Sugar, Poison, and Everything in Between

Picture perfect reflections or reinvented pasts
There are no scars to prove the tales I have to tell
Catch me if you can, I’m faster than I look
are you even looking?

Like a conflagration I’ll consume
The coppice shielding your fancy
Exposing you
For all you’re going to be worth
And all you’re made of
Trembling naked
In a sea of tears

Aren’t I beautiful?
Is this what you wanted?
Touch me and sink slowly into forgetfulness
Just say stop
And I’ll consume you as well.

Wishing on Corpses

He says to bless the meek with gentle whispers and compassionate hearts;

plague the lonely with sharp words and stone cold stares.

Forsaken are the meek when lonely,

For they cut open their chests with introspection.

Countless pennies are wasted on prayers

I say bless those who created the wishing well;

letting us believe we could buy ourselves a new hope.

Tie them up and throw them in.
The water will cure the emptiness of their lungs and a coin will rest beneath their tongues to open the gates of a new home.

when the world was sleeping


This is the moment we didn't realize was worth waiting for;
Seconds and minutes slow to the touch

You breathe me in

And amidst confusion

There is clarity

“I Am The King of Market Street”

7:49, Tuesday morning.

This red light only stops me for a while.

To my right, the shops still sleep

Dreaming of new sidewalks and awnings made of silver and gold.

A lone man pushes himself against traffic

He touches every tree jammed into the slowly warming concrete

accurate and smooth

With brief, gentle strokes

Behind glasses his eyes glare forward, lost in thought

His feet guiding him

As if he’s been here before.

"untitled”

while butterflies were sleeping in chrysalis, the moths of my stomach ate away at their wings. sometimes when I fall too fast, the rattling carcasses vaguely resemble excitement.

…and there are no street lights.

Lighten up on the gas; there’s no rush to get home. Up ahead lay the death of a season blanketed under a tree lined horizon. Blood shot caffeinated eyes claw at surrounding silhouettes; mortarboards and bullets. I feign sleep when all is silent. It’s better than waking; better than reliving each recycled day anew.

Advice comes from tongues not afflicted with the silence of failure. Despite how much it hurts to admit defeat; I will rise above and no longer renege on my future. Despite how much it pains me to acknowledge this hardship is my own design, I must press on.

“Precious Moments”

The doors open and
Like a suicide jumper with second thoughts halfway down,
There is no turning back.
You pulled me from the shelf of trophies and memories
To paint over the glitter on my cheek with tears.
I’m porcelain.
A figurine.
The souvenir of your graduation summer,
Posed with arms outstretched and dressed in pastel.
Perhaps it wasn’t your intention to make me
A piece in your collection
Or to let me slip through clumsy fingers,
But the ground is rushing up to meet me;
To scatter me across an empty room.
You keep your hands at your side
Motionless
As I fall.

“So, This Is What It’s Like To Work in a Morgue”

Beautiful, It is my job to find answers.
Forgive my incision
I’m only after your vocal chords.
No longer an object of affection,
But the subject of dissection;
Cadaver, you’re dead to me.

All that’s left is the four

So maybe I’ll pick up the phone and call tomorrow.
<>I’ll say something witty after you realize who I am; something forgettable. the conversations of yesterday will never happen again unless we have nothing else to talk about. I’ll think of responses better than what fell from my mouth 3 years ago. you’ll think I’m greater than before and you’ll smile baring your teeth.
I’ll die a little inside and realize that my life is a circle drawn on black paper in my own blood. You’ll just leave me heartless; swallowing my thoughts in waves of nausea and euphoria. You always had a way of rendering me spineless in your palette; the combinations of rage and confusion to smear across my face effortlessly. I remember the way your hands would caress my self doubt and mold my days. Timid compassion transfigured to a dagger in my back, the crowning jewel of your masterpiece.

You gave me the best five seconds of my life when you smiled at me, your silence cast me to the gallows; but I swung with the best of them, didn’t I? Hang the portrait of my story upon your wall with a coffin shaped trophy box of countless innocent letters. I’ll rest inside the ink and paper; a blend of cologne, copper and ash that chokes your senses when reminisced upon; yet you always said we’d look back and laugh, I just didn’t that it’d be this hard.

“a maiden voyage”


Disrobe, close your eyes and turn your back to me.
all trepidation is black and tattooed beneath your skin with ironic permanence.
With these words I can paint the victim you picture yourself to be:
Fair maiden fallen prey to consequence.
She stares out castle windows
Waiting for nothing.
Wanting nothing,
But obscurity.
Let down your hair so that I might begin this uphill battle
And plummet to epiphany:

Neither of us belong here;
Neither of us belong to each other,
Neither of us belong with each other.
Compromise is symptom of loneliness,
Comfort is a result of compromise,
Love is the aftermath of comfort,
We are fools.
We are afraid of ourselves.
We never sit in silence.
And now, we will never have the chance to.
this is a valediction;
farewell to your indecision.

Zippered, Buttoned and Ready for the Cold.

I look at you tight lipped and torn inside.
Could i be him
if i initiate the discourse?
Could i be him,
the man you say does not exist?
I'll give you the answers
in quick glances re-directed to the ceiling.

Your hair is a shade darker than sunsets lovers watch before their emotions fade
Your clothes caress every curve like a lover who only pays attention when another man is watching.
I'll stay tight lipped and dead inside.
You'll stay another pretty faced mannequin
behind sound proof glass.

Astral Picket Line

It's darker than the barrel of a gun out here.
We finally did it:
Our incessant wishing and pleading has read like an eviction notice.
First the Gods
And now the stars
How will we ever make it home?

Lets March on City Hall

“this is your captain speaking, we’re all going to die.”

they told me I was playing with fire and I’d be sorry.

well, I proved them all wrong because she was the bullet of a loaded gun

aimed straight at the back of my head.

The last thing I remember is nothing at all

Lodged in my skull with the velocity of a runaway train

Painting the walls with every thought prior to her arrival

They told me to just walk away

I think I’ll let my synapses trigger the final erratic movement

In an opposite direction

Auto-pilot on.

Test Post

“Autumn In July: A Summer’s Eulogy”

Today, summer lay down its arms.

A white flag

Streaming alongside vibrant shades of green

Will soon find itself

Buried in fallen leaves.

When summer sighs its last breath

And breathes life into several months of decay

We will be powerless

Today, we remember you

With hopes that we never forget

The year autumn brought the inevitable too soon