if the words were real
and leapt off the line?

because you're skilled, or
because you have nothing else?

if they only lied to save your feelings?

if all it took were imagination?

if light weighed more than a thousand bricks?

             Upon the pier, the wind and absence
             gazing out, darkening all into an empty
             canvas or pond, canvas or chasm, why not
             both or nothing but it's too cold to stand
    
             Even stars bend from pressing distance
             but eyes can capture what hands only touch

if he truly believed,
the waves would hunger yet

WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT

in crimson breath i draw your image,
ruby rogue, apple temptation.
temptation, yes temptation.
GOD
I want to swallow you whole
and keep you in the pit of my stomach
I want to rip your skin open
and see your true face
I want to fuse my soul with you
even if it stains me red

Dear Rogue, come ****** my heart out
thief that you are, of my innocence
and my days of apathy
Color me, even in blood
For I would rather bear your mark
than remain an empty canvas

Dear Rouge, know you are the apple of my eye,
the source of my passion,
the greatest possession I have known.
Your image lingers,
I cannot resist.

I do not want to resist.

I want to float awash in your torrent.
And lose myself in it.
Cast my visage off like skin,
that we may be naked and kindred in exposure.
And hungry, still.
That we may devour each other.
Consume each other.
Consummate each other.

I want to **** your cherry.
Bad metaphor, I know, but such are the workings of passion.

I want to want.
And I want to want more. To covet.
For you I would sin and burn in elation.

So, R., what would you do for me?

I want you to steal my heart and claw it open till it bleeds a sea of rouge

the beauty, the resolute stillness of night
and the absence of a day's wreckage, too
is no consolation for that greater hollow
which yet darkens my countenance
and voids my soul

but in the aches of time, all shall emerge complete
if unfilled then at least whole —
holy, even — under better eyes than mine
more open eyes than mine, heavy under insomnia

so, in passing with the moon,
that complete and empty dawn will arrive by a close of the eyes, a gentle descent to sleep

which is why it cannot come so easily,
lest the waking day illume my solitude

In the blanketing abyss of night's prelude
no lamp subdues the dark within
but rather set a hazy stage:
lucidity's awakened hour

Dimly and diffuse you blur
through my drifting lines of sentience
reaping your cruel harvest, slyly
scattering my germinal love

How grim this fate that you have cast
upon my hopes so premature:
aborted at 3 weeks
more loss than I can take
enough for me to bury
enough for my resentment
burning unrealised:

fire of my nascent eyes
piercing through the false eclipse
scorching your covert disguise
the veil I long to rip apart
and disintegrate with verity,
to spit upon with love's acid froth
crude as every image of you
...
crude as dispossessed illusions

For I know you no longer,
and grasp for silent solace:
I can still turn the lights off by myself
by myself

you made me miss the train in my dream: my fault for staring so long
i walked home alone that day, in the rain
singing some stupid tune to myself

did you think of me?
sitting there in contemplation, aside those ever-clear windows
did you look for me?
like i look for you in the morning commute and math before recess and anywhere everywhere in that sprawling liar we call memory

i know you didn't
but truly, it's fine
you will someday
when i muster up my courage and take that big leap

yes, w.

i would leap in front of a train if it meant you looked at me for just one second

or at least i would in the dream

but really, i'm so scared
scared of your acknowledgement, scared of your indifference
scared of your love, scared of your hatred
most of all scared that i might die without you ever having cared

so i wait and ponder and rot away
and course toward that cruel fate i so dread
such is reality

but not my fantasy:

w., i hope i get hit by a train in your dream

silent night, holy night
free me from your brutal grip,
truthful grip, oh how I am falling
falling  
 falling
  falling
   falling
    falling
      to the wake of reality

time is a wave
pillow is depravity undeserved:
my head should rest in dreams alone
for races condemned to three hundred minutes of solitude do not have a second opportunity in past days

I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I      the stars are few tonight        I   Q. window window on the wall I       I        less for want of light              I    who's the weakest of them all?  I
I          than for having fled            I   A.  see for yourself                        I
I  the burden of being witnessed  I  Q. why can't you show me what I I              i too would dim               I   want to see?                                   I   I             if it meant no one              I  A.  0                                                 I  I         could name my sorrow        I   Q.Q.Q.Q.Q.Q.Q.Q.Q.Q.Q.Q.Q.  I
I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I I

it shrouds me
this pale view of distances                     un-X-X-bridge-X-X-able
this nocturnal solo elegy                            ave falsus corpum
it brings me ever closer to death                                                    
my gentle repose

but do not pity me
even the darkening star burns
and the softest tremor in the chest
means i'm still reaching for something > 0
even if i call it sleep

so let me rest,
unmourned, remembered
for that dismal resilience;
bleak survival
through the depths of night
for one stanza longer

a little touch, melting
as all good things, remembered  
only as sensation:  
the walls and the floor stir on and on  

to dissolve without melting, a small (aq) at the side  
but to release? too much and too little held  
too little to hold, a useless spoon
it drips into a stillborn flow

I serve my everything on a table:
gateaux and layers, any more than bread  
you have to take something, there’s no nothing to refuse
you can’t be refusal, even that is served
you can’t be full, you need to be hungry

you can’t be nothing,  
please don’t be nothing

I lie when I say I want you free,
In a cage, maybe,
dissolute in my precious vial  

no, melting is different  
I want solid things! I only complain about my state because I’m secure in it!  
and there’s no significance to early Thursday breakfasts which I didn’t fold in myself
I miss the sugar you gave to my batter;
it’s cloying when I do it,  

I missed Thursday and now it’s Friday  
but I still want Thursday till Friday curdles  
lined in rows of half-empty cups
the unrisen mix of every lost morning:

flour & water, basic lifeblood,  
glutinous river molding  
the great mound of delicacy:  
things burn left in the oven too long, even sugar
especially sugar

Hold me at the tip of your tongue
And speak not, intimately
In suspension of that trembling scaffold
Lest it crush our unsaid space

Touch me the right way
And say the wrong nothings
That in ambivalence I may stray
To some mistaken grace

**** me over in your dream,
Lay me out, exposed,
And carry out your shrouded theatre
Recompense for your absence in mine

And gently, in your tangled strings of pathos
Tie me at the cusp of your love

ropes & threads
nooses & lines
08/09/2023 & elation in a small courtyard

skin & bone
scent & exhale
your touch & maybe love, hesitant imprint

joy & passion
silence & silence
the waves & the wind, remains of my ardor

i'll cut them all to stay in control

how much is too moved?
more than a light year
and less than an inch
you can't grasp it either way

but isn't it easy
to imagine?

how much is not enough?
i guess as much as i don't have
which is enough to hold on to
easier said
than done

how much is lost forever?
i don't want to say
i just want you to hold me
and comfort me
like another stone in my pocket

(it looks better outside when it's raining)

and as the day pours down
i ache for all that we have lost

sometimes i think of myself as an angel in the bathtub
a hazy, glowing figure
beautiful beyond mortal comprehension
so that their faces turn to stone
perhaps that's my excuse for why they don't look at me

but you looked at me
and let me float in the steamy stuff of fantasy
yet it all condensed to the end

when it flows again it shall be with my tears

Trembling. Soft hits as you play with the tension
Open door surrender, I quiver
Question. Are you there?
Lost in forever, unsaid answer

Last supper hued in memory, synecdoche of candles
Hand in hand to fall asleep
Fallback guarantees I called denial
My bed so perfectly arranged

“Hey, it’s kinda cold in here” susceptible flesh, distant bone. Red strings, pink cloth, the stoic blackness all round. All-you-can-eat-buffets won’t give you peace but something to ***** is better than nothing. Ideal collisions, my straight lines and low pressures – Passion ruins all my plans. I throw your cliches out in a bouquet and keep them as a razor. Sentimental. Waiting for something to happen. Smooth flick speechless. Indefinite time and the chores undone. But it’s all so simple?! Walking in circles around the word, I-you relation, relatively. Little by little I believe ourselves in the face of what? ‘Nothing’ is stopping us. So I drop my act, you touch my skin, I call you to sea, you dance in my living water. Evanescence in pearly bloom.
And then – then the meow of a startled cat, mice scurrying to the gutters, all at once the little ants bury themselves alive, life repels life.

I love you to pieces and can’t put them together