.
Silence is the never-ending song of the cycle in the universe.