handpicked blueberries in yogurt,
tea on the porch, Ellen,
in desperation to plant a raspberry bush.

jogging through a grasshopper field
holding in screams at the small green chirps
shooting up around my ankles.

grimy trails of sweat, the daddy longlegs
crawling out from under my thigh
the dirt at home under my nails.

nickel-bright stars above
the trees, a cool tress rising,
buzzing in the porch light of
bugs going for our jugulars,
still tight and smooth.

i speak in whispers of
New American Tragedy:
id seeking ego, beyond
means and dreams.

A spirit as big as the
Western plains, as lofty
as distant clouds gathering,
as crushed as the valleys
and fjords carved by
glaciers ancient and cruel.

Samhain is passed, now in
November we must look
to the solstice, for there
is seemingly little to
praise.  Entropy approaches,
brushing our hair
with tender fingers,

       piano

gently exhaling nothings
in earshot,

       piano
       dolce, dolce
       unghia sul ponticello

easing its canines into jugulars,

       per amore
       per amor nostro
       ci ama treppo per essere solo

laughing.

I was alarmed as nobody
paid attention to me:
if there was a Plan B -
it was to die - dramatically.

A hangman’s halter I took to  swing
snapped and failed my neck to wring.
Then I drank of hemlock deep:
all it did was make me sleep.

Wide awake I’d somehow made it back
I laid me down  on a railway  track
Alas! never once was I alerted
all trains had been diverted.

It seemed a good idea to me
to drown myself in the Dead Sea:
buoyant in such drink, I did not think
no swimmer  there is known to sink

From a high rise parapet I dropped over
and landed in a cushioned bed of clover.
I tried to cut my jugulars  but By Heck!
the blade was blunt and just grazed my neck.

A contract killer - hired off the shelf -
took the money then shot himself
after stating though he’s willing
I was not worth the killing.

By now getting frantic
on the internet I met a tantric
guru whose advised me tarry
“All I needed was to marry…

…It is a kind of death, all  near
and dear pity you - but it’s clear
you get everybody’s attention
and in obituaries never a mention”.
.
Tobias

'switch off your humanity,'
said the vampire to the newborn,
'can't **** humans dry when
your compassion is your compass'

trying to take on terror and
tremendousness all in one is a task,
satiating the desire to succumb and
strike those who desire you into submission

if life isn't a tight rope then i'm not a
bloodthirsty woman ready to pounce,
practicing patience and practicality,
wishing i could just rip out jugulars

"i just wish you didn't hate me." he said,
exhaling the first drag of his fourth cigarette
since we began our verbal wrestling match
two shots earlier.
his eyes always seem to look the most sincere
when i know that he isn't.
as green as the river that delivered me,
perfect.
i make fun of that **** leather jacket that he looks so handsome in
and ask to borrow his handkercheif
so that i can fill it with snot
and spite.
i hate this "talking" buisness.
it's more like a contest to see who can make the other hate themselves first.
he always wins.
and even when i want to drink his existance into submission,
i still just want to grab him by the face and kiss him...
right on his filthy mouth.
"obviously, i don't hate you," i finally reply.
"i just hate that i give a **** about you."
his silence speaks volumes.
unfortunately,
they're penned in a vernacular that i've never understood.
the air gets busy and heavy,
alive with the charge of confusion between insanity and ****** frustration.
the steps to our ****-show waltz are well rehearsed...
we slide over each others jugulars gracefully -
nimble -
on both the tips of our toes
and the tips of our tongues,
crossing lines in the sand with tact.
hit for hit.
shot for shot.
we dance,
in the angred space we share
on the front porch
in the light of the moon,
leaving even the moths afraid to cross us.
some people love without looking back,
and some people look back without loving the crack in the wall in which they hid the sour facts.
i guess that's you and me-
filling the cupboards with what's already rotten,
in hopes that what we don't acknowledge won't be a problem.

I went rummaging through my mistakes tucked under my bed behind the closet. I have skeletons sleeping back there that don't exist in the future.

When I opened my heart to grab onto my spinal cord and snap myself out of it I found mirrors of my childhood girlfriends, a picture of the time I went to McDonald and got the chicken nuggets when I was four, and a bucket hat that my mother never should have bought me.

These were things I wish never happen. Hannah, she cracked my femur with the pressure of a goodbye laid across the never happen. We were 1822 days old and going on stronger than ever.

It was here that I learned that I love my stuffed animals too hard, because I often wear them down from all the attention smothering their jugulars and stitching my loneliness into their knee caps. We were. There is a storage space so wide open and full of grace waiting for a  soft hand to lift its spirits, i need a drink.

It stands two feet tall in a colony of insecurities so intricately woven into patterns of bad ideas that i don't think it ever had a chance. I've never been good at telling the difference between the color of the floor board and the bleeding pattern of the ceiling.

And I could never fully grasp the reason why ***** packs are not only socially looked down upon but completely misunderstood. Efficiently storing every secret at waste level.

I have a lot of regrets. I'm not proud of most of them. But from them I was drunkenly spit into my present form. And from here I will always wear ***** packs.

After
ministerial meetings and duties of
advisers
chancellors
administrators
magicians
and
court jesters
the majority of
the royal staff
decided that
the
royal king
is fit for a feast of
pheasant
wild geese
and
wild boar
fruit and drink
and
a host of jugulars and
fair dancing maidens
requested merriment of
the royal palace

I kick down their front door, feeling the hinges snap from under the weight of my heel
The air is light and cool on my igneous skin
These petty mortals will behold my visage and kneel
Weeks of preparation have lead to this one moment-the Dragon preys upon sin

I shoot the father in his throat, severing carotids and jugulars- I am precision made flesh
Mrs. Leed’s screams are cut the short by the bullet swiftly lodged in her lumbar spine
My delight knows no bounds at the spectacle of her struggling-the agony is sweet, the blood is fresh
I push aside the father and enter his sons’ room-the Leeds house, and their lives, are mine

The children are dragged from beneath their beds and killed-I am without quarter, a merciless presence
I insert shards of broken mirror into the family’s pupils-they are nothing but observers, silent reflections of my design
My crimson wings shimmer-a glorious, fiery husk of incandescence
My becoming and their deaths have now intertwined-their lifeblood is pure blackness in the moon’s light
I roar into the night sky with a fearsome flame bursting past my fangs
Look upon I, The Great Red Dragon, and righteously tremble with fright!

Part I: Introduction

My sweet Knight, my dearest Ant,
This introduction is more of a self-induced and frustrated rant.

Your patience and love is much appreciated,
I know that you have been waiting for this for a while now, so you must be elated.

Please forgive me for taking so long,
I wrote this in sections so you can understand my heart and where in it, you belong.

It is more of a letter than a poem, but I still wanted to rhyme,
Sorry for my continuous and endless rambling, and for wasting time.

Please excuse my disorganized thinking,
I will admit that some parts were written while I was drinking.

I hope that you enjoy it, despite this unsatisfactory effort to help you see,
The ways that I adore you and how special you are to me.

Part II: Fine Arts

I promised to write a poem, a special one just for you,
Writer's block hindered me, so I turned to art hoping it‘d grant me a different point of view.

I find the best ways that I express myself is through music, writing, and fine arts,
But all I could do was write your name in calligraphy, followed by endless red hearts.

Colourful paints on a eggshell white canvas could never capture your essence,
Your soul shines brighter than the pigments that could never glow with such iridescence.

I could not paint my adoration, so I picked up my pencil and held it tight,
And sketched until the side of my hand and wrist were completely covered in graphite.

I felt defeated in expressing myself through art because I could not get it right,
But if I am being honest, the most difficult thing to endure is having to say goodnight.

I will to show you the art I have created with you as my inspiration,
But for now I will move on to music, so make sure you tune to next station.

Part III: Music

I cherish music that resonates and reverberates in both our soul and our being,
Through auditory stimulus, it expresses such beautiful and affectionate feeling.

Feelings that are hard to put into words, or painted, or drawn,
But three minutes of a dedicated love song ends in a silence that seems to drag on.

If I were to compose my own, I would play in on my own delicate heart strings,
So you could clearly hear the way my heart flutters for you, and soars with its own wings.

I would sing lyrics that were as fluid as the strum of a guitar,
I would gladly endure the pangs that stung from plucking of various notes until it left a scar.

I trust that you would tend to my wounds and listen intently to my song,
I would compose it into a lullaby to help you rest all night long.

I would gladly jam to classic rock with you all day,
And dance for you as you watch my body move in a gentle sway.

Take my hand and let us dance together,
We can do it outside as we feel our worries dissipate despite the rain and cold weather.

Our warmed blood and rhythmic movement will help keep us warm,
Along with our own bodies that merge when we hold each other and we unify to one form.

I am overwhelmed with happiness at this sweet thought,
And if anyone interferes, the space between their eyebrows will be my next headshot.

Speaking of murdering to satiate my lust for death and blood,
I will move to the next section, when their bodies hit the ground with an echoing thud.

Part IV: ******

I reject slumber to hear your animal noises and witty puns,
I find comfort in our oddities, and if anyone tries to belittle you for it, I will ready my guns.

My axe and shield are ready and hang down each side,
My claws sharpened to easily slice through ill intentions and obnoxious pride.

Your shhhh’s and Daddy voice help keep me sane,
When I have a fury inside of me that craves slamming my shield into their brain.

You love that I am nurturing and kind-hearted,
But it is difficult even for you to headpat me to calmness once I get started.

If anyone were to pain or upset you,
I would rip their jugulars from their throat with my teeth and feed it to animals at the Bronx Zoo.

Speaking of animals, I know that I am your special Amazonian Witty Kitty,
I know that you find it cute when I am stubborn, and think I am so pretty.

I am an Awko Taco, but only you know this,
I trust you enough to be vulnerable and be myself freely without judgement, and that is pure bliss.

I cannot completely protect you from one’s cruel intentions once it is embedded in their mind,
But if I am there next to you, you will hear the bow creak in preparation as I wind.

No one will get away with hurting you, especially not while I am there,
But I will wait for your nod of approval before letting my arrow slice through their scalp and hair.

Part V: Patient Wolf

I hope that I have not discouraged you by making you wait so long,
To finish this inadequate poem that does not depict my love properly, it felt so wrong.

I have been wanting to scrap it completely for a few days,
Crumple the paper and watch it disappear under my lighter as it is set ablaze.

But I wanted to keep going and trying no matter what,
I know that you'd find it cute regardless, just like my Nu's and my ****.

It is specially made just for you, a soul so beautiful it shines so bright,
Even though I know that you are a Colossus-stealing, resource-hogging, filthy American Knight.

Part VI: Ecstatic Joy

I know that when I see you in less than two weeks,
I will smile from ear-to-ear until it hurts and pains my cheeks.

The days seem to grow longer and longer the closer that we get,
And when I try to sleep, I panic and think of stuff that I do not want to forget.

These thoughts have been resulting in many restless nights,
But at least I get to watch the Sun’s show of beautiful, celestial lights.

Colours like crisp golds and splendid apricots spread over the sky,
Rays sneaking past poorly placed and out-of-reach canvases on a ledge that is too high.

I cannot wait to be by your side,
We will both turn into blushing tomatoes with smiles so wide.

I cannot wait to be woken by songs of mornings and individual rays of Sun,
Beaming through the curtains of your window, one by one.

I cannot wait for the late nights and hushed talks,
The moon hanging over our heads as we lay around in PJs and fuzzy socks.

I cannot wait for the events that we have planned;
Yanni, the Zoo, and the museums so grand.

I cannot wait to pull you and Majima-san into the tightest embrace,
You will both wish that you had thought of a form of escape, or at least brought a bottle of mace.

I cannot wait to plant a kiss on both of your faces,
And exploring together and seeing all kinds of different places.

Part VII: Conclusion

You deserve so many beautiful words to be written and sent your way,
And I wish nothing but happiness and positivity to radiate in your tomorrows, but especially today.

Enjoy this very moment before pondering of what may come,
And never forget your struggles, experiences, values, and where you came from.

I want nothing but the very best for you, happiness and joy,
To appear at every point in your life, my beautiful and sweet boy.

I hope to be there through all the challenges that you overcome and goals that you complete,
Especially life’s experiences and all the hardships that make it bittersweet.

I love and adore you, so very much,
I am looking forward to holding you in my arms and feeling your touch.

With much love,
Witty Kitty

I think I'm gonna buy myself a bomb
to destroy this blasé mirage,
with a mortuaries brush and a bullet
I'll paint myself in blood to camouflage

the scars of belief etched upon
my scowling, juvenile face
a brainwashed idiocratic believer
following the languishing entity far up in space -

conscience ridden with bruises and hickies
flesh burns, prickles and stings
I'm merely a pawn, deluded with disdain,
one of thy lord's pathetic playthings

I don't need no one, anyone,
I'm the sole writer of my fate
the world will crumble 'neath my feet
as the Angels weep at it's sorry state

I'll **** the blood from life's
bare, fresh-skinned neck
piercing jugulars, cavorting with insanity
pulling continuous jokers from within my deck

and then you know what I'll do next?
As I push myself to the crowd's fore?
I'll active the dynamite strapped to my chest
and blow my writhing guts all over the floor -

Oh

I think I'm gonna buy myself a bomb,
hide the detonator in the waistband just above my hip,
then I'm gonna board a flight to America
and pay tribute to the despotic ruler I worship.