I stay up waiting
for the sun to rise,
only to be
hypnotized
watching the
moon stride
across the speckled
night sky.

To this day,
your name
still hurts my tongue
but I still say it anyway.
Sometimes I like to
hear my soul
gently tear itself
apart.

Some nights
I crack a window
to let out the stink
of darkness

unsheathe my knife
and think of carving
free my eyes

tossing them high
into a pine
so that they can see
all that isn’t going on
around me

instead I let the sharp
hard winter winds
of black starlight in

to fan the flames
of lonesome desire.

Books as old as time, casing as brown as my eyes
the taste of bliss and amour
a deep thud once placed on the library table
the smell of grass and that faint vanilla scent
wise and rare, beat-up and old looking
as I awoke and flung into a kingdom full of quotes.
the habit that's like a disease, for which there is no cure,
as I frown, I smile, I cry, deep within me is what I feel. a burst of emotions a vintage book could bring.

I might be too happy
For poetry
Bemoaning the past
Just isn't for me
I don't happen to have a tortured soul
With demons hiding about
I laugh and cackle
Like a witch with no cares
And scare all those demons out