Nevus like a strawberry, right below your belly, I explore places I’ve never known. #Gardens of red chrysanthemums, past overflowing rivers. Overflowing. I say things like, “#Marrow of my marrow. “Light of my heart.” Then, finish the deed. And reluctant, depart.
“You, the only words I know, “only language I speak, “My love, I must admit defeat. “Before I broke your spirit, “I aimed to crush your soul.” “Please,” you begged. “Let me go.” No more blood on hands, while cities choke. You, my ember, I, your #smoke.
The sunshine in your eyes… Dear God. The sunshine in your eyes, took me by surprise once, and now it’s my demise. I didn’t think they’d burn so bright. Quite lunar, they, in nature. But now I’ve been set ablaze, somersaulting, like embers, steadily fading, like vapor.
I’ll fucking destroy you. I’ll dangle you above a sea of starving sharks. They’ll rip you limb-from-limb, while you scream for someone, anyone, to save you from the pain. While your blood coagulates around massive gashes, I’ll destroy you more. I’ll bundle everything you love— and own- into your favorite rosemary quilt, light a match, […]
something in you keeps me trekking through this darkness, reaching fruitlessly, ambling as if on a stroll, your hand wrapped in mine. i should’ve known better– never trust the darkness in the guise of light.
Why didn’t you warn them? Haven’t you done this before? You call my torrent of hate precious though all you’ve ever known, are my hungry, wicked veins, like tunnels, spreading, plaguing, leading you, and them, back to me. And, Dear Boy, you should’ve warned them.
She wrote a letter to God, he was unlikely to read. “I was a good mom. Did as I was told. Loved your earth, used it as my home. Please. Don’t let me suffer.” She woke in a field of white lilies, a letter in her hand. “You will not suffer. I have another plan.”
“I had a dream. Do you dream? “We were the same. In tenth grade. “We made the waves during the day. “At night we’d bring peace. Do you sleep?” “Then, did it break? Did you wake?” “I lived my life #centuries. “Dramatized wild plots and schemes. “And you were right there with me. […]
The #willow weeps with loss of sleep and cries into the sky. The moon hushes its whimpering leaves, while the wind wipes its eyes. “Please don’t cry,”‘ you dare to say, from beneath its leaves. “Heaven bleeds, “its jealousy, “but you’re safe with me.”
Another morning, wake for work. Can’t do this today. Listen to the misery- all pointless complaints. Straight for home, “Shut up, #vile world.” Gets hard to face the day. Another year, another moment left to contemplate. Should I? Should I?