Basically
I'm the
disease

your
poor heart
could not

pump,
process,
or purify

the
tasteless
something
in the water

waste drains
exit into your water

Put you in duress,
the deviant disaster,
the master depravity,
the agender **** toy,
smiling sodomite

offered only carnal
distress for your innocence,
trash for your
sacred naivete


(but I'm not wrong . am i // am i .)

Poetry
Is
So
Light in weight
It can be carried on lips

Unafraid,
she makes
red braids
wrapping
death
around her
soft wrist.

Her pliable
flesh
screams
fresh
mercies.

Inside
the porcelain
prism
pain
is no longer
her prison.
Life
is no longer
her poison.

Once crushed
life’s fluid
is now
a stagnant wine
that drips down
her limber vine.

For all that abused
drank her dry
felt her up and used
all the tears in her life
she is now
an empty wineskin
with no more life
to hold in.

Death was hers
and she told him
where and when
they would be
meeting.
It was
the only game
she was capable
of winning.

No note,
no warning call,
no shot off the port
From a cannonball;
She just dove
headfirst into
the dark black that
will eventually
claim you to.

there's a solemn tune in my core
that longs for warmth
- a melodic rhythm
that produces spring's blossom.

though my core is in
solemn mood
but the mind speaks
otherwise
  - its a mess.

still,
never have i asked
something great
like a grand
Autumn concerto
just wanting
his own
music sheet
playing the song
to the one
     who cares.

for how long
will I be
patient,
or where will
I ever find the sign
for the right
notes befitting
to my tunes?

asking questions
only time can tell.
I'll wait....