My world is unsaturated
There is no colour
only incoherent sounds and melodies

black and white picture frames
indistinguishable smells and scents

My perception is dimmed
depleted from beauty

it all seems the same
feels the same
smells the same

the pitch dark symmetry
of spiral engraved
glossy jet black
vinyl

the ***** claws
and webbed spiders;
graced with impeccable
scratch

words come back around
from dog day afternoon;
entwined in ritual
beatology

technique absorbed in prowess
dedication assimilated by passion;
human form and synthetic resin becomes
overlayed

polyvinyl chloride or
unsaturated hydrocarbon radicals;
a derivative by any other
name

I'll leave that nugget for the pub quiz
and relax, post-Christmas stress;
the street scramble bustle,
embrace a pint of
black magic

I realize now how hard it is to see through the dark stains that have tainted the past.
How difficult it is to remember how lifted I felt,
how utterly blissful,
how completely cared for.
The delicate words flowing from your fingertips soothed my soul.
Your light filled every crack in my body.
You made my glow.
You made every daunting task,
every mountain I knew I had to climb,
seem as easy as lifting a finger.
With you, I could've changed the sky.

Now, there is dark red pouring over every memory until they've been
completely, and unrecognizably distorted.
Now, they match my own alteration.
I wish I could've kept them the same:
unsaturated, and untouched.

Before, you kept me safe, warm and loved.
Then, you changed. You judged, hurt and broke.
Now, you do nothing.

i write poetry in fifty seconds or less
sometimes the words taste like salt
and sometimes like maraschino cherries

i wonder if my blood is red or if it's purple
because pain no longer feels like the color red,
it feels like numbness, cold unsaturated color.
red is diamond and fire and volcano
and it doesn't seem fair to call myself eruption.
it would be more accurate to say that i'm sand dune
and flood
and hurricane,
something that doesn't burn painfully
but slowly sinks into your skin
like water
until you breathe in what you thought was air,
but really it's not oxygen anymore,
it's me.

this one tasted like salt.

*(a.m.c.)

Our eyes are near
and my heart is hot
but your stare is cold —
a thousand miles away

Your words are clear
and time has stopped
there's nowhere to go
my thoughts are broken and blurred

Sweet lips, your sweet lips
Carry such a bitter sound...

I'm floating in place with
no lover to face

trembling, trembling
trembling heart space

I'm spinning in circles
looking for miracles

and it's proving to be
horribly difficult

Trying to fly
with no wings to spread

I crumble and cry
a song for what's dead

the sound of alarms
ring in my head

the sound of alarms
ring in my head...

I'm trying so hard
I don't know what to do

My heart is aching
thinking of you

A small square of paper
sits on my tongue

With razor sharp edges
and tasting of dung

It takes me to spaces
deep in my mind

Where there's too many places
and not enough time

I've been drowned in guilt
and I'm suspended in shame

Repeatedly killed
like in a video game

Written upon
the sharp paper square
are words for destruction
and guilt and despair

It's a trip like no other
you won't even feel high
you'll feel like a bother
and just want to cry

Drifting in place
dead in deep space

You left me here with
tears on my face

Crystalline droplets
scintillating pearls

spinning in circles,
spirals, and swirls

Why did you think
to leave me alone

at the cold ugly brink
a frost to the bone

the cold hard shoulder
feels far colder
than a lifeless boulder
I'm cold, I'm
cold

I speak with my music
and these notes are my words
My harp is my voice
and these strings are the cords

I try hard to play
But you've cut them all off
My harp is left bare
naked, unstrung

I'll move all the pedals
But unto what end?
I can't speak my heart
I can no longer pretend

It's time to stand up
and take a great bow
Walk off the stage
The end is —
.....

and
There is a silence
in the mist, hidden
between the little
droplets, whispering
rivers of soft words from
past lovers evaporated~
.....

together
we held hands
and in our palms
we held time

and we ran away
from the rising sun
so we could see it
rise forever

but we grew tired
and we slowed down
and the sun sped up
and time was slipping
between our fingers
dripping
from our knuckles

and together we ran
we ran away toward
the setting sun
as fast as we could
but we were too tired...

and
you showered me in
silky sheets of glowing lovelight
you embraced me with
warm rays of shimmering soulshine

you pushed and pulled my ocean's tides
in and out like a lilting melody
making love to a perfect harmony

but slowly you
drifted away
into space
to shine on new rocks
leaving me cold my
ocean waves
still...

and
For the longest time
I wanted to thank you, thief
for stealing my heart.

I thought it'd be better off
in someone else's hands anyway,
because I sure as hell
didn't take good care of it.

Can you tell me about the time
you carefully held it close?

because I'm sure
that you can remember that
because that's all you want
to remember.

It was your
little pet.

and I can't tell you
how much it meant to me
that you found it so
intriguing...

but I can't tell you
how much it hurt when
it stopped being something special
and started being
just another animal

Don't you remember
how much fun you
had with it?
Mm..

But you don't remember
watching it struggle
to breathe in
and out?

Because it seems like
despite that

all I can remember now
is your tightening grip
suffocating it
carelessly
and your acidic lip
spouting seemingly
ceaseless
abuse

Tell me about the time
you played with it
until it was broken
and it bored you

Because I can sure
remember that.
but can you?...

Oh!
Batshit crazy,
Batshit soup.
Am I just lazy,
or caught in a loop?

Batshit crazy,
Owl **** soup.
Razor blades,
Razor blades,
Razor blades,
****!

Love is not a competition,
Love is not a game!
You see me as a player,
and it's a downright shame!

Batshit crazy,
Owl **** soup!
I am totally lazy,
and caught in a loop-die-loop?!

Glass houses
Baseball games
Angels wings and tar
SEPTA lines and pine trees
Can take you pretty far

Love is not a competition,
Love is not a war!
and acting like a soldier
is really quite a chore!

Silly souls
Wacky words
Dragonflies and tar
I want to make some art with you
but I don't know how you are!

and
it's
Just another slide
down the razor blade
of life! into a bowl
of sour owl ****...

Batshit crazy,
Owl **** soup!

Am I crazy,
or am I caught
in a loop?

Razor blades
Razor blades
Razor blades
****!

and you are
ribbed, but uncaged, and
you read like a book broken,
with a cracked spine, snapped,
always opening to
the same page

the wrinkles stacked
dendritically, along the
ragged column, show
where you were split,
down the seam,
in a fervent attempt
to be figured out

your leaves are worn,
dog eared, and torn,
with words used, and
defiled

unadorned,
sickly souls

forlorn figures,
sitting silently

wishing and waiting,
no kissing or playing

it seems that you've left me,
and you're all I want to read...

blistering sunsets
burn my skin

I watch the ball of love
get further from me,
falling a w a y

It was always out of reach,
but I could feel it's warmth!
as long as it was in sight,
but, no longer

It forms rivers from dry wells.

In it's absence
it has them brimming,
now overflowing, down
channels of skinclay
wrinkles

they run deeper,
than the roots of
the tallest trees,
falling slower, than
the softest cries,
unheard

rocky river ways
froth from the mouth,
splashing and bubbling
in maniacal sadness —

silent white water rapids...

Tussled and unkempt,
shriveled livers beg for mercy!
hidden behind layers of rotting drywall

a rusty sledgehammer.

—unused

You may want to take me inside
but your mind is a million dripping daggers
perpendicular to the infinite edges
of my circular paradigms.

your cold soul wraps around me
like a chainmail suit.

I want to love it, as
it's supposed to love me, but
it's heavy and pinches every fiber
of my existence

and why should I wear it
when I want to run into love
completely naked?

My name is derived from Tyrant
I would say you should have expected it
but I am not one to take someone's heart
that is the ultimate crime.

Can't you see that you've stolen your own?
Look in the mirror! Unfurl your ****** fists.

Now my fingers are ablaze with hellfire!

and
My unseen tears
condense onto windowpanes
as they're smashed open by codependent assumptions.

Blinding
blunt force flashlights
shatter sharp shards of light
across the darkest crevices
of my soul.

Impatience
and uncertainty
leads to reactionary behavior.

Do not plant flowers
in the gardens of someone
who cannot take care of their
own plants.

Their soil is unsaturated
with nutrients.

How can you expect to enjoy the fruit of their love?

I am a withered plot.
I am the dead of winter.

No one is interested in how it has died.
They are only upset that they can no longer feed themselves.

What you see is what you get.

Unclose my fallen, lost soul,
unclose my greedy, loving mind,
unclose my unsaturated, fastidious heart
with demolition of me on the particles of you,
with your shameless nails under fragments of my skin,
with your hands embracing me in anticipation of fondling,
with your playful mouth saying unprintable suggestions,
with your accelerated breath mixed with my breath,
with tempting taste of your saliva.

Stars in imitation of us kiss one another.
The rays of the moon belong to us.
In the darkness your skin whispers to me its enigmatic metaphors.
We write with touch legend of our bodies.
There is bold discussion between our adorned in sparkling details souls.
Half-embracing we sail to the edge of inspiration hungering hearts.
It's you and me in this sheets, in this bed, in this apartment.
We ran away from the hustle and bustle of the world,
from vulgarity, from obscenity.
We are beyond time , beyond sinfulness.

I have waited for your enticing, alluring gestures
since the first time I saw you.
I paint on your skin in the moonlit glow of my promises.
In your soul I have graven rite of passion of our hearts and bodies.
Everything we do stems from the insatiable hunger avid for ecstatic unity.
My heart tears in chest when I think about long nights
without your lecherous thighs, *******
and soul innocent, tiny like defenseless child.
I've been waiting  for you forever .
Now when you are next to me
spring is coming in December
and dead volcano of lust exploded.
I burned past to ashes
and I live staring at the motion of your sensual lips.
Separation atomized with every moment of fiery intimacy.

I think I enjoy the pastel colors
That rest upon the wall.
Just floating in soft ease
With colors not too bright.

Sometimes I think
If I was a color,
I would be much too dark
And seldom used
Because of the own
Hue I came acquired to
Through all my experience.

Just painting my whole life thus far
Would seem a waste... I think.
But being so unsaturated seems boring.
I think I enjoy the shades I've mixed
Met, and laughed along with
Even if I doubt it.

The haunting in my head.
My dream.

The one that stops
My breath.

The feeling
That's left.

Hopeless.

Pure.

Unsaturated.

The words it leaves me.

"I tried to talk."

Repeat.

Over and again.

My dream.
Haunting in my head.

Under touch of your sweet lips I tend to become
light like a feather in the wind of poet's words,
ideas of goodness and beauty,
communion of souls,
love at first sight,
lady at ball of your singing thoughts,
wild appeal of nature of my instincts,
flame of lanterns illuminating imperceptible printing,
baton in hands of conductor absorbed with scores of your words,
peak overlooking creek of sensitive words,
coffee in your cup thirsty for your mouth,
doctrine of the love of God,
exchange of secret informations,
lunar-dating scenario of joint moments,
spell of love put on your mad from sensations soul,
strait connecting the continents of inexpressible feelings of pleasure,
steepest roller coaster of short-sighted thoughts on the run,
the loudest cry for the right to vote on the bond of souls,
the hottest desert crying for rain of sweaty bodies.

I want to dance with you in convulsions of the fullness.
I find my beginning and end in falling in love.
I think about us as ****** art of two met souls.

Write me a thousand fiery love letters
before we disappear from unsaturated cards of infatuation.
Talk to me Shakespearean verses
before we close lips in inspired kiss.
Dazzle nightingale with music of our souls,
before mistuning breaks the song.
Put my every breath in the depths of your arms
before forthcoming dawn of unrestrained passions.
Cry a river over my every angry glance
before ***** of spike of another sleepless night.
Knock on the door of God's heavenly court
before you go down from ecstatic clouds to the ground.
Tell the angels about our eternal love
before they don't protect us from designated mistakes.
Sing with the echo to my dreams
before lonely lullaby of distant places lulls me.
Share with me bread of trust
before loved ones feed with crumbs of our love.
Do not prevail over your raging storm of senses
before my smell disappears behind closed doors.
Avoid presence of doubt in fairies and unicorns
before we get to the promised land.
Dress for me flowery dresses
before greedy ice capture all waters.

the slit in the curtain
spills out
unhinged light
it's icy and it splatters
across the darkness
like a reflection from a pool.
interrupting
sad eyes and eager hands
holding blades that
shriek in silence.
the cold, unsaturated
light
awakens reality
and quiets shameful
thoughts.
only when the birds sing at night
do we understand
the price it costs
to take one's
own
life

My unseen tears
condense onto windowpanes
as they're smashed open by codependent assumptions.

Blinding
blunt force flashlights
shatter sharp shards of light
across the darkest crevices
of my soul.

Impatience
and uncertainty
leads to reactionary behavior.

Do not plant flowers
in the gardens of someone
who cannot take care of their
own plants.

Their soil is unsaturated
with nutrients.

How can you expect to enjoy the fruit of their love?

I am a withered plot.
I am the dead of winter.

No one is interested in how it has died.
They are only upset that they can no longer feed themselves.

What you see is what you get.

and I like to use humans
as rags, scrub 'em in the dirt
and throw them away.

Ha

How can we expect to grow if we cannot bask in each other's fullest glow? We are sunflowers hidden in separate caves, lit with lone candles.

Dearest infested, do you too reminisce on that fated night,
When the beauty of your unstitched gaps in that storm’s occasional light
Shone brighter than my heart
As I held your severed hand in marriage.

Recall my fingers slipping under those sheets
Aching to pull you closer to me,
So close, I could feel in between your skin and bone
For me to caress your blackened inner soul.

No other will be capable of feeling the softness of your carcass,
Melted on my fingertips, ever so slightly crawling with goosebumps
From the maggots that shift in your decaying tissue,
Eating away at the core of your sweet bloated insides.

On that very bed, you hosted life beyond your bug-infested corpse,
Your unsaturated beauty animating a love as equal to mine
When lightning struck the tower’s wires
And pierced my heart with cupid's bow.

Oh how that shock stung my nerves!
Manipulating my madman mind into a loving machine,
One that could only want for your rotting embrace,
Which leaves the scent of death in every corner of my brain.

Did you notice the way the dark of the room hugged you so modestly,
As if you were already his?
And then you held out a cold hand towards me
Calling for me to put my ring on your delicate finger.

I remember your instantaneous joy,
Curiosity twinkling in your lifeless eyes,
Blushing from a heart pumping spoiled blood through your frozen veins,
And that smile, only a creature inhuman could smile so divine.

You, my sweet, have captured me in your rusted fingertips
And how you carry yourself across the bleeding carpet,
Dragging your decaying remains into my arms,
Making me unable to withstand being without your infected kiss

How irresistible you are before me
Adorned in white sheets, draped across your discolored chest,
Dried blood blanketing the edges of your lips,
A beauty that’ll never age, forever preserved by death himself!

Devour me now, my love!
Take me to the grave you plan to reside
So that I may lay next to you
Six feet under our wedlock.

Home.
A comforting place to be.
For me?
A place where I can't control what I eat.
Where anxiety grows and encompasses all.
Where my mind tries to determine if I can eat anything at all.
Perfect.
This meal isn't perfect, that meal isn't perfect, can I eat any of it?
This is wrong, so horribly wrong.  Too many carbs, unsaturated fats.
No junk food, no pizza, no desserts, none of that.
But why?
Why does my mind insist all of it's bad.
As though avoiding cake should make me ecstatically glad.
As though proving my control makes me a better person?
Better person?
All it makes me is mad.
Yet these thoughts don't stop.
Even though they're not true.
If I can't succeed at this,
then at least I have food.
But wait!
An accomplishment, that it is not
Because when you get good at it your brain starts to rot
If that isn't the answer, then tell me what is?
See, that's the problem.
There isn't.
Life has no right or wrong, each decision is one decision.
Extremes are not good.
Restriction is not an accomplishment.
Control is not necessary.
Then why do I crave it?
I crave rules, regulations, please tell me what to do.
I want to be perfect.
And as long as I desire this,
the real me,
whoever that is
wherever she is,
to her prison she is doomed.

Unsaturated and full of fear
Speaking faintly, consciously
Through these stupid ******* poems
Both of us adore so much
Refreshing every second to see if you have said more
Please say more.

Five fingers clasped hands I held so tightly
That now hold this stupid pen I use to write to you
When will we grasp the courage to speak?

Never will I feel safe to spill onto you
The pool of blood and tears my heart and eyes contain
Why am I still hung up on the very thing that first tied the noose?

Reliability hurts us as it cradles our childhood vices,
dreams blurred and forgotten while the nightmares crept.
I gaze at all my friends while they begin to count their prices,
bags of dust, unsaturated gazes follow - I haven't slept,

My smiles have no eyes, only crosses and scribbles.

We feel empty inside as we stare at our devices,
an infinite hoop of dazed talks as the night grows and I wept.
It's what we get for making sacrifices,
I had a golden opportunity and I overslept.

My smiles have no eyes, only crosses and scribbles,
weakened wrists, deprived energy while I tighten the ribbon.

The sunsets are unsaturated,
landscapes lack detail
and my portraits are missing teeth and eyelashes

as a rule, all my art is unfinished
due to the fear of a final product
that is just going to break me

canvas after canvas I collect
overwhelming amounts unfinished work
there's too much disappointment in a finished piece

it's dangerous way to live life
giving up to protect myself
nothing will be as beautiful as what my mind can make up

this is a repeating influence in my life
and satisfaction may never come,
But I am trying to see the beauty in imperfections

So this is a first draft of a poem

Doc Umentary wanted to make a film with Melody Maker, but his cameraman, Slim Chance, vetoed it because Jack Hammer, Charlie Horse and Steve Dore insisted on being involved. They were all drinking at the Round House owned by Phil I. Buster, managed by Tom Boy who periodically had to stand up to the unruly patron, Marshall Law and his pal,   Checkpoint Charlie. Sitting in the rear was ***** Nilly hanging out to with Will Call, phone by his side. Tess Osterone mingled and hit on Art Syfartsy.
Also vying for his attention was Pat Sies, Miss Match, Vi Rus, Merry Christmas and Quiche Lorraine, who always claimed she was hungry but never had the money to pay for dinner.
Uh oh, in walks Ty Tanic and his bodyguard, Vin Dicate. They buttonholed Frank Lee Speaking telling him to shut is trap. Vic Trola and Ray Dio intervened. “He was only having fun,” they chimed. Watching intently was Amazing Grace who also tried to calm the situation.
Sol Vang was surprised to see Con Descending, who arrived with Sir Viver. They sat with Marine Layer and Nick O’Teen who blew smoke rings for attention. Minnie Apolis brushed off **** Ta, who said he rather sit with
Miss Demeanor any way. Polly Graph, a real operator, got drunk with Ty Oneon, and had to be driven home by Des Ignate.
Out on a limb went Douglas Fir, egged on by Tom Foolery, who in turn was backed by General Denial, just as Claire Voyant predicted. The lazy N. Tropy picked at the food table presided over by Al A. Carte. Peg Leg couldn’t stand it any longer so she begged Hans Down to find her a seat. She was happy to sit with Erin Gobraugh, Morgan Car and Tom Collins.
Dee Escalate backed away form Mal Evolent and his **** friend, Rock Bottom. P. Nut munched on the table food, a garrulously chatted up Dan Ube who mention his great travel with Marv Elous and his gal, ***** Pack.
Perry Patetic was everywhere, dancing with Patty Cakes, laughing with Tim Buktu, and claimed he had an invited to the affair, which when he said so, Al Ibi, shook his head.” Did I mention that Scott Free was seen with Buck Teeth? They were paired with Deb Enture and Ray Vaughn, who raved about the quality of the people there: from Flora N. Fauna to Dolly Grip, to Hal I. But, and the seemingly ever-shrinking Morris Minor.
Herb Dressing and his sweet potato Ida ** dined outdoors with Al Fresco, the always great to see Stu Pendous, and the charlatan 3 Card Monte. Jim Beam got inebriated and couldn’t remember the same of his cousin, Phil in Deblanc. Colin Oscopy made an *** of himself, only to be topped by the show-off Cliff Hanger.
Earnest Money carped about deals gone south. Reed Thin seemed to get along pretty well with Daisy Chain, who batted away her date, Ron de Vouz. Clyde S. Dale horsed around with Will Power who had stopped buttering up Polly Unsaturated.
Cara Van and Ava Tar tried to get Tim Id to come out of his shell, which he did once Cardinal Sin chatted him up. Will Reading asked Count Les Opportunities for recommendations on his finances.
Hazel Nut savored the bon mots of Vera Fi. Donny Brook somehow ended up with Hope Diamond who was looking good. Del Taco scarfed with the religious Gen Uflect, next to Moe Hican and Ren A. Gade, who was dressed as a cowboy.
Ruth Less made a beeline to Georgia Peach, pitted against Frank Incense. Dusty Roads told stories to Ginger Ly, and that Southen gent, Beau Regard, with his date Rose Colored Glasses.
Mark Mywords spoke of dictionaries he adored, which bored immensely Ann O’Rexia  and Juan Dice.
Al Gorhythm had it all figured out. Buzz Cut agreed. Victoria Columbia just wanted to go home.