Demons in the Sky
as they go flying by,
I hide one inside
It tears me apart
and swallows my heart
I burst into flames
The Perfect OneYou were lying there
I couldn't look away
I graced you that night
with my imperfect tears
And my childish fears
And I knew then
death was something
wait to see
Razor Blades pt2Razor Blades pt2
Im Lying in the bed
Sheets stained in black in red
Why that surprise
That look in your eyes
What did you think the bracelets were for?
I mean you're the one the screams were for!
So I wouldn't/ couldn't
Hate you anymore
And if you leave that's fine
Because I see you in
Why are you crying?
Is it because I'm dying?
Or is it because of the meds
Lying on the bed?
Take as many as you want
Just leave the reds
When its Gone...As I sit and watch the lights burnout
My mind forces me to shout
What do you want from me?
What can someone so little
You who have everything
but still finds joy
in staring at the,
that I'll find
use for something
When it's gone forever
But how can I
When the light never goes out?
Mr. MurderThe Trigger pulls back
It's my cross to bear
It's my cross to bear
Death rings in your ears
Don't live with your fears
For life isn't the only thing
I'm ending with this gun
RainThe rain starts and night stops,
A sigh is heard and the window drops.
The rain plays a mournful tune,
that it is to scared too play at noon.
The clouds break and the moon shines through,
The crickets start there cheerful tune.
Night starts again anew.
LoveI wake to darkness
grey never breaks in
where to begin?
What brought me here?
Fear is what brought me here
love is whats holding me back
They know how to make me crack
you know how to fix me back
what to do?
its to early to think
could I run?
(run with a chain like yours?)
should I stay?
stay here and ignite the fears
whats holding me back?
Only Shout(can you hear me?)
are you loud?
(I want to scream!)
(whats this all about)
(when was I a fake?)
Sleep never made you wake
(maybe Im real when Im awake?)
its to late
deaths a parlor trick so is fate
(but fates to complicated to be a trick!)
and deaths not?
you think its simple
just to rot?
(I want to scream!)
my its getting late
waiting never helped
(maybe it can!)
it never will.
RegretI watch the moon rise an and the sunset
and find it so hard to forget
time weighs on my mind
as you hand me your line
I push it aside
and you start to chide
on the verge of tears
I swallow your fears
why do they taste so fake to me?
you take in a breath
it hangs in your chest
it could be your last
but I let it pass
and you take another
your now smoothering me with affection
I try to reject and
I watch the sunrise and the moon set
and find it so easy to regret
ElenaElena followed me home
from work one night
and stayed for tea and eggs,
and all that minimum wage
and wars between the sheets
She said she was a goddess,
daughter of a carpenter
with her long red, red hair
and eyes as warm as hazel nuts
on Christmas morning.
Her hands spoke braille
across my back
and made the silence
of Sunday into a prophecy.
She left one October
just like she said she would
when the fireflies
had turned their wings to ash.
And I found revelation
in red, red wine
and cheap red, red fabric
that came off in my hands
there's something fatal about coughing up verse.i got written up for writing poetry on the desks
i don't think they liked the language i used
when i wrote how my heart was beating
like headboards against the walls of people fucking
at 3 am to the sounds of joy division
whenever you read me paintings at dawn.
they were going to send me to the counselor,
but i said my therapist probably wouldn't like that,
so they just let me go.
but this saturday, when i'm cleaning lives off of every desk in school,
i'll just be thinking how much i'd rather be sitting on your roof
and laughing when we argue about rimbaud
and sighing as we start to die.
WineHead on a patisserie table
with a wine-scented napkin
that I scrawled your name all over
in the hopes it might necromance
or just romance you
to this place, at this time,
so we could be together again
and although the guitarist knows
that I'm broken beyond blue
I keep reaching for the bottle
in the hopes it might recreate
or just replicate
short history of the universe(what it's like is anne sexton quoting van gogh about sometimes having a terrible need for religion)
A lake slams into a bus and a city is unborn.
Enter an ocean of fog and then desert after desert stacked above the hills.
Then you get drunk as fuck near the tumbling skyline,
and this god damned room burns like prayer in your chest.
Then many missing scientists reappear in your brittle beach,
and your satellites in relapse all bending,
and what it's like is some kind of disaster, honestly;
the arms and the aerosol and the linen and the light.
And the rumble forwarding the sovereign wreck saying
survive yourself like you've survived me;
saying the game-changing theory was that everything is always moving,
and same for the carousal shadow bleeding through the mountain in your dream,
same for your silence and the sudden red rain of witnesses.
And then what unconquerable continents,
what strange forecast occupied via gate via wind and wave-
multitudes of sick yellow branch
to the ghosts with you, my deari came not to be kissed,
or to have myself cradled
in the curve of a throat,
but to be broken,
to be diminished
by your lack of affection
& over indulgence of sexualization.
uneducated in your intent,
found myself left entirely whole
& incapable of the fury
i had sought to sow between the
ridges of my aching ribs.
the polar opposite of translucencycradled in the echo
of a cloudburst,
the earth curls invisible fingers
about my achilles' tendon
she cries that i am not
intended for the clouds,
that my mind must not wander
between their susurrous concaves
furious with her insistence,
untether myself from the soft,
diaphonous comfort of the heavens
down into the weight of gravity.
listless green blades welcome my soles,
stimulating a tickle,
a sneeze; i never have done well
she is calling for me,
soft-tongued and crisp in her
& i am sorely tempted
i am not for the soil.
she becomes my inhale;
my alveoli shudder
beneath her force--
i am not for the air, either.
i stand beneath her onslaught
until she tires,
her molten heart beating beneath my toes;
unable to woo me with her facets,
cloaking me in one last attempt,
a final shadow.
my pores bloom
& i r
muddy waterthe sun rises late now. or hardly ever.
or belligerent carmine on the underbellies of plants.
a shot of sleep to the head, a boxing glove punch.
the metaphorical rooster crows with the awful clamour of its lonely breath.
the thing is, i can substitute the body.
the thing is, the slit
is a fantastic shade of orange
i saw god but he says you still need to get a fucking job
the thing is, i am bathtub water and rotten leaves.
and the taste of power on the morning wind,
a wet newspaper
with the headlines of a presidential divorce.
there is power in the young eagle
hissing at passersby from its trashcan throne.
i know one thing:
I'm too poor to feel so middle class.My teeth still ache from the dentist,
but it doesn’t stop me from nibbling
the cheese danish I bought at Kroger
this morning, warmed by thirty
seconds in the microwave. My mug
of hot chocolate is too big, and I
drink it all. The washer is on its last
cycle; the cat is purring at my feet.
Netflix is background noise
to clacking keys, typing a transcript
of middle class morning that I’ll later
call a poem or a turning point,
wondering when I became such an adult.