Poet

On my most open page

I have been hiding.

Beneath the folds

of the library's master -

I sheltered there...

lapped the ink,

dried the page.

How I loved it.

Not a soul

hath tasted the nature

of my organic words -

Though,

they breathe for you.

At sanity's end,
I closed the book!

&, oh,

how it did defeat me to...

I lain,
a misery.

Until paper found my palm again...

Heaven, Haels! My ill-forgotten friend.

I was mistaken.

It is this pen

I live in.

Somewhere On A Star

I looked up today.

Wrote you in my mouth.

But I fell in a frenzy

when I couldn't see your eyes.

How dark it is here

without you...

The Nine to Five Writer

It is knowing this body must endure
something more than
a regular nine to five -
without flipping a lid.

No losing your temper,
feeling bad,
or relaxing
for eight hours,
every single day,
five days
mercilessly
in sequence
perpetually.

Though
fear not!
For, two days are rewarded.
Two days of
kind-of-stay-here-we-need-you-for-your-job-later
freedom.

So here is to Sunday,
Monday's ugly cousin.

Alive in the Northwest

If only
the sky danced
along valleys of pine,
we could climb
on to the other side
where we'd find
each other.

Dance
in wind-struck fields of
lilies.
Harbor us,
these empty souls.
Weeping on
a flower bed,
scattered,
a northwest rose.

A Not-So-Strange Heart

You are... everything.
You are mountains I make of fragile thoughts & things.
Crammed them together with hot-glue & string.
Tied with a knot, a kiss, & a ring.
A mountain of love, for you.

Of A Library

I dreamt of you

once, today.

Crawled through the catacombs of your brain.

I drank the liquid

smelled the stain,

read through the journals

that wrote your name.

The ground, it shivered

across my skin

through the haunting white, covet,

I plummeted in.

Became something I have never been;

introducing the monstrous magnificence.

An exit, so binding,

ran from me.

Holding jealous, was the key,

unlocking worlds never seen.

I sought the moon, 

just past this door

a smile 

she held for me in lore...

Fell beneath 

the cement floor

searching an escape, gasping for; 

breaths be short.

You took the time to come, what for?

Was it worth it? 

Tell me now.

Oh, but your breaths have stopped, so how?

Hands so curious for this skull.

Speak to them, tell it no!

Oh, you can not?

Well what a pity

I suppose I will take your story home with me.

Trapping the cover of your story within me...

The Artist's Mind

Skyline of artwork;

filled to the brim

with every red drop

of scattered sin.

Letting my mind flow.

Caught, let it sail

through the fibers of my fingers nail.

Ripping beneath the clothing that tame!

repeating the syllables, "I am only to blame!"

Stop.

Digging my nails into the skin that contain...

For I am spitting, 

drooling, filth from my lips;

My mind is shouting out reminisce.

& I still dont know you

so I must resist...

My head is spinning, becoming a daze;

sorting my breath through the solid haze,

but I will write you a story 

that will awe and amaze.

Taking it, line by line.

Brains lay

mossy & flowered,

no longer in use,

yet king of its tower.

Covered in calligraphy,

drowning in paint;

becoming something much less than sane...

Given away, 

my most valuable; Brain.

Ive left mine to wilt,

covered in bones;

lost remnants of this bodys home

living a life, as I spend mine alone.

The Free World's Sweet Lies

Cold. I am broken pieces of you.

Solidity never modified to feel

anything more than that which is.

I long to be what is not.

So tender and chilled, my hearts beat.

I have waited forever for the practicality 

of nothing.

The reality that I am so much less

than what I had imagined,

than what is real.

I strangle each confession, believing it.

Tasting the succulents I am told are sweet.

Biting into them to find molded over

remnants of what may once have been

so very saccharine.

Oh, I wish to be

all I may be;

Every, that you are not of.

& let the seedlings sprout inside my spirit;

To grow something more wondrous than I.

Harvesting it for you, 

so you may feed, 

lapping the sugar

I have told you is sweet.

Sew Nothing but The Fields of Play

If I could write a letter

in any single motion

I would want it to walk near;

to so delicately move you.

To scribe such a completion

well, what a miracle be!

For I am of much lesser things

than one may think of me.

Built in flesh, embodied.

silk, soft to the touch.

Delicate as the wishing flower,

harsh as mouth's word, love.

Wishing to morph in silence,

become a frail being.

Minding the rules bring weary a cost;

yet shine light to what I am leaving.

Border me, embroider.

Charge me all you stare,

but I will make a pretty penny

on the cloak of hearts you wear.

Making mocking, mind me?

Set across a throne.

Larger is the topper I wear

than your jaded bones.

Take me now to nowhere,

I want to meet you still.

Sit pretty for me, just that way

across my windows sill.

I will drink you as a flower,

until the frost nights kill.

Leaving you to nothing,

but your soul, at my will.

Mirthful Visions

Relentlessly I am dreaming.

eternally lucid,

in this falling sensation.

ever to wander.

Here I will stay;

I was waiting for you

all my life.

never knew your face;

today I have found it.

structured so nicely.

Here, I am with you.

One day, 

I may wake up. 

Yet,

Until wind burrows under my sheets

& sunlight breaks the windows sill

I stay, 

drifting away with you

in this immortal land of illusion.

Until it is Gone

I was never holding on
to any piece of dirt
so when the grass crawled between my fingers
I let go of the Earth
& I found my body floating
through lanes of later days
clasping on to the little left
blades flying through air waves

I took their beings tightly
squeezing out the green
until they were nothing but
the most untidy strings
so with their bodies falling
as so did the happy from my eyes
and in landing on pure nothing
I too kissed the saddened sky.

Sorry I have left you
although I not know why
I held you as if you were nothing
until no more of you could I find
and I want to tell you this day
that if ever you give to holy light
I will follow you to salvation
loving your flesh with all my might.

Blood-Red Riding Hood

Where are you Going...

Where have you gone?

Did I utter a spell,

did I do something wrong?

Pale eyes turn to gold
as they trickle down blood;
& we call her as such,
for it covers the hood...

Blood red as the rider.
She steals by night,
taking the hearts
of the pure ones.

Holding their beating
to the moon, just so high
that the weak are left
fearful and bleeding.

I never thought this true
Til she came after you...
She stole it.. well, in a heart beat.
& I find it quite clever
that she may be here whenever
Even when the wolf not be...

Fraudulent Friend

Why must monsters be confused

of the relation others attempt to use?

Simple waving hellos

they think an abuse...

But beasts be frightened for the mind they may lose,
one of chaotic, growling mistruth.
Treating the world as if only for their use.
Poor, scared, shivering ghouls...

Beast

Save me from the Blood Beast;

Curdling carcasses and devouring meat.

Predator preying, watches you flee,

bringing bodies to their knees.

Feasting on flesh, glorious game.

Lost identity, severed name.

Howling, the Blood Beast, ever untamed.

The Children

It isn't easy...
remembering the promises.
All the what ifs, the maybes.
Pulling in the sometimes;
It can all become a bit hazy...

& destruction comes
If from my tongue
Rolls an "I forgot"

For in my skull
there not take note
A teeny-tiny robot.

There be a brain,
a mind of mine.
& yes,
It may have flaw.
But that does not push truth
That all this youth
May grind & gnaw & caw.

We care for you so,
& this, you may know,
to keep in your pocket forever;
We try our best, give us a rest,
& we shall together
conquer every endeavor.

Dear Undear,

I hope that
You rot in hell.
I hope you die
Tomorrow.
But most of all, I think
I hope
Your days are filled with sorrow.
Your sins be dark
Your heart be grey
and all the world's love does leave you.
Be thankful
I not lead such a way;
Or this hope could come to be you.

Imaginary

How may you tell mankind about that which does not exist,
When existence may be defined only by one's own mortality?

As A Balloon Passed By

I never had a sense of self.

Never--

saw the horizon line.

Kicked my shoe

through forgiving mud.

Never thinking

maybe...

there could be consequences.

Always jumping

before I thought.

Never

holding back the fray of mind.

I was always a dreamer,

never taught

how to open my eyes.

His Majesty

There is somewhere
God is hiding, cowardly.
Left ghosts to dirt
smothering their filthy souls.
Guilty from the Earth the maker had grown.
Temptation planted,
left hungry hearts to feed on poison.
Eat, children.
Taste the guilt.
Consume damned toxin,
inhale the spill.

His majesty has fled,
leaving his children

so ill.

Slam: A Vision

Faith. It's what you believe but what no one lets you see.
Not the ministers, the re-writers, the gardens of Adam or Eve.
This, no, these
are what we come from.
Where our city let our bounty lay;
In hands of orphans.
Orphans given to us from clouds and heavens
where people fell but no one truly lived.
Where a Buddah be cast up to a spirits walk
and roll over in his grave because you call him God.
A righteousness lost.
For, all men seek to have, grab, bury in gold.
But all people see not what they live for.
Holding onto a world that never loved it, because they never loved anything
more than their:
side table, television, green trees made to green wealth;
Green filth.
Take this recognition and make it into not a religion;
a word so filthy it burns the mouths of saints.
Take this vision, and turn it into the wishes,
the ambitions, the soul decision,
to live life, to be right, to let go of all that is vicious.