repetition

Robbed from your soul. 
Deprived of proof. 
 
There is no convincing you. 
 
Everything is fucked,
and whisked away from you 
like a plastic bag

escaping with the wind. 
 
You wouldn’t have be able 
to hold onto it even if you tried.
 
Despondency calls

‘check mate’  The winner once again....

the itch

When I write,
I write with blood.

Words swim in veins beneath my skin,
traveling the landscape of my body.

It’s the process of retrieving them that’s the hard part.

Sometimes they come clean,
like a nurse collecting blood with a needle.
It stings, but leaves no trace.

Other times, words itch and beg to be released.
With fingernails I dig.
Opening wounds like a soldier searching for a bullet inside an arm.
It leaves scars and empty holes where nouns and verbs used to be.

It hurts, but it needs to be written, it needs to be said.
A temporary permanence... 

crime scene

It was his fault for falling in love with my words instead of my smile. 
He was more interested in my veins than my eyes. 
And maybe that's why you look at me like a murderer. 
If this love was a crime scene darling, he'd be the only one with the gun.

the trick

Nostalgia is a dirty liar

that insists things 
were better than they seemed.

flammable

People will play with lighters

and blame you

for having so much gasoline.

They will drop cigarettes

in careless places
by your gasolined feet
and expect nothing to happen.

‘Control yourself,’ they’ll say,
‘I am not responsible for you igniting.’

Don't use my skin as an ashtray
and then blame me
for being so fucking flammable.

burn

you tasted like a bad idea,
but i was already filled
with the bitterness other people
had left in my mouth,
so i kind of liked the way it burned.

your signature

you begged to make me yours

so you gave my skin your signature

and claimed its rights.

you signed every inch

of my body with your tongue

from my soft lips

down to the scars on my knees

from loving you too much.

but darling,

you should always

read what you sign,

before you contract it,
there is always fine print.

The book.

We’re all just a whole bunch of
 stories,

but I wouldn’t mind

you
 unbinding

the spine
 of all my “one day"s

and wrapping
 your fingers around

the body of
 all that I contain

underneath 
this skin.

I would not mind

sinking
 into

the story of you,

reaching 
inside your pages,

weathering the
 edges of the words

I would not mind

being
 made a part of you.

Your name is
 already

so deeply etched into this
 binding.

I don’t think I could ever


get tired of this story.

It's become my favorite book...

the prisoner

Domination. 

Monopolization. 

Handcuffed to the bed.

Overruled

Silence baby,

shhh...not a word. 

submission

compliance

passion in overdrive. 

kiss after kiss

order after order...

And my prisoner gives in.

Scars

You have tattoos that lace your arms,

And one on your back. 

Soft lips and beautiful hands,

And a laugh that can stop time. 

Your left arm is scarred with stories 

that you carved in times of sadness. 

I remember the first time I saw them,

I traced the lines with my fingers

and fell in love with your strength. 

You are a hero for living from those moments to this one.
You never need to apologize for how you chose to survive. 

Your body is a map I know every inch of,
and if anyone else were to kiss me,
all they would taste is your name...

reliance

You are an addict


and always will be
.

It’s in your genes,

your personality
.

You grow attached,

you can’t let go


it’s killing you,

but you need your fix
.

It’s toxic, but everything

that makes you feel alive,

has detrimental side effects.

You are a creature of extremes


and its become a normal way of living.

Rationalization is not a choice,

you'll drink the whole cabinet dry


until you're skin and bones.

So your life stretches aimlessly

and you want more than this,


but what you think helps

you survive
, ends up doing the opposite.

There is no freedom from the insanity that grips you...

attachment

You’re so beautiful
I want to tear you apart,
so nobody can know of you
and what you do to my heart.

counterfeit

When she woke up,
She didn’t feel real.
She felt like a character in a story,
Caught between the
White space on the page,
And the beginning of the next chapter.

synchronicity

impatient hands,

lace and leather fall to the floor. 

shimmering flesh in overdrive. 

as your hand restrains my mouth,

you whisper your intent in my ear. 

unbearable. 

legs and arms intertwined,

bites, lust and moans.

gasps of pleasure

complimenting the cries of pain. 

Shhh baby...

hand around my throat,

tighter...

eyes locked

sweat beads

synchronicity...

"I love you Baby."

collapse out of breath,

but not out of energy. 

but for now,

just hold me.

Flat Line

Not everything you do
always comes out as expected or hoped.
But that’s a good thing.
Because if you never had any unexpected changes in your life,
everything would be straight
like a flat line on a heart monitor.
In other words, dead and endlessly boring...

pseudonym

I am a book of apocalypses
written in a language I don’t speak
and I have no author...

safekeeping

Every soul creates poetry, throughout its lifetime. Every time you think about life and existence, about love and about our purpose on Earth, you’re creating poetry with your thoughts. Some of us just like to write it down, for safekeeping...

painting galaxies

He carries stars in his pockets because he knows I fear the dark. 
When the daylight fades and darkness seeps through the windows,
He is there painting galaxies on the back of my hands so I will no longer fear.

self destructive

You walk through life

with your eyes closed,

holding hands with
addiction and deceit. 

You feel numb

as your blood chills. 

It thickens
and begins

to run slower

drowning your every thought

with a way to feed your habit. 

You have created a monster

so malevolent and large,

so vastly built, so ready for life

It's eating you from the inside out. 

You can't ignore it's darkness anymore. 

You give in. 

You let go. 

You cripple your soul.

You've lost control.

No one can save you now, but yourself.  

Destruction comes in many forms,

but you sweetheart...

are the greatest of them all. 

Sometimes

Most of our life is a series of images.
They pass us by like towns on the highway.
But sometimes, a moment stuns us as it happens.
And we know that this instant is more than a quick image.
We know at this moment, will live on forever and ever, no matter what.

gravity

Put your lips close to mine.

As long as they don’t touch.

Out of focus, eye to eye.

Till the gravity’s too much.

I’ll do anything you say

If you say it with your hands,

I’d be smart to walk away,

but baby you’re like quicksand..

suitcase full of demons

He has a suitcase full of demons

and it’s more than he can bear.

You can hear the sound of the plastic
dragging across the concrete.

And that endless wave of scratching

from their claws,

as they try to hold on to the ground, 

preventing him from going forward.

And he hears that sound,

replaying over and over in his head,

reminding him,

that no matter how far you go,

you will always have

a suitcase full of demons.

reality.

The irony about a writer, is that they can write something completely made up and so absolutely beautiful with exquisite vocabulary, but yet when you ask them how they really feel, they stutter and have no fucking idea how to define their reality...

lucid

you asked me to
 close my eyes the first 
time we made love,

so
 that I would not see you
 falling into the heart of another.

rebound

Love is like a rubber band.
Sometimes it will twist uncontrollably, until it snaps apart,
sometimes it will rewind and straighten out.
We are lucky if it straightens out.
It all depends on how knotted we found it,
or how hard we twisted it ourselves unintentionally.

insolent

The ego
is a hell of a drug,
cut the habit.

late

I do not know how one un-loves.
 My heart is a grave of hearts,
and I have yet seen the earth spit back out its dead.

aptitude

The beauty of life,
is that everything
is an interpretation.

Your thoughts.
Your perception.
Your reality.

divergent

He thought she was magnificent,
and there’s no doubt in saying she fascinated him,

but it was in a way where he would rather stare at her,
than any brightly lit night sky.

It was in a way where he would rather read her,
than any self provoking book.

She was someone who he would spend his life figuring out,
if it meant he got to be in her presence at all.

And he thought that would be the best part...
being there for her, even if he was struggling.

parasite

there is a radio frequency from Russia
that has been broadcasting a buzzer-like sound since 1982. 

no one knows where it comes from or what it means,
and periodically a voice reads orders, names, and numbers.
 
a ghost radio.
a ghost story.
 
when i speak, it comes out like a dial-tone. a drone.
when people talk about me, it all sounds like conspiracy theories.
"so beautiful", “so talented”, “lots of personality”.

i laugh at them.

probable

Flaws are something we all have as humans.
It’s like a sin almost.
People treat it like we don’t have them
when in reality, it's our biggest insecurity.

structure

There are tally marks on our wrists in matching formations.
They are the number of princes I have danced with...
They are the number of people you have hurt....
You tell me that you want to be cosmic,
So I draw stars on your eyelids.
I already think you are made of the universe.

puzzles

we bathe in freezing lakes
and watch our breath turn into clouds.
when we get tired of being ourselves,
we transfuse our blood with each others for a day or two,
try and put the pieces back together in the other person’s mind.

but i know that i am made of toxic chemicals...

and the more you piece me back together
the more you create poison for yourself,
the more you try to become me
the more you’ll become poison, too.

disease

I'm a special breed.
One of a kind.
I am a disease.
An addiction.
Once you taste me you're mine.
I'm your best nightmare, your worst dream
In your head I hide
Devouring you from the inside
Feeding off your memories
I'll break you
I'll hate you
And you'll love me back
You can't shake me
You've tried
You've begged
You've cried
You can't live without me,
it'd be suicide.

the moment

soft morning sun delivered a smokey haze
over the coffee colored sheets,
a blinding fog, but they didn’t need to see.
hands full of lust opened,
and passion sprinkled onto the bed
idolatry.
rhythmically.
emphatically.
thoroughly.
love danced into the skin of their entire bodies,
and they glimmered perfectly in the light
for one beautiful, fascinating moment...

momentum

Ah, but even in throws of heated lust,
careful my love, do not dare to overlook.
With every addiction,
lust and sex,
there are always unpleasant side effects.
Drawn in by my beautiful bold printed lies,
your soul is abducted by my fine printed lines...

sick with the spin

stuck in a revolving door.
cemented in life's fucking time warp.
standing still while the whole world rushes right past you.

no end.

like a carousel with no music.
you're sick with the spin.
flawed and tired of your life of sin.

It's always the lie that breaks shit apart,
leaves them remaining confused with no way out.
standing still while the whole world rushes right past you.

no end...

The reflection.

Learning to become the mirror


and not the reflection


in a glass encrusted world


is the greatest achievement

of a survivor. 

The cycle.

Maybe we’ll meet again one day,
when we’re slightly older and our minds less hectic,
and I’ll be right for you and you’ll be right for me.
But right now you are chaos to my thoughts, and I am poison to your heart.

changes.

reach into my heart.
there’s a letter there, waiting for you,
with all of my fears and hopes and dreams written on it.
it’s fragile and hard to get to
and sometimes i lie awake trying to change the words of it,
but please, find that part of me. the part nobody else gets to see.

Echoes

I heard it on the radio,

they found echoes of the Big Bang

racing throughout the Universe,

and I wonder if they mistook

that sound for my heartbeat

moments after you gave me life again.

existence

You once asked me the name
of my favorite poet
and I replied "God".
You laughed and played along
and asked me which one of his
works was my favorite.
I said it was the one where
he wrote you into my existence...

The box.

I have absolutely

no desire to fit in.

The ability to subtract

yourself from the crowd,

is hindered by our need

to be an addition...

Be different.

Live outside the box.

Past tense.

I wonder what places I have already visited for the last time...

The effect.

Your third grade science teacher taught you that thunder comes after lightning
because sound travels slower than light.
 What she meant was, nothing makes sense while it is happening,
yet everything happens at once.

The monster

I fell into a void, and was saved by kind monsters
who taught me how to express myself in the most awkwardly manner.

If I don't seem like myself to you anymore, it's because you never knew me...