someone took the narrative
that i was an idiot
and ran with it.

they're stuffing foam in my garden hose
they're burning all my algebra notes
they're stepping on my sand castles
like my effort is one big hassle

maybe it's your problem
that nothing i do makes you happy
maybe it's your problem
that you break beautiful things
maybe, just maybe
re-evaluate the narrative you wrote
some writers can be untrustworthy folks

A glass of sun,
The circumference of the world,
the entire infinity.

The deep brown,
Warm umber,
Quiver and smirk.

Between two chasms,
Dark like the space-deep,
Shattered like starlight
Leaping off shards
Of white glass
All singing stars
And glass shattered off-white.

The width of a circle,
A soul locked within
A perfect deep-
Within a glance pained
By sublimed, sustained silence.

The width of a circle,
A soul sealed within
A perfect deep-
Therein a soul stained by
Touch,
By memory,
By touch,
By memory.
The frames of a face.

A soul sealed within a perfect sleep.

light flickers behind her eyes
a spark? a flame? electricity?
would Zeus approve of the
lightning bolts
her eyes seem to sling at me?
if not, will at least
Aphrodite grant me her blessing?

it's in my nature, like a moth,
to be attracted to bright things.
the light brings me closer
i'm aware of proximity
i'd like to think
i'm aware everything.

but yet, the light dims in my hands:
smothering
stifling
my love is suffocating
my need for intimacy
makes it hard to breathe.

i ***** away anything
that's close enough to me.
the smoke clouds the flame
forever gone between us.

i'm sorry.

this poem doesn't rhyme.
it doesn't have to
to still hold value
but by now you
have realized
that i was lying
about the rhyming.

my thoughts are shaped like
atom bombs:
bearing faces of angry gods
tearing through the air above.

my thoughts are shaped like
revolver rounds:
their loud, resounding sounds
always make my heart pound.

my thoughts are shaped like
vile things:
describing them makes my eyes sting

so i won't anymore.

there's a pit in my stomach, a bottomless hole
where the sadness i swallow goes down to my soul,
where it sings the blues and wears grey hues,
and eats up the bad thoughts until it is full.