Teardrop echoes; the tone of your skin drains away,
painting another picture of the night. Whistle-blowers of the night-
torchbearers of the day; kids fighting each other for tree turfs;
skipping stones at early morning ducks. But their mother
inside doesn’t have much time to duck his punch

Well domesticated dogs, too afraid to bark at the night’s
domestic violence. Dominated skin under the dominator’s tight
hands; the love of a shape-shifter— changing its skin to appear
loving for ten pairs of eyes; striking down with a false picture
of love- to the sight of six eyes. Like claws that sink into your
skin; he’s drunk again!

A day away from shelter; for a heaven that does exist from
one’s bruised knees. For all the hurt draped over troubled
shoulders, unfurled eyes crying silent tears bouncing off
the walls

                     A child in the next room hears the teardrop echoes

you lie as a disguise
and want me to love the mask I see
when I claw to reveal
the scars always end up on me
you kiss my war wounds
after my trample under yo feet
you scrape my tears
then plate them n serve em back to me

Left my tears at your door
Then felt my soul fall through the floor
You didn't catch it
You just watched it.

And it tore me down
And now I'm just a silly clown
For believing
For relieving
All this pain

You should've said this was
A game.

Walking past a window
I see a woman crying
Wondering about all the scenario's
That could have befallen her?
Boyfriend problems?
Financial situation?
Job stress?
Just having one of those days?

I do the only thing
I can
Send her positive thoughts
And carry on with my day

Kate finished chopping and   
Wiped a meaningless
Onion induced tear away
Carrying on with her day

As much, in every man’s eye- eroticism brings excitement,
the lines of wrinkled sheets are a retreat without restraint
Every one of our kisses tastes like they matter; we flatter
each other on playing it casual— until anticipated and complete
She is no less than a queen; she sits on my thrown, ruled by these
words- all the shells of the shots I’ve shot; whenever we're around
we stain the ground; inhaling a bit of hell, with every bad habit

Moisture: more so to the reply of, “yes sir”
her tears echo soothing rain, but these tired red eyes don't see
much love- but still when it comes to touch; I'm filled with ideas
by her flood. Words keeping on flowing; but my regards to any
authority, I've been living lawlessly - against her authority

Old habits can’t really die when they pass,
even as an *** shakes backwards, with all the regrets to take
me back to my past. You can still taste a lot of things much harder
to swallow than your pride— that burning heat of passion, from
your mouth’s chamber: an abode of sweet remembrance
Now, as we must, not discuss about the label of us- in a nutshell
the conversation changes tone after someone’s nut is bust
****, how rough is that- we played a role to work ourselves
out of lust. We call each other, our Devil’s assistant…

radio radio radio
running running gone
playing drums, playing hits
i dont recognize a song

typing writing rhyming
my hands shake and curl
carrying notes on my phone
nothing heavier than words

wait wait wait maybe —
my voice caught in my chest
nothing beats the weight
of the words left unsaid