If heartbreak cannot be healed
Will many people commit suicide on the hill
Because of the pain that they feel?

If heartbreak does not has a cure
Does there any people will be having fun at the seashore
Even during the snow?

If heartbreak does not fade
Even the time is the aid
To heal the pain that you create?
How people will tolerate
The pain that stay remain behind the rib cage?

If heartbreak cannot be avoided
Are people will get paranoid?
Or drown in a flashflood

Of their tears?

A flashflood of morning sun
emptied into the valley
and transformed the hills
from green to the kind of electric
gold only reserved for ancient kings.

Somewhere on a sunbeam
someone tuned a fiddle.

A flowering June breeze
cruised in from the north
pulled into the valley,
parked, unpacked,
and set up camp.

The high and lonesome sound
tumbled downstream.

Bodies and blades of grass
moved in unison
with the June breeze
and the music reverberated
in the air between.

Somewhere on a sunbeam
a memory was composed.

The familiar wrenching in my gut when you speak of love
The acidic burns and aches I keep bottled up
Become a flashflood
Rushing through my veins, poisioned lines constricting and forcing my extremities to spasm
You cast your words fruitlessly into the chasm
The indescribable void that lies before us
My hands scraped and bloodied from tearing down the nails that keep your heart boarded up
I can never break through the barrier you have erected
I leave myself vulnerable to your outlashes, you remain overly protected
Sheltered from the reality that is the extension of my love through every action
Every emotion you stockpile and ration
Maintaining a craving in the depths of my essence
For your ill fated presence
You bask in the symphonies that expel from my eyes gazing
Hear the strings and percussions playing
Without every fully repaying
Any emotional debt you may have accumulated over time
Fingers dancing along every line
I have written vast and true as the moon above
Yet I feel the familiar wrenching in my gut when you speak of love...

He built houses out of
Tiny twigs
Along the etched lines
On the palms of his
Rugged hands
To give me somewhere
To call home again

They say most things are better,
When shared with another.
Well,
No one else comes to mind when I think of
The ideal and only person
I would be willing to share
All of my love with.
All of my life
My joy
My sorrow
My everything.
He* is the ultimate answer
Love is the ultimate answer
He and love
They are the same
And they are
Everywhere
In everything
In every ounce of my boiling blood
And every fraction
Of every fiber
In my timid being.

He is overwhelming
In the same way in which it feels
To be in a beautiful foreign country
For the first time
He is addicting
Like the first three
(And next four)
Cigarettes you smoke
After telling everyone you have quit
He is irresistible
Just like that
One certain scent
The one that always brings
A flashflood of memories
And feelings
And beauty
And safety
Back up to surface until
Every inch of your skin
Is tingling
With raw sensation
A thirst explodes out of
the deepest part of you
As it brings you back
To the very last time you ever
felt something so special
Which is exactly the reason
You will do anything in your will
To get
One more lungful
Just to bring you back
To that beautifully indescribable place
One more time

He crocheted me with kisses
And wooed me with words
Penetrating the years of fear and hurt
Built like a fortress around my heart
And sending every nerve in my body
Into a ****** tangent.
Under the right light,
It's as if I am adorned
With flowers
**Because of him.

I

Possesion/extension
Nightly woman instinct,
lend your guiding scent
to fierce winds/
combining
into poison,
deliver down
my mercy to the great shining

(seduction poetics,
unrestrained and visible like a crown
of death hanging proud
by my bedside, eager
to martyr oneself for fertility)

Cosmogonic dawn/blinking fire-wheels,
shallow, holy waters
receding as silken tides, awoke from idleness

Discarded silver haloes, thrown into the hallowed dirt to drench in mortal youth

Monarch eyes/careful
heart, sealed/felt lucidly
worried/cavernous and hidden/wild kingdom dancer

A proclaimed Fool.
Imitator, mutilator
clay creator/for pathless ambition
I sink further in sand
which lacks definition, it is careless
like myself

(take a trip to Angel river, where one longs to be freed from skeleton grins
& pagan bathtubs, pollinating one
with wivesblood)

II

Out of the fog to a
marriagebed & lambs head
mounted, awkwardly
backdropped to an altar of Furze &
disorientation-theatres draped in Neon
& excess
(where even the walls are unaware of their own Earthly position)

If I am the stone,
you are the water, carving
me closer to your desired
shape

to become an Outer, a cloud-catcher, liplurker, destined to Saturn worship

III

My zeal is an impatient grave & you assume the feral mother
whose flashflood voice draws me to rest

..Yet, I am willing. Carry my body
to your domain, feast kindly, until
paradise is all that remains of us both

BLIND. a cat
in a flashflood
of head/tail lights

frozen as a
deer in the
middle of a
highway through
midnight woods;
once upon a
time
once upon
the frozen
air.

do you think
YOU know?

how does it
FEEL?
how do THEY
FEEL before
they D I e?

(do you know where i was going?
do you know where i've been?)

do you say
your names
when you pray
with lifted hands?
do you think
the rain will
wash the muck
down your body?

muck sliding down
your paperthin
skin

your candlewax sins
melting your
shell
showing the
core of
your being.

true colors.

make you feel
pure and hallow
make you feel
like a saint.
make you
feel like
you own the
world.
make you
feel like
you own
me.

find me
flat against
the road
on thick
asphalt;
find me
inside
an empty
takeaway
cup like
red unwanted
slush
rejected.

bury me
under your skin.
bury me
in the emptiness
of your mind.
bury me
in the hollows
of your sinews.
bury me.
i was
never well
half-alive, anyway.

You don't have to tell me why
my gods look like you

My hell was populated with gray clouded flames,
merciless darkened waves,
All-encompassing and blinded by faith
of new tastes

and everything remained the same
                                         sickening gray.

But you tasted like spring
with a touch of grace
and suddenly I could say
the things I felt and learned to need

outside of me.

Instead of drowning in ropes of flashflood restraint,
I clung to your hips
and learned to worship

at the ground of something
                                                   holy.

gristle's input--

a tray of glass tupperware.

forgotten leftovers,

on a park table.

animal jello.

a bipedal strikeforce

of wolfen albinism--

on a runner's high.

slathering that gristle

over its body.

during a flashflood of

incremental moons.

picking out whiskers

from the **** end of

witchy chins.