My darkest friend who knows my darkest side,
penumbral spirit might eclipse her own;
she gladly walks my shadows stride for stride.

While living through what most would not abide
she bleeds for us through all the cuts she's known,
my darkest friend who knows my darkest side.

She feeds the beasts inside we've deified
and knows my monsters right down to their bones.
She gladly walks my shadows stride for stride.

She wades abyss's waters at high tide
and dives in eagerly to swim alone,
my darkest friend who knows my darkest side.

Sensual, seductive, sanctified,
soft as woman, hard and strong as stone,
she gladly walks my shadows stride for stride.

She writes her deepest secrets, never lies,
while keeping from herself how much she's grown.
My darkest friend who knows my darkest side;
she gladly walks my shadows stride for stride.

When gentle breezes turn into gale,
     remember that you will prevail.

       You may tear at these pages daily,
in search of peace and tranquillity.
   Planting hope and scattering wishes,
    Spilling blood in smears and blemishes...
       Flying out of the dark on
     wings of birds.
       Bridging the rippling void through
           severed words.

                Seeking...
             Reaching...
               Imploring...
            Writing...

     Be not wary of eyes that speak.
  Be not afraid of mouths that leak.

Know that our scribbles are only
   sacred to us.
       Emotions and thoughts we
           bind and truss.

  What we put forth, we owe it to ourselves...
     Bits of us we've kept hidden in the
darkest rooms; atop the highest shelves.

You...
      are wielder of your mighty pen.
You...
      determine how far or long your
         words would span.

   Your words... They're precious gold.
Many or little; be them new or old.

So let drip your ink with little reservation...
  Let us grow from strength to strength
     as life teaches its lessons.

   Rise up and live on in these here pages,
     For here exist only
         freedom;
               not cages.

You must have been so lovely, Sylvie.
Your song sounds purple, like the underside of rose petals.
It shimmers and flickers in the water of the Seine, held together by a whispering, weaving thread, a voice in the softness.

I know you,
I've seen you.
You're me when I play, the piano keys conductors for all of your loveliness,
Pouring your essence into my heart as I begin to learn your curves and your lines.
I am you, Sylvie, a woman in love,
and I caress the keys and sing with your voice a song in which you are forever imprisoned, captured in a jar and preserved for eternity.

Blueprints of future eloquence
drawn up in the mind.
Manufactured moments played out in real-time.
Accidental actors
improvising memorized lines.
None can be the wiser to the grand design.
It's all for nothing if it feels too contrived.
Make sure to leave enough room for all those little
unknwons in life.

When it pans out how it shouldn't,
when just the right amount of things go wrong,
it all comes together in one incredible instant.
Profound.
Beautiful.


Gone.

Theroomisstuffy

and I c a  n   ’    t      b      r        e        a            t               h                   e

I can feel everyone’s eyes on me

or is that just the paranoia

I feel like my heart is

w

    e

       i

         g

            h

                i

                   n

                      g

                                     m

                                          e

                                                       d

                                                            o

                                                                 w

                                                                      n

The

world

is

turning

black

and

I

can

feel

myself

dying

A gray-haired professor
Once harped on us about our titles.
I was sitting to the left of a cute brunette,
Brita.
We'd ****** the previous night.
And now, we analyzed stories --
Dripping in analogy and pretentiousness.
Our backpacks smelled of coffee,
They got a second-hand kick off the aromas
Of our hangovers and homework,
Completed in the coffee shop just off Harvard St.
I smiled over Janet's essay about a dead lover;
It was called, "Till Death,"
Which was apparently too revealing.
So was Brita's blouse.
My essay was "Black hoodies and blind intersections"
And it tackled grief, fate and the dangers of running at night.
It, too, was too revealing.
Unlike the hoodie it discussed.
I never got the titular lesson,
But figured I was more of a poet anyway.

It can't hurt us
Or harm us
To harmlessly flirt
But they see us
And warn us
And harmfully assert
The grass isn't greener
It's grayer
Than dirt


You want me
Curiously
I'm bitter to the taste
You make me laugh
Addictively
Addiction here laced
If we were there
If we weren't
Spill of the chase



Acting coy
Just acting
For everyone's eyes
Ours lock
And look
Internally decide
What harm
We seek
To whom do we lie?



Just friends
Friends playing
With poison in cups
If you drink
The venom
From your veins I will ****
The scars
Won't move
There is no luck



Raw fantasy
Fresh meat
My mind wanders mud
Play cheat
Cheat the joker
Roses in bud
Come closer
Look at me
Feel the heat of my blood

*

It can't harm us
Or hurt us
To flirt harmlessly
They'll watch us
So we must
Chase silently
In our heads
It shall stay
That question 'If we...'