It’s red and burnt and there’s nothing more beautiful.
You look like an oasis.
I feel myself melting the second I see your face.
It’s like I’m baking in this oven and there’s nothing more lovely.
You smell like all of my favorite foods with a voice like honey.
You wear my favorite color well and with every passing moment I can feel my heart swell.
I find myself aching to see you smile and to make you laugh.
I would love for you to be as fond of me as I have grown of you even if the feeling is only at half.
When the trumpets roar I feel this sense of peace and I think of the words you say so little yet they leave me building these cathedrals of utterance about you.
There lay no cracks or puddles of grease;
The glasswork is blazing and brilliant with how you attract my attention.
I would build for you a place that displays the warmth I feel that I forbear to mention.
You’re enchanting,
Something to look forward to,
And someone my heart won’t let me forget.
This impression has lasted since the day we met.

One blinded by love should not make sacrifices...
For when the love is gone,
So is the logic.

you speak like glasswork--
hot, measured, and fragile.
empty promises and murky
depths, opacity that chills
and stuns.

you speak of love
as if you know it,
but you've never let it greet you
at your door.
it knocks and you freeze,
pretend it's a stranger,
though you knew its name before it did.

you've stolen more
than you can ever repay,
and brevity in stillness still stings.

you will do well
without your opaque glass
and brittle words,
but I can't promise the same.

To Tyler,

My bestest friend of all these years of developing youth and developing adult,
I will you my rifle. Produced under scrutiny, post-war, blued by Chinese furnaces and inspected by communist advisers. I assign this to you my friend in hope that you will recognize more in this object than its role in my suicide. Guns are not the enemy, only the tool. The tool of my execution carried out by the enemy, Our world. And Our society. And Our suffering.

This rifle, my prize. Is accurate. And powerful. And a threat to 5 lives at a time. A symbol of my free will, dissolved into the blood stains and skull fragments laced on its finely carved wooden stock.

In my life, I had loaned to you this talisman of my depression,
But now, in the wake of my death, you will see the weight of my previous actions. My prolonging of life and effort to resolve the suffering and dread I endure.

Tyler. *******. T-Swens. Sweeny Todd. Squidward. Twizzler. Squib.
Many names you have been known by myself and our peers, but erasing human choice and force, you have been known to me and my soul as a Savior of myself for far too long. You have been Beacon for my hope, Home to my catharsis, Shelter to my heart and Medic to my wounds. I love you as most one person can love another without supporting the same roof with the pillars of our spines. I love you as a brother and friend and father and son and twin soul and caring teacher and patient keeper. We are two peas as they say. We finish each other's thoughts. We read the same material and play the same games and breathe the same circles and eat the same vocabulary and sneeze the same curses.

Like two strings of ivy, supporting one another as they grow and twirl. We fight each other in attempts to suffocate our foefriend, at the same time as relying on our friendfoe for the support to grow higher and steal more light. I love you my ivy brother. And I apologize for everything.

Please do not take my death too hard. Mourn and grieve and move on. I was not a cinder block for your foundation. I was a twin building. Of sister architecture and of sister glasswork. We stood for not one score before my sore soul was stole by this full world. You will stand further. And I admire you for it, as much as I pity you for having to endure this slow acid rain and littering of broken cans and smoke rings.

Rest in peace for me, because there is no rest in death, you know this.

- Marshall. Jackledead. Pompous and loud ******* and drama queen. Forever friend.

I

I have seen an
Aztec owl, kissed by the eternal
kaleidoscope of morning,
robed in Yellow air

Light escapes its hungry beak
and joins the Sun in harmony,
break of day rekindles the brickwork of archaic memory,

The Owl has lantern eyes which have witnessed innumerable births,

     -and the cultivating of this cherry-wreathed Valley, where we eat and
   write music for the soil's tender womb
                      
Opal condolensces for sleep
and sadness, the Owl gifts a necklace embroidered with apology, coiled 'round your neck, in times of gladness and tragedy

II
      
...and do not fear, for cradle, ring, and tomb
   all repeat in cosmic fashion
  
            (you will eventually return here, to the sea, you always have)
            
          Remember the attic where youth was stored away, to be replaced with exotic patterns, coral bulbs, cotton and laughter
        
     There, lay a glasswork child for your chest to keep safe. Your past. Your past of plums and skirted dancers, desert glow, Caribbean sleep.

(your mind rests its quiet curtains, but the classical radio station can still be heard)

III

An owl of sunset mosaics
     enters your dream, illuminating
the revisitation to a Mexico City
  that was flooded for Mountains
  
           ..soon to recede and quake, when Winter's spirit fades once more, there you will unearth
            Tenochtitlan.

When your dance a bounty, yet sing
they fail – I have learned to love,
worrisome mother and adorn you:

such a kiss is planted
a rose on the plump cheek of children.
your girth measures unflinchingly,
the laughter of the world around you
so small, kept in a dark, blinkered box.
your parasol smothers the light
cast unswervingly on stone.
who has long kept you in the caliginous womb,
with all the light that spangles through?
who has snuffed your little arms
and dressed you for everyone to see?
when you are quite flamboyant for
everyone to feast on,
what word passes on as salutation?
when you are festive enough to revel in,
what pagoda tries itself to the life
allowed to gleam proudly?

women, men, children, and all -
frolicsome around the darkled bough
smitten by the frayed sight of believing,
sifting from the way our hands
craft things the dispensable glee
of glasswork: the world is Murano.
and my eyes have seen all flourish
in a darling ebb of curbed felicities – the diaphanous
clangour of steel and shadow.
the slain orchestra of frogs in the crush of rain.
the detriment of the Earth curled like an infant
in the womb of the dark.

     - oh trees and their wondrous life of green,
begin to question the wind and its tourniquet;
shadows drunk on turpentine, the spry wilt of hours:
what is their final duty?
   if our laughter is slain in the perils of night,
how are we to become them?

The hysteria of doubtful intoxication
Three times I love you
The crooked man howls from the chamber of sleep

Mouthing the sharade of footsteps
Wicked in a large flannel crib and Autumn thyme pavement you look like a golden dream/
and I'm slowly drying up with sorrow
Because you do not see me like I do you
I'm screaming for your heart to listen to me !

Darling sways her legs on some brittle branch,
A barbaric stag whistles the end of time
To you in a vision his eyes say something terrible
And you're convinced of the violent October wind I promise it isnt true!

Some glasswork magic
Persona of a modern man
i cannot sympathise!
Rocks do fall onto the sidewalk and I ignore them as they cut my ankles like an insomnia or dentist

Looking up with wild alert at the headlights reminding one of
Death and that you're not paying attention to anything other than your poetry eating you alive

The occasional raindrop like the sweat coalescing under ur pillow/ A damp nightmare

As you **** that cross eyed stranger I lay in the grass
Feeling empathetic with my lamp as it welcomes me from the rain more than your hungry heart ever could!

I become shielded here
And sorry for myself
Ashamed of myself
And the lonesome mattress of years
Dictated by you and your lavender skin
As it exists in the idealism of the wardrobe of conciousness I suppose it doesn't mean anything real anyways pfft

Do not armor yourself against my arms
They envelope themselves desperate against the fog of a witching hour
You do not see a
Single figure arrowed with your alpine eyes

(run you cloud creature)

And a sudden mother who's sobbing into my shoulder regarding her inadequacy I told her be the best example of good for her CHILDREN and she continued crying and ran towards the pornographic hotel that stole her car keys
(she may have been murdered then I will never know and that thought deeply unsettles me)

We are all a little sad & could be doing better
And more than 65 made beds are in love

The song of midnight cried out
and from that day on, I've truly…
After the twilight turned a translucent
red
the stars lay in the sky and played their
twinkling sounds

Without even being told to be more open
already my tears brought my feelings
along
and became a small sea at my feet

The sky doesn't move, it's just the sun
that comes and goes
The ground doesn't move, it's just you
who walk upon it

The song of midnight cried out
I truly hate being alone more than
anything
and from that day on, I learned the hard
way of what was important

Ah, all I need is being able to scoop up
happiness with a tiny spoon
so long as I have someone to share it
with

The days I pretended to be strong come
back to me
It’s like showing my guts in glasswork, a
fleeting dream
Throwing purity around is scary
We’ve all pretended we’ve had it at one
point in this opaque world we live in

I walked, dragging a heavy freedom heaviness
along
When the farewell came, it looked like
the sky was leaving
The rain of goodbye muttered, and my
umbrella was open
And now opened kindness will always be
in my chest

I haven’t given up on the hope that we
will meet again
I made a promise to the people who sleep
with stardust on their beds
It was only a matter of showing some
kinds
to the boys hugging their knees in the
season-less town
but even so…
Those children, so sensitive to the cold,
gaze upon the stars.

Even if I were to be erased by the sun's
radiance. I've lived