What happened with me and poetry?
I haven't written in so long.
I feel a little dead inside let's say,
when I have to be opening up.

Do I have trust issues?
I do sometimes trust and have faith.

It's the intimate thoughts and emotions that I'm scared to uncover.

"Control".

I talk a lot about it, yet I don't have any.

So I strive to carry it out on myself.
It's not such a terrible thing in my eyes.
But to others,
I'm a ticking time bomb, primed to explode.

Although I don't have that explosive self-hatred gunpowder anymore.

Everybody's a critic.
And I guess I'm just scared of the judgment?

And I do to an extent!

I leave for one year and come back,
Completely different in all body and mind.

To be fair, it might be a little overwhelming
but. Why should I care?

and pick up the pieces for those who have fragile incentives?

It isn't my problem.
This is who I am, albeit being primed to destroy.


nobody can fix me but myself.

I used to go
swallowing matches
filling up on lightbulbs,
light lunches

second degree burns
through my throat, I
coughed up blood,
splintered glass, ash

but the moths in my stomach,
they loved it, you see,
flitted around just for a glimpse,
a tiny ray,
until
blood-soaked wings
stopped
sinking insects
dropped

I bumbled through the bramble,
****** and stings and me entwined.
They cut me deep and deeper
As I stumbled through the vine.

I fell out onto a clearing
Where I bled smally on the grass
And though this moment pains me
I pray to gods it lasts.

She sat above me,  beautiful,
Upon a throne of thorn.
Her supple frame caressed by they,
Yet remained untorn.

A lady or a fairy...
Or even better still!
A godess of those prickly vines
That wrapped around her will!

With every step the ivy squeezed
And yet I dare not care.
If she would waste but a breath on me,
I would not want for air...

I still don’t know the color of your eyes
They go from gray to green to blue
You like cold showers and clear skies
And I like crawling into you

I get so caught up in the endless sea
I don’t notice when my lips turn blue
The psychedelics take over me
My fingertips numb from touching you

A violet girl with tangerine dreams
Can’t ever pull off those shades of blue
My tired blue boy in baby blue jeans
I almost dyed for you

you can't fall in love with a corpse

so you breathe life into a blank skull

one full of wonder and sunshine light

placed delicately upon shoulders

that have mastered every pain

the arms come next

chiseled and carved with attention

soon after follows the chest and torso

which were crafted with care and restrain

legs are after this heinous track

built tall and long and with no regret

the taste of being in love

will follow there sometime

don't get too close

She was staring out the window
On a rainy afternoon
She liked jazz
but he always played blues

Tune after tune

So it was blues she listened to
With mock appreciation
for the records in the room

A lazy lovers weekend
with books and plants and puff

She smiles every so often
But she knows she’s had enough

No commitment
no devotion.
I'm like a boat on the
ocean with you;
tossed and broken by
the waves of your emotions.
Your hurricane is dangerous.
I'm heading for dry land.

The dark dance calls softly,
like Night Shade or Oleander.
Just a little taste...
Just one more slow waltz...
I can smell her
wet orchid while I sleep.
She moves languidly through
my dreams, possesses me at dawn
with lambent steps.
The love is violent, like a bullfight.
It's sweet and treacherous, ferocious.
Fatal for one of us;
and she's been gored.