Each word,
Formed slowly like a rosebud,
Falling from her mouth, and
Leaving petals upon the floor.


I struggle to catch everyone,
As they leave her mouth.
It’s just reasonable, for her to expect
Me to catch everyone.

The hardest thing to catch,
Is a petal playing in the wind.

I have done something “horribly immoral”.
I should’ve never touched her.
Anna Marie Coral

Pale skin, green eyes
Like emeralds among pearls. But…
When I look at her she shies?
Soft skin glowing in the night.
When I touch her
I hear beautiful fright,
Feel heart beats. Faster.
Caused by my careful capture.

Terrified eyes,
Beauty magnified.
Lovely lips quivering
My affection delivering
Undesired, ****** and direct.
What did she expect?

Being told all of my life
What’s wrong is what feels right.
My peace comes not from violence
But from my victims silence.


I crave them, these abducted affairs.
Prison bars, Pleads and prayers
Won’t quench my thirst.
Food’s first bite tastes better in fast.


Anna Marie Coral wasn’t my first and
She won’t be my last.

Blurring nights to be a teenage queen.
She's oh so sophisticated,
Mouth full of slurred words and red wine,
Lipgloss lined lips and
Eyes perfectly defined, winged,
lashes cloaked in black,
Mascara'd run if it weren't enclosed
In lash reformatory.

Her hair, to be described
Would take as long, as the length goes on.
She has an acquired taste,
Like a roasted Colombian mix, or a spice tea,
She
Is intriguing and alluring.

Tightening vines about a blossoms throat,
Choking roots, entwined:
Preventing the dew to soak.
Burning butterfly wings,
Mutilating the ones with flowers.
There's no song to sing,
To relieve big hands from power.

Like a dandelion ripe with age,
From butter to cotton,
My wife, you become with time,
A feel in which cannot be forgotten.

Rest your face against mine.
I'll listen to you dreaming,
Until the morning time.
I'll fight off nefarious nightmares, and unnerving incubus ,
Presenting the pleasant dreams and filtering the vicious.
When you awake
I'll reflect it,
All the dreams that I've collected.
They're stored within my seams,
Intact,
Where they can run free and be enact.
When you return,
To rest again,
to sleep upon me, to hold my reigns
Lead me, weeping willow.
For, I am your faithful pillow.

Fashionable to the era,
A cascading armchair draped with linens
And Clara.

Useful, is a word he often used,
To describe his girls he'd cast his curse
Upon and the blurry nights,where love was refused.
By him, one word used as well as the first.

Useless, also rolled off his bitter tongue to title those girls,
And their lowered chins and their hopeful eyes
Glued to his, as if they were rubies or fresh-water pearls.
Music to his ears, were those girl's sighs.

These girls splattered with titles,
Inevitable, shamed or a *****.
Their "I'm O.K." smile, a daily recital.
The word love has truly been skewed.

His impressive love consumption,
And those nameless girls well-being an assumption.

Dear the blessed people,
The powerful people,
We would like to thank you,
for changing everything
For the worst at the time,
The worst now,
And the worst forever.
The changes haven’t changed for hundreds of years.
So, thanks for being so constant.
Changing every place to be the same,
But with parallel harm.
We thank you.
We thank you for the forceful religious beliefs,
In which we can pick and choose the dogmas that suit our hate.
We thank you for the brain washing techniques, for,
Without them we would not have so much prejudice.
And last we would like to thank you for helping the weak,
With a price, and with a catch.
Thank you.
You are leaders.
Influential
Leaders,
Sicker than I.

When we first met, she was but a seed. A mischievous **** sprouting in the grass where I lay. Her lanky leaves and long stem bothered me, and the way she never could sway the same way as the grass forced me resentful.
I poured lemon juice upon her, lathering her in the acidic liquid, wishing her to drown and in the hopes that she’d become more like the dry grass and in the hopes that she’d disappear among them.
Without effect from my malicious attempt of ridding her, my flower continued to grow. In observing this,  i refused her water. I enclosed her from the April rainfalls.
Because she was strong, and because of her faith in the spring, my flower kept growing with what little she had. In the summer, weeks past, i returned to see of what little was left of this ****. Only to find under a grass covered leather, a slouching flower with white, wilting petals still facing the sun.
I realised the beauty she’d composed and felt her consecrated seed sow within the pit of my stomach. Like a barbed hook embedded in a fish’s lip, a part of her anchored. Thorns leapt from my internal stem, oozing liquid, guilt venom.
I frantically poured sugar-water over her as she offered her berries to me.

When I was walking, my life dropped out of my pocket. It fell and it shattered. Pieces were scattered all over the ground, so I took a long while to find every one. When I’d thought I’d found every last one, I looked again, and again. I went to the store and I bought some glue. As I was gluing, a sharp piece of my life cut my little finger. My finger cried and it cried and my life cried with it, and the glue, once white, turned red.

I continued to glue, and eventually, I glued my life’s pieces into a ball. I looked it all over and then I discovered, I had forgotten a small shard on the table; where could it go?  I have used all the spaces, and I like what my life has become. I held my life in one hand and held the shard in the other. I could not take my life apart again, unless I want to start over. So, with the small shard, I closed my hand, and threw it over my shoulder. ‘There, now it’s gone and I don’t have to worry.’ I thought.

I put my new life back in my pocket, and went on walking. I saw a nice man on the street across from mine and smiled. He smiled back and so we crossed paths and we talked and we laughed and we walked together. I started to think about how close we’d become, and how happy I was, and I decided that it was time. Out of my pocket I pulled, my mended red life. He smiled and told me ‘It’s lovely.’
He then pulled out his, which was ragged and worn. I lied, I said ‘I like it’ although I did not. We tried to hug, but we just didn't fit. Our lives kept getting in the way. He got angry and snatched them both up and threw them down on the ground. Once again, my life was shattered.

I picked every piece up and I cried big, wet tears, which dropped on the shards of my life. The wet pieces clung to the dirt, as they lay, and became smudged and filthy. It was hard to tell which were mine, but the ones I thought were his, I picked out and threw them far away. I pulled out my glue, and started again. When I was finished putting all the ***** pieces in place and I looked at the relics of my life; Sad, broken, mismatched and in peril.
I took my poor life, and I put it in a small box; it was dark, and it was tight on my life. People could not hurt it. People could not see it. I could not see it.

When I was out walking with my life, hidden away in it's box, I saw a nice girl. She smiled at me, and I smiled back and paused. ‘No, this won’t happen again.’ But the girl approached me, and she told me she liked me. I couldn't help but reciprocate; she was beautiful and sweet and I loved her. She pulled out her life and I turned away. ‘You don’t like it’ she said. Her eyes filled with tears and she began to sob. ‘No, I really do, please don’t cry’ I told her. ‘Mine has been broken so many times, I hid it away’. I pulled out the box and tried to unfasten it, but it would not open. I pulled and I pried but the box wouldn't budge. I became angry and I threw the box at the ground. The girl walked towards it and picked up the box full of my shattered life. She gently lifted the latch and looked inside at the shards. She smiled. She put her life inside with mine, and put the latch back down, and she dropped it. ‘What are you doing?!’ I asked, confused and disturbed.

‘I'm mixing our lives, and when we got home, we’ll mend our life together.’

Salient eyes softly whisper
Secrets, beneath a violet veil.

My rotting masts are hiding beneath,
The flow of my windswept sail.

Wilted daisies and ****** feet,
All for the sake of the trail.

To scratch the ground to make a mark
Only to get dust caked nails.

I seem alright. I’ve got it together,
Unintended portrayal.

He laughs,
Even when I’m not telling jokes.
But I don’t mind it.

Politely patronizing me,
He makes me feel young and
I find it...

Soothing.
His wise eyes upon me,
Like a father,
As if I'm your loving daughter.

He smiled at me,
As he rolled his cigarettes tenderly.

I’d always compared this,
To the way he’d treated me.

I'd always ******* up her lips
-when I'd drawn them.
Not when I kissed her.

I'll never get that close.

First associated with romantic love,
My baby sings a sweet song:
“Away and above”
Innocence cascades from her tender lips,
Trembling.
Fresh, and guileless
She’s December’s snow sprinklings;
Pale, and shamed.
And perfectly lonely
She’s wildly tame.
Her affection spreads to me solely.
Look she’s smiling.
How customary.
Her feelings interior
Au contraire, she
Fell to a man of superior
Strength.
I took her hair in my hand,
Her brickle strands,
Breaking, and
her heart dropped
To the earth and I stomped.

The stings of angry bees
My sister sings silent songs of these.

They sting her ears
when she speaks of them.
A worker-bees wrath complies as
tears of honey fall from her eyes.
Her blossoming mind wilting
while they **** my sister dry.
Wincing with pain,
                                  blinking,
                                                 going insane.

Her broken thoughts keep thinking.

They pull her hair from her head,
nails from her fingers.
Stingers rising from her bed,
that frightened movements triggered.
Turning white sheets to red.

A nest created within her head in which the queen's fed
my sister's dying thoughts.

Your heart ticks like a clock
Darling, that’d make your love time.
All I can hear is your sweet voice talking
As I strain to rhyme.
While you remain youthful,
Your timeless romances have aged me
Seems like it’s been years since you have
Ticked for me solely.
Fleeting seconds filled full with neck kisses,
“aged-just-right” red and your lovely self, faultlessly fictitious.
Something’s changed. Evidently so,
Tell me why it’s different darling…
Where did the time go?