i want your coffee coated lips,
your tongue stained with beautiful words,

your leather-bound journal,
brimming with words, spilling off of the pages.

i want your stories,
held tightly between thick frayed pages..
your fairytales your fantasy,
the horror and the mystery

i want you so **** bad.

i want to kiss a girl.
a twisted lip sugary sweet brush upon the lips,
a flower budding, a proclamation of affection given to the other.


is that okay with you mom?

broken pillars lie at my feet,
wisps and curls of grass bite and caress my skin, sending my senses
into a never-ending tizzy as letters drown me in torrents of knowledge
in torrents of superiority
in waves of education.

soft classical music hums between my ears,
as the soft grass tickles me once more.

repent, believe, repent
part your lips to preach the sacred word of the gospel, it doesn't matter,
if no one listens,
if they don't care,
it's your mission to proclaim the saving word,
no matter how much it hurts- no matter how much it burns their ears,
melting, searing, sneaking into their minds.
preach until those are the only words you yourself can hear,
a convuluted symphony;
alleluja, alleluja, shephard dominus meus in bonum.
The lord is my good shephard,
and he is yours as well.

Repent until your conscious become white as wool,
the scarlet from every sin washing away,
a red river seeping, dripping, over your feet.

A red river,
seeping...
dripping...
lost faith...
upon your feet.

it's not that i'm naive, or unaware...
i'm just trying to convince myself that each of your sweet laughs and jokes
are just for me
built for me
written for me
sung for me
but it seems that every ounce of love is discarded
as you fall further and further away.

my fingers grasp
and stretch
but all I catch is a loose thread.

what if your version of feeling better is one that wouldn't
be considered morally acceptable to the world around you,
because you've lived in this realm where your "feeling better,"
is the equivalent to one's worst.

take my tears as they trail down the rawness and edges of my skin,
wash them over your long gone corpse
  make them a remedy
for the battle scars
I was never able to heal

How are mom and dad doing?
I haven’t heard from them since the letters I last wrote,
I easily find time slipping away from me, no matter how hard I try to grasp it,
You’re my one constant.
I remember how we used to poke fun at one another,
As we watched the world around us crumble…
Laughing so carelessly,
But it seems that now all I can notice is the bad that surrounded us,
The bad that surrounded home.

Dear Father…
I think it’s funny how a single fragment of a memory can come back with such force.
A blunt shock of energy that sends you into either joy, or desire…
Saying I could handle this would be a falsehood.
But sometimes I find myself grasping at the thin rays of light… hope...
Mother responded to my letter last night,
Did she show you what I had written?
My words contain nothing but the truth, yearn etched into fragments of a sentence,
Hope laced into the sweetness of every word.
I would come back, just to feel the refuge of home…
But coming back to you all would be a lie to myself.

But why is it that when I hear that dangerous whisper of “i love you,”
I wind up crawling back to a place /I know/ I don’t belong,
Over and over again.

Oh sweet family,
There’s good in the world,
Just like there is bad,
And I think i’m ready to find it.

i dream of falling into your endless promises,
gripping onto the sturdy buoyancy of your words,
feeding off of the soft whispers, that aid in keeping me afloat.

but why do i find myself drowning time and time again?

Pin the baubles and decor on her,
Drape her in satin and lace,
Watch the discomfort flowing through her veins,
Sadness on her pretty little face.

Admire the hidden pain,
As she recoils from the touch of your hand.
All hints of purity, long ago slain.

will you search for me?
falling into an endless abyss, success a mere illusion,
guided by greed's tantalizing touch,
in vain trying to find me on the day I do not return.