tear me out, blank this canvas
and begin a fresh page.

carve a new story from this tale,
walk a new mile on these feet

breathe new words into these lips
colour me in soft tones

light up this vessel in flame
burn me up, make me whole again

rebuild me, grain by grain
create new life in me, that i might be whole again

recraft me, into what i am supposed to be
light me up and set me free

write craft and care into these fingers,
a thousand native tongues spoken into this mouth

make me perfection, make me beauty
stroke grace into this pale flesh

carve out a new identity
all so that i might be loved, just once.

I would kiss your lips as gently as I'd slap you across the face
Smooth
Straight into the action
Purely fueled by passion
I'd set you free as often as I'd lock your cage
shove and hide you away in the remoteness of your mind
I'd make you spend time
Wondering just who I am
Seconds
Mainly
As you can't be bothered nor can I be asked
Too involved in my past to set course for a better future
I found myself repeating history
Now nothing remains a mystery
I can
Tell when the **** will hit the fan
And set it on high so it falls and sullies the floor
Where I can inspect the damage that was not done to me from a distance
Reminiscent of times where I'd imagine myself doing something
Aside from drifting in and out of consciousness.
Finding myself wishing my arms were spread around you
To pull you in
Seek your warmth and figure out just
What warmth is to a sack of flesh
Supported by bones
Running on blood and adrenaline rushes
The mind seeks to lay blame on other important organs
So you can ignore that you are faulty
And then you see your faults in others, and blame them for grievances you encountered yourself
And I'd set you and your hips down
Slide a hand up and hold your lips down
Lift you up because I'm afraid you might drown
In the tensions that arise when you're slipping out of your mind
And into loose tongue mouthing nothing that sounds like obscenities wafting through the air
And I'd make love to you
You'd call it *** too
In the same way one casually waves a hand at an old friend
Long forgetting their name
Who they were
What they meant if anything
Casually smiling back as these voids go unfilled
You'd never mention it again
Like the time that the world almost came to an end as I was choking on my own saliva
Siezing out for a hand or a tree branch
Crawling on the floor, vision fading
Thinking
This is how I'll die, and I'll think nothing more
So that to this day I cannot stand to feel as though I might throw up because my throat my hold down the ***** and I'd erupt only after I die
But it's never mentioned
So it's like it never happened
Till it comes back in flashes, calling to you like a parent, promising some sense of warmth, something safe
Because we craft and recraft our memories till they make what makes the most sense to us
Would be to let me do as I want for a year
Without limitations I might finally face my fears
Self imposed, unreal, and confront myself as I am, a coward too afraid to act
So he acts in defiance to his own whims
Like
Holding onto your hands
Memorizing the smooth contours and shapes
Feeling the tingling sensensation of running my nails gently across your fingertips
Down your neck I'd find nothing but soft skin and exposed vacancies of weaknesses long since abandoned
What gives when the architect of your demise
Is that little voice inside your mind
Saying
It's your hearts fault, that you're so blind
When
All it ever did was give out the signs

You Need Me
-depression-

The only thing that brings him out  
is when I feel that sweet melancholy.
-blessed to be stressed-
A quest to impress.

Not you, but him.

I love what I am but I'd hate to foresee
the potential you'd waste outside of me.

I'll build you up, recraft your name
new hobbies, posts, a little new fame.
cute pics, new tricks, some confidence.
its simple
you're a quick mix fix.

I'm as easy as can be, I know that you see
that a little productivity can keep me at ease.

you always let me go, lazy yet mindful.
you may be stoic but I know your prideful.

Take me as a sign because in this shrine

I need chaos.
uncertainty.
the unknown.

how deep down the rabbit hole will I take you?
either way, for now
you're mine.

I want you to hurt, so we can grow.
I'll let you rest when we get old.
Then we'll reflect on all I've done for you.

I fall a little in love with anyone who shows me their broken soul,
I get stuck on their flaws,
The rawness of their unguarded honesty in this guarded world.
I myself am broken – the realization and admission of it has set me free.
Free to see myself in pieces, free to recraft myself, free to love myself.
I know a man that says he’s broken,
I spend my days listening to his beautifully spoken, voiceless, sad words.
But my God when I look at that man all I can do is smile.

Somehow I’ll get through to your tangled messy brain that your pieces are mesmerizing,
That every piece is full of potential and breathtaking.
We’re mosaics crafted by our 2 am talks when were tired as hell,
A paradox of purity and sin - a cracked diamond; a perfect flaw.

The truth is we are both forever alone people.
But maybe I like you more when you’re half asleep in my bed.

Memories are written

In ink that never dries.

We recraft and remold them

To help us all get by.

Some of the things that you remember

Are just a bunch of lies.

Sometimes I start a poem

But then my interest dies.

I think, "what's the point"

If the truth has been excised?

/to recraft, if not to refind, the thrill of rhyme in poetry, as if it were a sleepwalking happenstance of: déjà vu... coincidentally, in some countries, they'd rather teach memorisation of poems than of soulless mantras in bones without marrow... rhyme as... happenstance, rather than a pedagogical drill, which would wake even Beethoven from the resounding, fading out, echoing... tennis match instead of orchestra phonics... termite lingo, for nothing more than: hello, my name is bob, insignia safety.

yep, went to a Puerto Rican *******,
a Bulgarian, a Romanian
and a Ukrainian...
because... apparently,
all the engliah girls were recovering
from a moral hangover...
or saddled to the baby-sack
aged late teens,
since going to the gym was no fun...
forget about womanising...
walk into a herd of nuns...
and you'll be circumcising
yourself, using nothing more than,
a routine check-up
at your dentists...
           ******* hybrid chastity belts
those "Rodin" marvels worth
of ****** / dodos and butch Panzzy
wha-wha "boys" in leather
and acne, could become...
    and never allow language to succumb
to a poetry with a: death to language
by rhyme...
      fluid as god's given amber (beer)
and ambrosia (milk)....
       that spontaneity of rhyme that's,
actually rare to find...
    unless I interrupt the narrative,
don't give me 2 x 2 = 4
     with roses are dead,
      violation of the blue rule:
   rhyme in poetry,  in reality,
is like a *** note...
               easier toying with "arithmetic"
in puzzle...
or rather: women sooner remember
kindergarten rhymes...
      no wonder,  antagonism
of St. Thomas' gospel...
              at Hel, a curvature,
and dead end...
                              i am apparently to
be bound to despair...
            sieving lies like ****
through the regurgitating gobs
of flies...
               plenty of leprechauns
dancing the jiggle in the pope's
2nd take on a soupbowl;
should he ever mind to retire
into clemency,
   from the bombast and opulence
of peacocking perched,
prior to...
           a "necessary" memory of
ancient Egypt,
    translated into a framework
of erasing today, and conjuring up
tomorrow.