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Angel of DeathI taste gunmetal
on your lips, you are
beyond my reach, death lingers
behind your far away eyes,
bullets fall from the sky.
We made love
on an unmarked grave,
our flesh carved the stone
the look in your eyes an elegy
how beautiful the Angel of Death is.
My Paper Doll LoverI have liquid dreams about you,
watching your face appear
in a smoky haze,
I would enthrone you as my noir lover,
if I did not know you would balk
at the offering.
You were never born to be King
however I might adorn you,
laurel leaves upon your head,
hanging bones around your neck,
I would exalt you.
It is beyond you to be debonair
however I dress you within my mind,
but I like to think of you
smoking cigarettes in bed
amid the tangled sheets and naked limbs.
If only you could be my paper doll lover
but you never learned how to dance the tango,
the predatory instinct is absent in your eye,
and you remain placid but troubled,
stranded in an in between that is too great a compromise.
You never learned to hone the killer's instinct
and you stubbornly evade falling prey,
so what is to be done with you?
If I run you will not chase, and if I hide you will not seek,
if I push you will push back but half-mockingly
with exasperation in your eyes.
You remain unapproachable
Icarus DreamsHe had Icarus dreams,
it was not for the flight
that he longed.
But the descent,
the freedom of the fall,
abandon, out of control,
between life and death.
For that one beautiful
moment, you gave yourself up
Demon InsideWill you love the demon
inside me? I know there is a darkness
in my soul that sinks down into the abyss,
and my heart beats callously.
I cannot pretend to be an angel,
I don't aspire for Sainthood,
I never have presumed that I was good,
and never sought to be better than this.
Will you tremble at the sight of me?
Revile within the truth of me,
do I repulse you so?
Or might you glimpse something
beyond all the insanity,
can you see past the nightmares
of my dreams?
Understand I am not seeking
to be saved, I don't want to be led
astray from my twisted path.
Don't come to me if you believe
you can purify my soul,
but I want your willingness
to dare to enter the labyrinth with me.
We could learn to destroy each
other beautifully, we will not live
in petty lies, and falsetto hopes.
Our lives may derail in time,
but they will be entirely ours,
the wreckage of truth which
refuses to be denied.
Do you have enough
faith in yourself to risk
all your safety ground,
for the perilous position
My Beautiful DisasterBroken boy
with your coffee
I should have been
forewarned to stay away
but your lips
curved in a cynical smile
and your eyes
saw the bitterness of the world,
I longed for your artist's fingers
to give me a caress,
I see you smoking in bed
among twisted sheets
while we for a moment
forget the pain of the world,
but in the end we are
destined to destroy each other,
it was never love
that drew us together
but the beauty of your mind
and the languid litheness of your body,
the cracks in your heart,
and despair in your soul,
but I was never the one
to give you what you require,
you are an ideal
I desired to posses,
and I was there when you were lost
so I became your latest form
while you made me forget the void
yet never could satisfy its emptiness,
we took each other to oblivion
only pretending to be saved.
Autumn LoverShe was the November lover
but Autumn was always the season
of the dying, and she found only
coldness was left to greet her now.
No more flowers were in bloom,
while the flame within her heart
began to fade she fell, it seemed endlessly
among the fire colored leaves.
While the trees appeared in shades
of crimson just like her dreams,
the world spun as she closed her eyes,
bitter the early frost upon her breath.
It may be the last exhale she ever breathed,
while the color dissipates from her waning cheeks,
only those bone chilling biting winds
are left to touch upon her flesh in subtle mockery.
She died for love on the cusp
of the season which whispered of decay
but her grave would lie beneath a shroud
of natures beauty, beneath the gloomy skies,
as melancholy of the last beating of her heart
she was covered in all the shades of the sun.
silence kills me
more than words
While I am held
waiting and wondering.
Each passing day
rises new hope
which steadily declines
and leaves me wanting,
I wake to another
you must break this fast
upon my heart
and at last speak.
The Moment I Saw YouIs it possible
I am destined for the wrong kind of love?
What might await us,
If only you were as willing as I
to possibly lose it all,
I wish blindly to fall into you
I know in truth we may destroy each other beautifully,
but even that would be sweet.
The thought of you is relentless,
is a whisper of love worth the risk
of our death?
Only you can provide the answer,
we may come to damn each other,
but the moment I saw you I knew
I would readily be condemned
if only for a taste of you,
the touch of you.
You have already stole
a part of me away
and I know you would hate the thought,
count is as another of you sins
but I want you to give in
and let us fall to ruins if we must
InhumanYour lies are so much more beautiful
than the truths you attempt to tell,
how I dislike the efforts you make
to be noble, it ill suits you
and your goodness holds no interest to me.
Why must we play that game
of pretending to care,
it is the moments of brutality
that spark your eyes which arouse my interest.
I prefer to think of you bloody
not draped in white,
you see with you I don't have to
masquerade as a better person.
There are times, frightening and sublime
when I feel I could throw it all away,
and walk the savage war path
without ever looking back.
But you hesitate and falter,
I do not believe in your guilt,
but at moments you are lost to me
when you want to wear the facade
of still being human in some definable way.
What is humanity to us?
Only a speck of dust,
wash your remorse down the drain
let us not play the tortured soul game,
I have no apology.
Rise to the occasion
embrace the hunger which consumes your soul
tremble not before them
but let them drink from
I Am That GirlI'm the girl who writes poems
Because it helps me get my feelings out.
It's the only way I know how.
I'm the girl who will love anyone
No matter who they are.
I'm the girl, who can be annoying at times,
But I love life and everything in it.
I'm the girl who will always make
Room in her heart for someone,
Because I love just about everyone.
I'm the girl, who will flirt with you,
But never admit to you how I really feel.
I'm the girl who will truly love you.
No one will ever love you as much as I do.
You have out-grown
Yourself, and these
Childish notions of
Monsters in the closet.
She holds her breath
Until the sun rises,
Because no one taught her
How to sleep
With her eyes closed.
There is this
Delusion about you;
A belief that if
You stay awake,
There will be no darkness.
It is damaging you.
Cold and silent,
With her darkened fantasies,
And remembers a time
When she was not-so-
Into unrecognizable shards.
You have found your only
From all the lifetimes
Too fearful to live.
Too lost in your waking dreams
To see new realities.
It will all
Be over soon.
Never AfterWhen they buried you,
It was face-down,
Arms over your head.
I want to make-believe
I'm just hiding
Under the covers.
I'll make them all
You and I
Stood on the roof
With mason jars,
Telling the heavens how sorry we were.
We have to make the angels
I have fifty-four jars
Of dirty rainwater.
Complaints of monsters
In the closet.
Each time I shut the door,
You stared into the mirror.
I can still see them.
I walked you to the dock
And helped you
Find sea glass and
To fill your pockets.
We tied and anchor to your feet.
I'll send you a post card
When I get to where I'm going.
The angels must have
Been so sad
Because it rained
Insomnia and Body PartsThere were
Timeless moments spent between us,
In those instants and hours before dawn;
That time when we traversed
So far away from this
Wretched house and into
The most delicious darkness
That time before our tidal waves
Came crashing down on us again.
I would do anything to
Drown with you.
The softness of the flesh
Between your knuckles, the
Exquisite map of
On your palms;
They were like a lullaby
To my sleepy fingertips.
The breath of your mouth
To teach me to close my eyes
And fall asleep.
Your contented whispers and
Observations of the sky
Showed me then how to dream.
I had no idea what home could be like
Until those seconds and infinities.
As you traveled the expanse
With the curiosity of your hands and
The rebuke of your lips,
Because you always liked
To fix things
That were broken.
Ink GravesLetterless words and pageless books-
and ink blots on the flowers;
Ghosts scratch their heads and tap their pens,
all across the hours.
Winds can howl and cease to be,
by one twitch of my pen;
I spoke of writing a poem tonight,
and by dawn I've written ten.
Emily sits aside nobody,
the Raven, above, waits;
Frost dances in a yellow wood,
among the long lost dates.
A tall, well spoken willow,
looms over the grave;
Protecting every dated word,
and every thought they gave.
I crumple another masterpiece,
with thoughts I'd thought to save;
and as it strikes the baset bottom,
it rests in its ink grave.
Left UnsungHe has a pretty tune in his heart
With the lyrics plastered
On strips of delicate, ashen paper
That crumble at the slightest touch.
They hang against the
Edges of his lips,
Trying to pour out,
But ever uncertain
Of whether the wind will carry their weight.
Comatose RendevousThe narrow spaces
Between typewritten letters
Are just large enough
To lay in.
You and I
Are crafters of flesh and bone;
Made of weathered canvas
And stitched together with
Sweet dreams on lonely nights.
Blood falls from your lips,
Staining those folded
You make so well;
I like to catch them
When they fall,
And toss them back into the air.
Crimson-colored pieces of you
Splattered about the walls
And the inside
Of my mouth.
(You taste of melancholy,
And masked, uneasy lullabies.)
I would happily
Bear the red smears
Of your steady fingertips
If you run out of
Allow me to
Spread my ashes
Over your ribs and
In the hollow of your throat;
You would look beautiful
Covered in faerie-tales
Made of soot.
I will sing to you as we write
A few more,
Beds of coal,
Disguised in silks,
Promise dirty wordsmiths breath
In the wake of
And restless eves.
I can see myself
She lodges her fingers down her throat.
Clasping onto the wall as she recklessly chokes.
She reinserts her fingers back in forcibly.
Deliriously trying to make her body thinner.
She swoons and slumps to the floor nauseously
As she attempts to regurgitate her dinner.
Her throat aches as she screeches out coarsely,
With her hand covering the image in the mirror.
Her head now rests on the on the rim of the toilet seat.
She wants to eat but she just has not got in her.
She desperately begins to scream out inaudibly.
Her mouth now tastes of something pulpy and bitter.
She examines the red color of the fluid cautiously.
Realizing that she has become too focused on her figure.
Her friend then knocks on the door thoughtfully.
She shouts out, "I'm okay I don't need a baby sitter."
Her friend continues to knock and waits outside awkwardly
Replying, "You promised me, you said that you are not a quitter"
The tap begins to run as she disguises her cough distortedly.
She knows her friend
pretty little poet fingersfabricated gods rest between the
languid crevices of
her fingertips, scribbling profanities
all over her skin.
she's just mismatched bones
& blue bruises, telling of forbidden
love through archaic letters.
a tongue made for
wanderlust, & eyes made
for the stars,
even the devil fears her.
The Girl Who Fled From BeautyShe watched beauty from afar,
it appeared as something alien to her,
she felt no envy of it,
it was too distant from her,
that it became only an abstract concept.
Moths fluttered in her head
in soft soundless whispers,
she watched the world fade
with a child-like sense of wonder,
she knew not of fear
for it is only a delusion.
Yet she lived in a world of illusion,
she liked to pluck the stars
out of the sky and they became her eyes,
until in time they burned out,
she never understood that she was
supposed to feel pain.
She hid behind glass walls
for others could only see
reflections of what they already believe,
and she was distorted in their eyes.
It was impossible to brush against her
without losing something,
she was a thief of souls and visions,
she liked to collect tokens and trinkets,
of lives so she could examine them
out of context and make patchwork quilts
and recreations that she absorbed
into her pores.
She spoke only in tongues
not out of divinity
Sainthood would terrify he
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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