The moon warns me with a stern and cold stare,
" Don't go talking to her rivers anymore".
But the stars form her body, then strip bare.
Sweet science weeps, as the universe unfolds,
and wee wash up on consciouses shore.  

The angel lays with her wings tied to the ground,
laughing with a lustful and lingering gaze.
"You can twist me, or keep me here bound.
I'm just a shadow that you chase around.
Come spiral with me in consciouses plays."

We fell through the clock as time shattered.
I caught a minute to catch her.
                      Then
the minutes caught me.
Now I'm captured, asleep, and adrift at sea.

She is part mountain, part skyline and sea.
Not all will see here. But she shines clear for me.

I feel as though I am a slave to destruction, knees nailed to rickety floorboards that creak against creation. I am head bowed, pleading for pleasure against the cacophony of the ******, washing white floors with grime. I am the harbinger of ends, an omen of unhappiness. I am question marks, red streaks, spilled coffee on loved words. I am torment, tormented by the ways I’ve been tormenting the things I love. I am oceans inviting and striking with no warning, hurricanes gently shaking before swallowing and devastating, promise land offering refuge and whiting out identities because nobody gets to be free. I am shackled to remorse, self hatred, anxiety. A prisoner of pain, daughter of broken glass, born in spider breaks, marked by shards and splinters. I am the whisper of ruin rattled through crows calling home across worlds and realms. I am jutted bones cutting into flesh collecting blood for breakfast and sorrow for supper, feeding famine to families I am familiarly unfamiliar with. I am cast away, fallen angel, victim to the rise of hope and sequestered from safety. Left to forage fight in fields long forgotten, to discover decades of indecency and be punished by punishing the lucky ones. The thinned wrist souls slipping from restraints, to make commodity of clear consciouses, and deliver doom promised by our ancestors. I am an agent of misery, a companion of karma, nothing more than a slave to destruction.

In the bounds of space
there is a place
where the corners form
this infinite case
of dwelling.
And in the walls
there are empty calls
from the people
places
things
direction
to somewhere else
you take it and
you meet
greet
the different consciouses
that come out to
linger here
there
where
wherever the corridors
take you
us
me
to the desert
of a deserted
movie theater
to the ocean
of crocodiles
set free across the
tennis courts
outside
but you
us
me
can't get outside.
but you are outside.
Outside of what is
was
might be
real before
and maybe
after
it won't be the same
the name
is there but
you've perhaps forgotten
what it is
was
might be
for you
us
me
neither here
there
where
it's gone.
But it will come back.

Lately, it’s been my consciouses job to constantly remind me
that i don’t need you

What we had is but a dead relative, or pet.
You can reminisce on them, and remember all the great times
and laughter you had once shared with them.
But **** it, they’re dead, they’re gone and being sad about it 
is a waste of emotion

It’s been my own ******* job to remind myself
I DO NOT NEED YOU

i’ve come to terms with reality
soon i will forget who you are and as will you with me
until then, ill be in pursuit of the pieces to put myself back together

When I taste tequila
He says the burn is okay and normal
the caveats of my tongue are pressed with the bitter solace
You don’t know how bad I need you
you are my Irish cream, my guilty pleasure
Dancing with the devil but instead dancing with you but is that the same thing
the moshpit of our own twisted minds and our consciouses are two twisted sweaty bodies
whiskey and red wine and champagne and all that
Why do I write about males
Hot commodity
I will pretend before I admit and admit before I realize
i can hear my pupils dilating