Infiltration

Love should be so powerful,

that with every kiss

it feels as if life

is being infused back

into your soul.

And when you part,

you are reborn with a

piece of each other

etched permanently

inside, forever.

Catch me.

I wonder
 who’s arms

would I run and fall into


if I were drunk 
in a room

with everyone
 I have ever loved..?

Furthermore, I wonder who would still catch me...

Always

I love you.

I will always love you,

even with your hands around my throat or especially then.

Deep blue

She was painfully beautiful,

not like those girls in the magazines.

She was more beautiful

for the way she thought.

She was beautiful,

for that sparkle in her eyes

when she talked about

something she loved.

She was beautiful,

for her ability to make

other people smile

even if she was sad.

No, she wasn’t beautiful
for something as temporary as her looks.

She was beautiful, deep down to her soul.

overcast

i once met a man

whose soul dripped


from his fingertips 

like water.

and one time,


he spilled it
 all over my lap.

i didn’t 
know what to do,

so i turned him 
away.

whenever 
i hear the faucet 
leak,

or feel 
the tears run
 down my face,

i think of him,

his overcast soul

and how i should
 have

given him
 a towel.

write off

For me 
it was always simple
.

I wanted, I got it.  

A whispered no,

was always betrayed


by the desire in their eyes. 

false expressions

Behind his smile

He had murdered me

Ten thousand times

In ten thousand

different ways

And I enjoyed every second.

consumed

baby you leave me 
strung 
out 
on your 
love...
 
you are

the prettiest

addiction.

writers

writers will want to know who you are, where you come from, what your family was like.

we will look through your photographs
and read all of your old love letters.
we will ask you to bitch when you’re angry and cry when you’re hurt.

we will ask what that raised eyebrow meant.
what that sigh meant.
we will want to know your favorite food,
your favorite color, your favorite person.

we will always, always ask why.

writers don’t settle for your outside.
we want the insides.
we want what makes you heavy,
what makes you uneasy,
what makes you scream for joy,
and anger, and heartbreak... 

writers will take off your shirt

and read every scar,

every mark,

every soft curve.

we will turn your skin into pages

that you learn to pour your entire soul in.

we will dissect you.

every organ,

every thought,

all the way down to your soul.

consume or empower

Fucked up things happen.

They happen all the time. 

But sometimes those

fucked up things...
they save you.

When adversity arises,
you have two options,

let it consume you,

and live your days in self pity,
or fucking rise above it

and let it empower you

to do better,

to be better.

aftertaste

I want to stain your lips with my name,
and years later 
when we aren’t kissing each other, 
lovers will still taste what we had.

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..