My desk is splintering –
     Each time I go to pen a poem
     I end up with pinpricks and in pain
     Wooden needles dwindling my thoughts into half nothings.

But wearied words keep bubbling in my brain –
     Like fermenting fine wine
     Dazing my work with stray sounds
     Their dull fiery fury only serves to slur my speech.

The page is inked with nonsensical rambles –
     An unedited outlook of my inner mind    
     A canvas confettied with crap
     Everything was purer as a blank slate.

I busted my ******* hand and it wasn't because we fought -
Only because I couldn't handle the manifestation of my paranoia.
Now it hurts when I wipe my *** or lift my dog, meniality becoming a master task.
A reflection of me that isn't me passes by with a strong stewed vegetable smell. My dark green sweatshirt rigged into the main grid of the city; its fibres and style backstreets and pulsing.
Not like I don't recollect who I am anymore after never knowing - visions of a man's head being crushed under train wheels giant and rusted foaming and screeching with primal rage, confettied brain matter explodes like a firework across blackened earth; children will investigate the remains with sticks.

The second time

was at a celebration of souls
where creesed-up eye lids were adorned
with laughter and teeth confettied all around
i
in the midst of the vibe
had my mouth open in accordance with the dance of laughter
when your scent found my tongue
through conversations, amplified throat vibrations
it took a while to savour you flavour
for me to feel

"oh
its you again. "

i tried to spit you out like I do with the rest of them
but I didn't.
i couldn't.
you seeped into my conscious, strongheld my reasoning
and I still don't know who you are
what you are
how you are doing this
i'm just left blinded to everyone
and focused on feeling you

****** Bride ©

                             White frocked ****** earth,
                            conceal your imperfections,

                                 Before the light of sun
                            demands to see within the
                          chastity of your gartered lace.

                      Toss your snow dropped bouquet
                         to the blizzard wind and mock
                     the innocence of its confettied waste.

                         Then smile mischievously at all
                    the seasons suitors you have graced. ©