Great FriendsA lightning bolt flashedStreaking through the skyOne bright branch ripped through the cloudsAs another tore downwardI stared in aweAwaiting the coming thunderOne...Two...Three.Four..Five..Six...Seven.BOOMOne initial boomFollowed by a tidal wave of cacophonousThunderous laughterBellowing through BaysideA car alarm blaresDistant and muffledThrough hazy humid heatSirens scream to the nightMixing bloody red lightIn lightning blue and whiteAs the storm closes in around meOne...Two...Thunder clapsMy eyesFixed on the skiesFalter as I turn and blinkIn that very momentMy vision ignitesAs my eyelids liftTwo residual sparksPure energySo filled with lifeDancingDisappearing into the nightDarting back to the skiesMy eyesBeheldBurningThe tree of deathAnd in less than a breathFelt a wave of sound zingingSinging life through my chestStill staring up in wonderIn echoingRolling thunderMy vision began to blurAs raindrops clatteredPattered against my lens
Splotchy ThoughtsOn the pageJitter, jotIn my mindPlitter, plotDrip and dropPierce the tipThrough my hipInk my mindTattoo and findThe pooling pictureBeneath my rind
Make DoLife so surrealCook up a mealMix fireworks with sunshine peelToss it inOver lilac heelTurn up the heatMelt in sweetFluttering lashesOf a hummingbird who'll greetYour blushing ashesSwimming on the wing
An Insomniac's LamentOh so tiredWish I were firedSo I wouldn't have toGo to workAw heckI need the paycheckOr else I won'tHave a roomToo bad I can'tCrawl back in the wombWhen the world is warmWhere I can be re-bornInto the coldOf an unknown foldIn the reality of ManBegin againBow and bendAgainst the brutal willOf minds of menHarsh words spokenDistort the innocent viewOf a broken boyBorn anewJust another lifeOn a wicked planetRidden with painOverflowing with strifeA beautiful elaborate slateServed to the Devil on a silver plateScratched and scornedDistorted by claws of fire and hornsSuch is the fateOf hate reincarnateIn the heart of a brokenBoy rebornHe's so tiredWishes he were firedSo he wouldn't have toGo to work
Some Nights I Need a FriendSome nightsI need a friendTo hold me closeAnd tell meMy heartIs still beatingSome nightsI need a friendTo hug me so tightTheir embrace beginsTo cut offMy circulationSo the flow of my bloodSlowsUntil my visionFadesAnd I can feel my pulseSlipping throughTheir graspTo keep meTo make meFeelAliveAnd prove that I'mNot dead insideSome nightsI need a friendTo hold me closeAnd tell meMy heartIs still beating
The Warmest Fold Between Pages of WinterCome around againWind that blowsBeyond the bendOver the curves of my snowCome around againWind that blowsSoftly against my cheekLull and whisper meInto lullabiesMake me dream of youWhile I sleepDrive me madWith every streak across my faceDrive me madWith lies and graceCome around againWind that blowsSend songs of sweetnessDown winding roadsLead me alongA Winter pathWhere fairy-tales unfoldHere is where I'll meet youWill you be here to meet me, too?I'll come backWhen the wind that blowsSends me songs of sweetnessOver the curves of my snowFrom beyond the bendWind that blowsCome around againCome around again
Is There Only Pain Inside?Why can't I get herOut of my head?Why can't I dryThese tears I shed?Why do I dreamOf her when I'm in bed?Why can't I get herOut of my head?WishingWishing she could careDrowningDrowning in my despairScreamingScreamingScreaming without airDreamingDreamingDreamingFallFallFail to catch my breathFallFallFall to DeathFallNothing in my chestBeatsI'm not the only oneI knowNot the only oneThis lostThis coldNot the only onePraying for deathNot the only oneFighting for breathNot the only oneHolding screamsSilently within my chestNot the only one
Waiting For Me With Open ArmsTrue LoveFor youI longSo manyNightsYou've beenGoneThrough allThese daysAllI've sungAre lonesomeSongsNow DeathIs nearButThis timeI face himWithoutFearI pray you'll beWaitingOn the other sideFor me
Weathering NightsBeam,Bring sight;Pierce throughImmortal night.Abate black clouds;Contest my solitude,Eternal light.Wuther; wail.Wild winds,Blow me yonder.Hope;Ponder.Sail on,Uncertainty,Through endless storm.For lifeWith love,In faith,Be warm.
there's something fatal about coughing up verse.i got written up for writing poetry on the desksat school.i don't think they liked the language i usedwhen i wrote how my heart was beatinglike headboards against the walls of people fuckingat 3 am to the sounds of joy divisionwhenever you read me paintings at dawn.they were going to send me to the counselor,but i said my therapist probably wouldn't like that,so they just let me go.but this saturday, when i'm cleaning lives off of every desk in school,i'll just be thinking how much i'd rather be sitting on your roofand laughing when we argue about rimbaudand sighing as we start to die.
ElenaElena followed me homefrom work one nightand stayed for tea and eggs,and all that minimum wageand wars between the sheetscould bring.She said she was a goddess,daughter of a carpenterwith her long red, red hairand eyes as warm as hazel nutson Christmas morning.Her hands spoke brailleacross my backand made the silenceof Sunday into a prophecy.She left one Octoberjust like she said she wouldwhen the fireflieshad turned their wings to ash.And I found revelationin red, red wineand cheap red, red fabricthat came off in my handslike summer.
WineHead on a patisserie tablewith a wine-scented napkinthat I scrawled your name all overin the hopes it might necromanceor just romance youto this place, at this time,so we could be together againand although the guitarist knowsthat I'm broken beyond blueI keep reaching for the bottlein the hopes it might recreateor just replicateyou.
renovationsmy mind looks at my bodyand says, "i don't like whatyou've done with the place."
to the ghosts with you, my deari came not to be kissed,or to have myself cradledin the curve of a throat,but to be broken,to be diminishedby your lack of affection& over indulgence of sexualization.but i,uneducated in your intent,found myself left entirely whole& incapable of the furyi had sought to sow between theridges of my aching ribs.
the polar opposite of translucencycradled in the echoof a cloudburst,the earth curls invisible fingersabout my achilles' tendon& pulls;she cries that i am notintended for the clouds,that my mind must not wanderbetween their susurrous concavesso i,furious with her insistence,her petulance,untether myself from the soft,diaphonous comfort of the heavens& sink,down into the weight of gravity.listless green blades welcome my soles,stimulating a tickle,an itch,a sneeze; i never have done wellwith nature,but oh,she is calling for me,soft-tongued and crisp in herown shadow,& i am sorely temptedbut no,no--i am not for the soil.lungs listless,she becomes my inhale;lightheaded& translucent,my alveoli shudderbeneath her force--i am not for the air, either.mellow-skinned,i stand beneath her onslaughtuntil she tires,her molten heart beating beneath my toes;unable to woo me with her facets,she pirouettes,cloaking me in one last attempt,a final shadow.my pores bloom& i r
muddy waterthe sun rises late now. or hardly ever. or belligerent carmine on the underbellies of plants.a shot of sleep to the head, a boxing glove punch.the metaphorical rooster crows with the awful clamour of its lonely breath. the thing is, i can substitute the body.the thing is, the slit is a fantastic shade of orange i saw god but he says you still need to get a fucking jobthe thing is, i am bathtub water and rotten leaves.and the taste of power on the morning wind, a wet newspaperwith the headlines of a presidential divorce.there is power in the young eagle hissing at passersby from its trashcan throne.i know one thing:
I'm too poor to feel so middle class.My teeth still ache from the dentist,but it doesn’t stop me from nibblingthe cheese danish I bought at Krogerthis morning, warmed by thirtyseconds in the microwave. My mugof hot chocolate is too big, and Idrink it all. The washer is on its lastcycle; the cat is purring at my feet.Netflix is background noiseto clacking keys, typing a transcriptof middle class morning that I’ll latercall a poem or a turning point,wondering when I became such an adult.
i. one way to wake to dawnhalf the time i neverwake - i lie half-sleeping understars made of the flash of headlights on oil spillsand smell the gasoline-stench ofdreams as they try to breach the breakwaterof my eyes.insomniac, they say, and i justlisten, half-alive -scientists wonder why we need sleep and i can only say,we don't. sleeping leads to dreamingand not a single soul needs thatkind of disappointment, anymore.but sometimes i find myselfjust shudderinginto sleep, disjointed, falling through the rabbitholes found in zeroes of one o'clock, two -and as i wake toshimmering sunlight shining through theblinds, across the walls, i find it's worth it (justthis once) to watch and learnhow something rises.
Must I Hide Everything?Every pure emotionMutilated as it leaves my mindUntil all that showsIs a grotesqueAnd pitiful happinessAn unbidden smileA half-hearted chuckleSo no one knows I sufferSo no one asks me whySo I'll never need to tell themWhy I wait to die