Strings, strings, wrapping around porcelain skin,
For why does the bruises not show?
With a waist, hip, and two legs that are so thin,
For why does the skin always glow?
Hair that never sheds, nor grows, nor messes,
For why does the girl not wash it?
With a merry face that still never truly expresses,
For why does the face not show even a slight fit?
Stoic, conjoined, the feet never stomping,
For why does the limbs never feel frostbit?
Perhaps it is a lie that the being is a girl,
As it is only with strings that she can ever twirl.

I pose high my chest of ragged ribbons
And unravel a fist to stretch out fingers in search
Of a hand glimmering pale like a lantern
throughout this grey
        empty space. Once a pavement, now as good as

Cloud. Frozen lake. Dust. Boiling ashes. Skeletons.

I am walking on the slashed frames of waves
As jesus once must have. Propelled to a miracle unwitnessned
To anyone but myself. I am impelled to corrode
Into a statue; to remain a rigamortic rotting jade jewel in the sun
Until I no longer can.
Until they found me...

Perhaps they'd dust me off, thaw the ice from my shoulders,
Rehydrate me and gorge me,
Restart the blinking light in my brain
And refrain me evermore from having to seek.

But seek I must, for the lonliness weighs me down
Further by the day. I take half as many steps now as when I began my voyage.
My memories are like ghosts of flames that play
Snakes and ladders and hide and seek.
I am the lighthouse man and I sail drunken--
A rubicund mishape of bone and scuffed thoughts,
I can feel every soul which once embodied and huddled this place.

It's like they are trying so hard to posses me but even
Their souls have been smouldered to whispers
So thin they ring as mutely as the surrounding mist,
So soft they vibrate akin to an infant’s pulse
Throughout these walls, these scrapyards, these crumbling arcades, this sandbox grey that begs for a scream.
The spirit of a tarantula trembles along my back and grazes it teeth against my shoulderblade,
Praying that I turn to confirm it's being –but it's a game I’ve long grown sick of–


I am the lighthouse man and I ceased having a face long ago.
What I recall of my reflection was a child so young and so sure
Of a different life that

I cannot be sure it's even me.

I am the lighthouse man; a puckered bulb balancing on too-big shoulders, that walked
  through barren flat closes and exited empty handed, the lonely poltergeist,
a bitter flab of skin.

I am the lighthouse man and I am the final Aspen leaf in the pond of the universe,
I see myself reflected in a sole star twirling underfoot and overhead
rowing my ears so thick with disfigured silence so that I wished I was born deaf.
I am the lighthouse man and my mind is a spinning fragment
    my eyes can merely follow and my floating steps merely trail.

It never changes tone here, I can only vaguely trace the time
By the occasional moon. Tonight it shines half chewed,
  Befitting the levelled star a sideways crown.
It is beautiful but I mustn't stop to admire, lest a survivor
Scavenger loses patience withholding the last of their scran.

I am the lighthouse man and I haven't eaten in years.

I am the lighthouse man and I bled for the first time yestardy.
I am the lighthouse man and my bulb ricocheted off the base of my skull
In a telling fairy tale dream. I felt static in my head
And my light's ink spilled across my hands and for a minute I thought
My light had gone out. I tasted blood,
Trickled down from my stinging nose and I had never been so scared.

I am the lighthouse man and I never knew I could die.

I am the lighthouse man. Once the world danced with magic and I was
A walking satellite that grew to want to dissapear.
I am the lighthouse man and my decrepitude is casted in my hands:
Black as the night from the dirt collected over the years.
The few slashes of skin clear enough to see look rust-like and obtrusive, outdone only by
My veins like wonky bruises that vine across the silhouetted bone;
Bridging gear to gear, clinking shivering knuckles
         That want nothing more than to surrender.

But I am only frostbit, not frozen.
Life was and thus must still be.
I am a raindrop, not the whole ocean.

I am a walking lighthouse inspecting and guiding empty seas,
A form without virtue
That ceased feeling it's metallic steps too long ago to recall.
A cubist teardrop falling down a grey giant's cheek,
Waiting to be captured and swallowed.

Or perhaps I am climbing uphill, slowly along the circumference of his forehead.
So slowly I cannot notice the rise. Perhaps I was destined to amble in hypnosis,
En route on this colourless limboid curve until I forget the concept of
             a destination, a soul, a matryr jester to rouse me awake...
             and perhaps it is then that I will be blessed with the heavenly bulb

Of the weeping giant on whom's flesh I disturb.
I am the lighthouse man and I dream of purpose.

I am the the lighthouse man with a penchant to levitate
I am the lighthouse man and I am a God without tool or reason.
I am the lighthouse man and I'll walk this limbo until my feet dissapear.

I am the lighthouse man and I am cursed.
I am the lighthouse man transitioning between lives and never knowing
Causality nor the answer. There are no questions to have;

I am the lighthouse man and I must have been a murderer in my past life.
I am the lighthouse man and I can feel my inner fuses twist,
Falling fainter and fainter by the second.
I am the lighthouse man and I will not make it another night.
I am the lighthouse man and I am a memory-bank full of nothing remarkable.
If I felt this months ago then perhaps I would make do with the my sojourn of an empty house, atop a parked car, and perhaps I would be content with rotting.

But now the moon shines so luminously bright and full and close! So very close!
I am the lighthouse man and I chase the moon.
I am the lighthouse man and I vaguely recall my mother saying 'do not eat the moon,
It will give you nightmares!’ and it all suddenly makes sense now.

The stars are all out tonight and they await my company. I am the lighthouse man and now I run.
I run run run run for the sky in ode to the rest of the bodies that abandoned this place.

Your light is beautiful,
and mine is glum.
In your eyes, I find
sensations my estranged blood
has never felt—
to touch, to love…
a soul unselfishly,
for no other reason than to love.

I want to place my frostbit hands
upon your beating chest
and ****** you away,
or might I chain your hands
and take you with me.

I could pull you into my gale,
a hostage of my lonely curiosity,
but I’m afraid—so afraid that your light
will fill the empty, gaping blackness,
and your gentle breaths
will calm my feral winds.

You alone will effortlessly transpose
the thunder of my bones,
and I will assent that only your nearness
can bring the calm to the eye of my storm.

But what follows when you
tire of breaking my weathers?
When your chains rust into reddish ash
and I can no longer keep you, my love?

I can’t imagine this place will ever be
as fair as it was with you,
and I can only foresee that
which will become of me.

For when the day does break,
and I find myself alone,
when the silence of your absent lungs
deafens my troubled mind,
my storm will surge again.

And as the black clouds surround,
I will bring my withered hands
before me and remove the foolish eyes
that once lost themselves in you.

So there are two sunken holes
inside my skull.

I will cut through my sternum
and rip my dour heart from my chest.
I will undress from my flesh
and pull the nerves you once caressed.

And my naked soul will dig a grave
and settle into the dark.

I have my heart open like a winter morning, like his birthday gift
wrapped in brown paper bags
clutching at the shreds
as if loving me more will make me less sad. It has not:
see, my bones shatter like icicles,
I am weak. His affection melts like snowflakes on my tongue.

I want to taste him until the flesh pares
and someone can finally take me to the hospital where we kissed
have a glance of what’s intact,
better, what isn’t.

It has been December every day since I last visited you, Doc
but you have good eyes – can watch hell freeze in
my chest. The calendar says July, but my body doesn’t believe it
possessed from memories of a woman
retching in this very room here, behind a screen
you saw my boyfriend naked and behind your back I kissed him.

He will not say that sorrow is eating my heart out,
nor have my veins been cut by scissors –
that does not mean that he is not thinking it. See me cold and blue.

The leaves fell gently, golden
on the first day
of our autumn,

while the past crackled
beneath our feet,
swept away, forgotten.

Your camera stored our moments,
caught the snowflakes,
froze us in time.

And when they were nearly frostbit,
your hands found home
entwined with mine.

But just when spring returned
my fear formed clouds
of acid rain -

I only knew how
much I'd lost when
silence fell again.

Clear as the summer sky,
I knew that we would
have to part,

so I pressed your final flower
into the notebook
of my heart.

-

The forest clearing
of our autumn
holds nothing at all

but a whispered wish
in golden winds
as the leaves gently fall.

just a little bit o' asbestos
unwrapped from 'round the pipes,
yellow-green arsenic soap
in the bucket to make me clean
to eat... sump'n to munch on
like crunchy lead paint chips
and oh, how i love the smell o'
greasy diesel dip -
it reminds me of my last birthday
when we ate my smoggy cake
the kerosene ran dry that day
and smoked us to the street
our tummy aches that time forsake
'cause doctors cost real money.
but, hey, no choice in winter
- Obamacare or heat -
couldn't type his site with frostbit nubs,
no matter what the hype.
life ain't free,
so as fer me, i doctor fer myself
hell, in 50 years i've seen nothin' yet
some bourbon wouldn't fix.
but never in this tidy place we come to call our poverty
has ever lived the lovely stench
of crisp, green, perfect money.

If cowboy hats had ear muffs,
maybe they would talk more,
though they would hear less.,
caution tossed to the winds howling.

Not for them
the hairy skins of animals
on their bare hair, too much
respect for their sojourners.

Wooly caps are for sailors,
The ones with cutesy ears
hanging down to the shoulders,
popularized by geeks,
adopted by stylish teenage girls,
well, they would rather be frostbit.

Cowboys,
the silent type,
but never quiet, their thoughts are
their stories, eyewitness accounts,
never told under oath, of the truth
about life and death, in the
Great West.

So, no ***** for them
lest they not hear the
noisy silences, cries of the frigid
Great West.

my brother is the safe environment I’ve created for the history of my lord.  political awareness, I mean, I mean, is a darkness.  my eyeglasses tell me you’ve been to see a train station.  do animals wait?  several impatient years later, two blindfolded mouth-breathers walk cheek to cheek in an Ohio fog that combs forward worms the length of a screen name on craigslist.  I am nearly pronouncing krokodil until my tongue disappears so I can pronounce it correctly for my mother’s not frostbit ear.  as for the two, they are mistaken by the disembodied poetics of local policing as the trophy nose of an odd-for-these-parts moose.  any re-enactment is my father the victim of a spirited birth.

Destroy me
You phantom of a frostbit branch
The window thin as ice but
Thick enough to shut you out, I'd say
To throw a cold shoulder
But you hold the thermostat in your palm
To bade our blades much colder

It falls so softly, induces
Coughing, ravaged throats
Coated in mucus and eucalyptus
And dry as toast
Your accumulation stings.
Builds around my every-thing
Traps me, while you sag on limbs
Sapping at the sight of heat, you
Squelch beneath studded rubber
Soles, and unsuspecting stockings

We react to you in opposites
Sway a daydream tropical
In stiff and childish ways of yours, you drop your toys
Ground to numbing dust
So it falls among the rest of us just waiting
For your twin's return

It's not your choice, to have remains
That soak the grains of greater plains
That lavish in the wreck of your rule.
But to keep the warmth, from coming on
Long after silver bells are gone
Are cold and jealous actions of a fool.

I read some poems badly and in bad light, here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QR3w2eHYE5Q



from 12.9.13


messianic allure

my brother is the safe environment I’ve created for the history of my lord. political awareness, I mean, I mean, is a darkness. my eyeglasses tell me you’ve been to see a train station. do animals wait? several impatient years later, two blindfolded mouth-breathers walk cheek to cheek in an Ohio fog that combs forward worms the length of a screen name on craigslist. I am nearly pronouncing krokodil until my tongue disappears so I can pronounce it correctly for my mother’s not frostbit ear. as for the two, they are mistaken by the disembodied poetics of local policing as the trophy nose of an odd-for-these-parts moose. any re-enactment is my father the victim of a spirited birth.

The chilling snow storm winds howl,
a cry heard around the town.
The neighborhood dogs run afoul,
not even the frostbit air can hold them down.

The streets are deserted, desolate,
street light flicker on and off.
We try to make the best of it,
a storm which we've all had enough of.

The floor creaks,
beneath my feet,
as I make my way into the den.

The walls creak,
and sound weak,
just like everything built by men.

I pick up my book,
"The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn",
the perfect read,
for when snowed in.

The time on the clock ticks,
and ticks,
and ticks,
and even clicks.

Time wasting away,
on a snowy winter day.

The cabin I'm in,
is full of sin,
lust, ******,
and even some mahogany.

I live in a house of hate,
a cesspool of lies.
All of which,
I will not deny.

And I will admit,
I really do miss,
your beautiful smile,
oh, it drove me wild.

But I failed you,
and you have the right to leave.
Chew me up and spit me out,
like your average *******.

So I will sit here,
in this raging winter storm,
and feed the fire more,
feed the fire more.

Cold and uncaring world outside of your skin
Frozen humanity, frigid stares, empty minds
Frostbit by the snow of this dying society
She runs, trips, leaps in desperate search for warmth

Before she succumbs to their tempting icy gaze
Sliding by each false reality, skating by vagrant dreamers
who have lost all hope of reprieve
Where is her salvation, her sun
The arms to wrap her in fire

In an instant she is melted by his feverish kiss
Passion ignites in her heart, he sets her soul ablaze
Lingering finger tips glide over her pale white skin
Soft, sensual, the steam rises from every part of her body
She basks in the glow of his heart, the sound of his voice
The smell of his skin, the gentleness of his embrace.

Flames burn in her eyes only for him
Uncontrollable, instant masterpiece of us
Layers of daydreams, inspiration floods her mind
Union of two opposite elements that create this new and unique unit
The beauty seen through his eyes, translates to the words
that leave her lips.

Together they are more vibrant than a burning star
Hand in hand in a reality all their own
Blind to the outside common world
Deaf to the sounds of ignorance
Transforming experience to art and words to images of rapture.

This wind keeps snapping at our feet
through shoes unravelling.
Gales are hungry.
          Night's abandoned,
               streets have emptied.
Still, we own them--just keep talking.
           Winter's wailing.
           **** the old days.
Clutching coats closed,
                         tread nostalgia
past these sidewalk intersections.
Claimed by rambling conversations,
               often
               we're only
               rehashing
our worst mistakes
                                  and
                 shivering
                our way be-
             -neath stoplights
lit by good memories.

          I've got this notion tonight
          that we'll find our way
                                                  back
         ­ into the warmth found behind
          our locked front doorways.
Ways we've found to always hide
our faces from the cold outside
          have been running dry all night.
So drink down the cold street light
          and we'll make a blur of those green-white street signs.

This cold's still clawing at your face
through scarf unraveling.
Chapped lips smiling.
          Nights like this have
               kept on piling.
Winter owns us. Just keep walking.
           Winter's crying,
           "**** the old days!"
Frostbit footsteps
           slip nostalgia
past these frowning checkpoint questions.
Retouch same old observations.
                Sometimes
                we're only
                 retracing
the same missteps
                                but
                    ­frigid
             friends like us
                are melting
into old habits

          I've got this notion tonight
          that we'll take this route
                                                     for
          one more familiar cold flight
          from here to daybreak.
Say, "let fly those bomb bay doors!"
We've bombed these frozen streets before,
                    and I've got a couple more
          so keep moving 'til we find our front doors.

I know what it’s like to be invincible
walking through the streets of London
wind biting at my face and
cold cutting to the bone

I fear nothing

the night cannot get me
the criminals cannot get me
the gods cannot
god cannot
no government
nor act of fate either

I fear nothing

but then I wander back home
frostbit and travel-weary
thawing my whole being as I rush inside
and as I melt
so does my ambition
and I remember who I really am and
sigh

I hope the snow never stops again!
I hope the Winter sinks under our skins!
I hope our four feet freeze
to the cold concrete
while our ghosts both escape in our breath!

If the thaw never comes to our aid
I'll be fine in these tracks that we've made.
I'll be okay right here
with a frostbit sneer
painted large on my **** stupid face!

               You've got the brains...
                   But not the time...

                  I had the dreams...
        But you knew I'm not too bright.

You'd rather leave than throw me a bone.
I'd rather live out my days in the cold
than beg you for one
while you don't have fun
and resent me for you growing old.

I'd rather freeze than thaw with a lie!
You'll be gone with the peak daytime high.
You're the smart one with big Springtime plans.
And I'm holding the bag with chapped hands...

Frostbit fingertips caress the razor's edge,
Cold ideals implanting themselves inside my head,
Inadvertent gestures given effortlessly by my limbs,
Complacency of warmth never sets in.
This is an endless winter,
One where the air gets thinner,
A proclamation to the clement season,
War without a rhyme or reason.
Turmoil is elemental and so simplistic a feature,
Though personal and integral,
I cannot bear to brace this creature.
It's becoming deeper; this feeling urges my cliffs steeper.
Stepping closer to see the fall,
Negligence consumes my all,

Have I  let go of What I am?

I stand here with unclenched hands,
Retreating into my own,
Enduring this all alone.
I scream to remember passion,
Unheard emotions in breathtaking fashion,
Frostbit fingertips caress the razor's edge,
Cold ideals implanting themselves inside my head,
We are all the same; unique and indifferent,
Living as if this cryptic fever is isolated, but it isn't.

Have i let go of what I am?

I stand here with unclenched hands,
Retreating into my own,
Enduring this all alone.

Have I let go of what I am?

Of all the weary restless listeners
She stood out the most
Her eyes alight with blaze of thought
Her body sunk from forgotten sleep
She stood to say - I'm alright
I wouldn't argue with her

I've had my share of sleeplessness
The kind when you're alone
My eyes were black and bagged
And often I fell to twilight
Not yet sleep; not quite aware
She awoke me from my state
The world a bright and brilliant thing

The inn in which we stayed was kind
But offered us no respite
Comfort tames not the fervored mind
She knew as well as I
We sat and spoke
Across the room
No use for words or hands

A wonderful woman she truly was
A strong and weathered one
Her cheeks told me of winds they'd fought
Her nose of frostbit summers
She smiled at me
We had surely found each other

I had left in search of something
Never figuring the objects name
Upturned rocks and drunken talks
No rewards were received
By midnights edge I had always left
Aloft
To chase my goals
My maddening maddened goals

Today I had found the moment
That was worthy of my death
She stared at me
I stared at her
Ember caught in twirling wind amid a forest made from bone
I stood
She strode
We met
Hands clasped

I died that day and so did she
From he and I to we
I'd panned creeks, duh sites, fought bears of men
But collapsed in bed
At a simple inn
Is where's my treasure lies

SORCERER 3
            We’ll break our seal and thus unpen
            Two breeds of vision we may show:

SORCERER 1
            The first of these, and you might know
            Your fate, engraven by your star-
            Which fortune gods permit or bar.

SORCERER 2
            But why disturb your dreamy sleeps
            To know your death-date daily creeps?

SORCERER 3
            It finds us all, and- though you hate it-
            Since what must be, shall be, await it.

SORCERER 1
            The second brand of prophecy
            Is not what will, but what may be.

SORCERER 2
            Yet what might not? Our lord can see
            These “what-if” figments well as we:
            Might not strange soldiers from the waves
            Rise forth to claim our sires for slaves,
            As, for their footstool, bows our liege,
            Exempt from their street-sweeping siege?

SORCERER 3
            And yet, might not our lord disband
            Such aliens, overcreep our land,
            And rig mean regions to his suit,
            The mumbling Mayas render mute,
            The frostbit northern climes to claim,
            And sway the fitful gods to frame
            His portrait in a constellation?
            What fate might not recast his nation?

Raise a glass and drink up til the bottle is done;
Here's to addictions unconquered
Here's to suicides attached to names not known well enough to grieve for
Here's to the burden one passes onto another when one gets too comfortable
Here's to those who cared when no one else did
Here's to those adolescent walks in the dark chasing shadows
Here's to us speaking til we fell asleep mid sentences
Here's to the lovers who kicked us out the house then kicked us in the head for leaving
Here's to walking in circles with each step painless for the first time in forever & staring out into nothing astounded
Here's to smoking for the first time in months and thinking back to one night years before and the self-inflicted concussions that followed
Here's to the faces we can't look at anymore without our chests caving inward & hating ourselves
Here's to the fascia tissue unzipped & exposed and cringed at & regretted & better left forgotten the next morning
Here's to our sorries telepathically sent & unsent
Here's to forgiveness reached in silence
Here's to time healing nothing but changing everything
Here's to first kisses and final goodbyes
Here's to when she wore his dress for the first time and he her boots
Every vice has it's versa and every versa it's vice, right? right. so
Here's to holding hands with another for another first with heart pounding and surrounding eyes staring or going out of their way not to stare the closer they'd get
Here's to saying **** everyone & everything else when you know beyond a doubt what's right is right
Here's to ugly faces made pretty up-close and seeing pretty faces turn ugly
Here's to spending those last pennies on the first pack of cigarettes in years and looking into foodbanks & catshelters incase nothing got better
Here's to laughing hysterically after getting told you were cheated on, knowing you won't be the paranoid ******* for breaking up again and the hangover-like realisation two days later when the worthlessness settled in
Here's to those lonely walks home covered in blood & punching busstops & ******* in the middle of the street undisturbed by a single soul in-passing
Here's to that hour writhing in a floored mattress screaming the same name over & over again to no answer
Here's to things not working out as planned and it being upto you for that to be for a reason,
Here's to being comatosed & frostbit in pisssoaked jeans as crying family waited for the ambulance to arrive
(surely, I'm not the only one who was supposed to die at thirteen but didn't?)
Here's to the writers who changed how we wrote, the gentle man obsessed with mud turnt muck & thunderstorms & ******* and the pretty French boy and the boundless reclusive femcel before her time
Here's to the men & women we could never become
Here's to love stated but no longer felt, and vice versa and vice versa.

And
Here's to this, the final top up of the night! -too drunk or too tired? either or- and what a night it's been, considering the weight of all those nights before;

Here's to all those loves that never worked out & all those suicidal nights alone trembling with fear of the following day & the next, all leading to you and I sharing this wonderful day together.
Honestly? I wouldn't trade it for the world

the clouds looked like waves,
we lay, accumulated underneath them,
like lost souls, scattered like dust,
like wingless leaves, like our drifting fingers,
tracing stars, writing our names into them.

it wasn’t raining, but it festered on the brink of,
like a lover holding back, like an abuser, keeping his fist clenched shut,
like us, trying not to roll over the other,
trying not to steal each other's innocence.
maybe we just wanted to be corrupt,
maybe we taught sin with these lips we held agape,
trembling over fragile words, trembling over hollow bones,
like these knobby knees, dancing over damp earth,
dancing under a bleeding moon, and these arms we called our feathers,
unfolded into frostbit air, but stitched around mountains of spine.

we’ve forgotten what it means to fall,
because we just creep now, afraid to find the edge,
afraid our bodies will dissolve into the soil,
we once before tried to bury ourselves in,

the clouds swayed, forming around each other to fit,
gripping one another, like our own hands did.
we smiled, bodies sinking into embers.

I prayed we’d find the waves and get lost in them,
you said we already were.

I'm going out into the woods

For a couple weeks, for a couple nights

Out into the cold, out into the snow

I'll be out in the woods



Freezing, shivering and feeling frostbit

I'll be out in the woods, only warmth

Coming from a old jacket and you



You will be on my mind while out in the woods

While you are sipping wine and under the blankets



I'll be going out into the woods

Forever? No! Only a few nights

Soon it'll be over, soon I'll be coming home,

I'll be out of the woods



And back into your arms where I belong

After

Going out into the woods

(One) (Ican'thelpitifyoumightthinkiamodd ifItellyouI'mlovingyounotforwhatyouare butwhatyou'renot)
O
Melissa with eyes silvery like water when it starts to steam
Mellisa with your chealseacut that locks sunlight with its evry strand
Mellissa with your mausoleum ***** that cages birds that spin young confusion round our ears

Avuncular heathen teacher cardholder
With your gnostic stepchildren that bare you in their undeveloped wombs
And the scattered mouths that trace psalms from your footprints
   in the the snow before they're stolen by ice

And your dreams you stir and share in restless sleeps wanting only to live another day

Mellisa who prims lectricity to stone
Mellisa who cries for noone less you know theyd return
Mellisa with your lips of dried budded rose
And your Gishian whispers that weave flame outlined by a gold only cateyes can display
Mellisa with your cashmere skin that warms and rewards every touch granted
And your lost lovers left behind
And your hands like gloves over arthritic fingers frozen from the freezing outside
And your nicotine stains that overlap into a bruise  thick enough to peel
and mark your worshipless shrine
And your drunken boats that sail upwards from the waves that chain them down and rip upto the endless starry skies

With your pierced tongue you scrape your teeth with as you tic and sing

You know Id ****** kingsmen just to stay on the run with you a while longer

Melissa with your cheap scarves and blurry trench that too stays motionless as you walk

Melissa with your bleeding gums that could kiss the dead awake
Melissa with your seedless grief and puffy cheeks that hover distant from the rest of your face
And your catfish bellybutton that I cant help but crush

Melissa with your empty questions that ring answers as you wish to hear them
Melissa with your guns in evry pocket and boots sheathed and stained
And your methodist lungs which bleed ash as your clear your throat
And your cloak that wears all the skinny traumas inferno held in its windows

How could I ever have misplaced you?

Whence seasons lingered til you wore the elements from their shells
And drew armature cerise from the clouds into the stitching that holds together our palms
And your bloodmoon mason jar that you swivel like wine
And your veins that guide submission into something maniclike

O
Mellisa you prove evry love before you was a lie

Mellisa with your reliance on those you take care of
And your batwing leather jeans and dogpaw fingernails
that twiddle your permed fringe
And your sallow skin slowly flaking and shedding
And your blistered heart that beats my ears like drums
And your careless screams in public vicinities that begged to have us both locked up
I would travel the world just to collapse by your legs

O
With your wooden bedbug leg lashes that clasp as they wither dust

With your monotonous lilt you speak with and laugh with

With your vitiligod birthmarks that tattoo your flesh

And your jawline that twitches as your eyes have no choice but to seal

And your ribcage that falls loose against your sheets

I would break evry bone over again and again and gather evry malady just for your cool palm over my forehead

O Melissa you never have to doubt whether Ill love another

O Melissa with your back turnt to the mirror, I'd hold you forever and a day

If you'd still like me to this time tomorrow.

(Two) (Farewell, be safe evermore.)
I woke up with my head and teeth shaking, felt like I was gonna die
'til I smoked a cigarette to start my day

Phlegm built up like charcoal bricks, hits my chest
Bittersweet like the smell of the night-before's lover on bedsheets with their side now empty.

No heating and thus my coldsore is frostbit, and the other hex's they gifted me rest 'neath tired skin
With revenge long out of reach--
Further than the distance of a hundred dreams  in fact

I'm surprised I woke up at all.

I tend to repress my dreams when I can, I'm a broken chamber rattling death so loud I'm echoed and either ignored
    Or laughed at--

o lord haven't I had enough?
o lord I can't make miracles out of tragedy, o lord I cant keep up with the pain that preludes my every step, o lord without hope, however misguided, I'd go insane and never come back  nor want to o lord take me in my sleep

O there are some secrets lord I know only you and I can keep.
Bless the griefs locked and left only to memory.

Little babe lost you're so beautiful and ugly don't ever **** yourself.
even when other's turn you away so scared for it to ever happen they'd rather not talk to you at all  
Dont you ever **** yourself. live a little as we dont have much life to live and besides, I think you're doing fine

   and I can't wait to see you doing much better,
When you get the time to get better I'll be there to help you up
And dust off your shoulders any residue from the fall...
I mean you can **** yourself if you wish  babe
But you're going to have to **** me first to get the chance

You can use me if you want to, I'm quite used to it just as I'm used to breathing in the same air as the dead
The used  and users typically have the same goal, after all
It's such a headfuck to know the one you loved never believed in you in the end
I know, I know
o but lord knows I still do and I will for as long as you're breathing
And though the clock is merciless you do not need to mirror it in a response of anger,
No' any longer than you choose to let whatever's done and gone still linger
Some will help some will crisscross
I bare nothing no more now but the best for you.
And my little babe don't you ever take your own life,
life's a gamble and some tries will come up short but I can't bare to lose you anymore than I can lose the will to breathe; please just let me listen or atleast rest by your side and no' say a word.

Bubba and Cedric, fire up the pit,
throwin’ shade and talking ****,
Javier shows up with fajita,
mesquite smoke runs off **** mosquitos.

Red hots sizzle and skins wide split,
beer so cold, my hands frostbit,
chicken thighs, marinated in dill,
next to it onions and peppers grill.

Thin strips of beef, crackle, and pop
Bill pulls up, he's a cop,
grins and says we’re being too loud,
opens up a beer and joins the crowd.

Music pumping, Master P, and Hank Jr.
everybody is dancing, even Aunt Petunia,
walking a circle when the cumbia plays,
this is turning into a hell of a day.

It's time to eat, ****, forgot tortillas,
no, we didn’t here comes Maria,
brought some for us, all homemade,
washing it down with moonshine lemonade.

Time for dessert, what do we got?
apple cobbler, in the crock ***,
Kita made cake, better than ***,
moon pies in a box, brought by Dex.

The sun dips low but not the tunes,
too much fun, nobody leaving soon,
drinking and dancing and telling jokes,
cigars come out, time to smoke.

Sun coming up, it’s time to go,
night never stopped its awesome flow,
bleary eyed and sleepy as hell,
let's go home and sleep a spell.

“Fire”
You’re more than just a number.
You’re a member like none other.
Wrapped up in a blanket of variety.
Tied tight with the bands of society.
Our societal prowess encompasses opaque loudness.
Scream as if your life had meaning, it’s demeaning.
A stuttered beat down the streets of whom we beat.
Shout out, “I’m proud now”
Drooled on from above, spit on below by god we are low.
Shunned for so long you got frostbit.
Create a sequence of events for the present.
Gain the game of high fame to ignite the flame.
Gather your kindled pride, strike the flint to gain wit.
Scalding hot, branded with a new meaning.
Burn your name into the world.

I expel
thin wisps
of cold wind,
smoking breath
that looks like
cigarette vapors.

**** its cold.

I nearly slip
on the black ice
in the parking lot
late at night
cause I can’t
make it out.

**** its cold.

Fingers frosted
till they start to
turn from flesh tones
to a red pinkish hue,
then almost to
a light blue.

**** its cold.

Ears hurt,
and so, does
my chest
when I cough.
I try to sleep it off,
but the sidewalk
is bitterly unforgiving.

**** its cold.

No one ever
looks me in the eyes.
They just walk on by;
Too busy pretending
not to see
my pain
and humanity.
They don’t
drops single thought
or dollar for me.
  
**** its cold.

No one notices
the frozen form
of frostbit terror
and tragedy,
as empty eyes
stare out at
a world
that is colder
than the arctic circle.

There’s  always a fire
With no flames
When a soul draws near—
A spark that flicker softly,
Yet burning strong and clear.
It kindles warmth within,
Even when in frostbit
A quiet glow, unwavering,
Soft, yet full of light.
A silent force, magnetic,
Unseen but ever true, genuine
Calling out, unspoken,
In a language meant for two.
Compassion like gravity,
A gentle, steady hold,
An endless bond, a quiet flame
That never fades or folds.