Dark is the bloom of
a spring lost in
A cyanide crow approaches
my window sill
Get back! Get back!
Fidele ad Mortem (Pt. 1)Beauty was a bite forgotten between God's teeth, and now she basked in a basement that never expected her. A boom had shook the youth from her bitter frame, blessing her now with neither parent to boost her. Seldom did her kind acknowledge her gaunt ghost, so often she anchored herself in broad blankness, where wonders wove themselves between her talons. Bloom and fade, boom boom boom.
It was on a day with no particular noon or star that the brooding creature discovered a bulge in the waning wallpaper. With a nudge, budge, and tuggy tug; paper became weary wall, and the grandest of portals knelt before her. Hungry and haunted, a squeezed doorway dug deep and drew no larger than her nervous nightstand. Inspired by intrigue, the Girl revealed an abyssal descent, drifting down a darkened drop. The Girl thought once, twice, and once more before sliding through the crouched mouth. In many moments, the ancient esophagus swallowed her into earth, and she slid down in cobweb company. The Girl
as a buzzing orthodontist,
dirty dentist delivers dreams,
he delivers me.
he drills, drills, drills wormholes
in each set of teeth,
in every molar and fang:
done and drugged, now I breeze
whistles while I
Lordy.I craft a claw
made of baby bones,
tender and weighted
ideal for jellied knees
and angel autopsies.
Open Wide.You keep tugging
on my tongue,
scraping me with
gravel calluses and
Soon my mouthmeat
will slobber along my
knees, drooling as she
am I to scream promises
with my elastic muscle
trotting beneath me?
My DarlingGoodmorning flesh,
I came with hands
To filet and squeeze
I came with hands
to pet and pet your
Stunning, the message
Outrageous to the knowing
Superb, the technique
Hilarious to the informed
Master of his Art
TakenIt was just a strategic readjustment.
It was just a necessary tactical move.
It was just your finger moving half an inch left
and curling slightly.
It was just the centimeter or two of difference
between the moment that just was,
and the one that is,
but you reached for my hand
and you took my heart.
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
alcohol and words sometimes mixHe said good night
because he couldn’t say
It was one of those times
when his tongue was an anger,
his insides an outburst of words
and every particle of the universe
he has inside him.
He was fourteen
when he made the excuse
it was probably the overwhelm
of being anti-poetic and Shakespearean
at the same time
that robbed his voice box
of his voice.
He’s twenty-three now,
taller with his own share
of metaphoric broken bones
and drunken one-night stands
but none the wiser on the stars
he keeps wishing on.
There are two things you can have
when you’re afraid:
courage or more fear.
And he realised with a smirk
and a pitfall in his stomach,
that he’d been allowing himself
to ride more on the latter.
But yes, he loved her very much.
He just got too drunk
on the poesy
SapiosexualI don’t know what I’ll do
when the first fistful
of dirt hits the bottom.
Maybe I’ll follow you to the grave.
Or maybe I’ll pray
for a zombie apocalypse,
so we can dine on each
other’s brains one more time.
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flame
And eagles, turning, turn to fire
Ash cold, alone I lie
And think of you.
Not My Kind of Fairy TaleDon't give me the Knight
Whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the Knight,
Whose armor is dull and broken.
Whose horse is weary,
Whose heart is heavy.
Give me the Knight who looks at the dragon with pity,
For that dragon has done nothing,
And is just as imprisoned as the princess he guards.
Don't give me a princess who only wishes to be saved,
By that Knight whose armor shines so bright.
Give me the princess who wishes to escape yes,
But wants to free the dragon,
Who does not wish to marry her savior--
Nay, give me the princess who wants to explore,
Who wants to live and to learn.
For the years of imprisonment only made her yearn,
Not for the Knight whose armor shines bright,
But to see the world and live in the light.
Do not give me the evil dragon,
Whose soul purpose is to give that bright Knight something to fight.
No, give me the dragon who is weary,
Who longs for the freedom of the sky,
Whose leg is burdened with chains,
And whose heart aches for the princess he must guard,
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,
that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead.
It isn’t true.
It’s said the stench of hell infects the earth
and healths of heated blood are downed.
But Hamlet lied.
The dead know nothing, the living less.
There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;
souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
We are blood and earth, not theory and chalk.I will stitch my skin together
with thread of moons and stars
to contain the joy of living
and suppress the sadness of death
blinding the nonbelievers
with beams of the cosmos
you look so good
bathed in the novas and galaxies