Your text here

it said

so i wrote how somewhere in all the 
capital letters
i lost my voice, 
ran hoarse and screaming
through the shadowed city
but couldn’t remember a whole lot of it,
got caught in a hailstorm, 
got caught in my head
for too many minutes.

i remember the hood of your car,
my veins all done up with butterflies
and i did my makeup
even though you were 
leaving, spent money on 
a new bracelet
just to make you think, 
and i said a lot of things i only 
halfway meant, and i meant a lot 
of things i should have probably 
said, but that 
wouldn’t have stopped us
from

anything.

i bowed my head to pray
when i noticed my dress had ripped across
the center, the palest of ivory 
beating through all that grey,
and i said why god
i wanted black bones
i wanted iridescent skin,
the only thing you got right is the 
ruby red of my bleeding,
but it still won’t take me 
(there’s no place like) 
home.

it still won’t 
(there’s no place to)
take me.

wooziness fading

eyes blink

and I curse my foolishness

Zendia's Dimensional Teashop

full of delightful garden fountains

is nowhere in sight.

was it one slight curvature more

or simply the unpredictability of

attempting to curve space?

I should have studied harder.

now alone

smack dab

on an abandoned mattress

without even a single cricket song

I examine my exit point.

the buildings are decaying

with dust in the windows,

aging signs,

all looks deserted.

deserted...

...such a minor error.

checking for radiation

I recall the oft repeated phrases

"Concentration

should always be

on destination.

Considering current

complications

lead to complications."

-Basics of Spatial Construction

the meter is clean

it's simply a ghost town

it seems the gardens will wait

as I walk to the nearest payphone

and take time to phone home.

vii.

"all i want is for you to be happy,"

you say

running your fingers through my hair

as my head rests

on your thighs

all i can do is smile

and know that i am luckier

than any rabbit's foot

we miss the sunset

but not the opportunity

to fall into each other's arms

while the gods aren't looking-

we collide and collapse

with our breathing

our movements are

violent

desperate

disjointed

yet perfectly in sync as our skins crash

and i hit your stomach

your chest

your neck

and your breast

fuck,

i am so in love

i.

sundays were always my suicide days

but i am in your arms

and content-

why die

when i am in heaven already?

you slide onto my waist

straddling warmth

passion

and my thighs

your lips graze my neck

butterfly wings beat across my collarbone-

i'm fucking flying-

gravity is just another entity we don't believe in

ii.

i come into your room

in the morning

and crawl into your arms

we move slowly

but we soon speed up as you carelessly climb on top of my chest and rest your head in the crook of my neck

keeping it warm with your

morning breath

there are so many things wrong with us,

the world,

and the weather

but everything feels so right

my god,

you look so beautiful

in the morning light

In the lonely hour

When silence speaks

There is an untold story

Brewing in his heart

It is black as ink

Yet it does not stain

It is red as blood

Yet it does not live

It is the mark of love

Tattooed on his chest

That beats with flagrant force

White as the Sun

When his eyes are open

The seas of chaos prevail

Yet chaos is absent

In that poet's mind

Every arrow

Can slay his heart

Yet none of them can kill him

For he is immortal

When he begins to write

Once in a while

When the lonely hour strikes

He floods his life

With absent emotions

He lets their toxin

Pollute his soul

So once in a while

He can feel what is like

To be alive

In the lonely hour

DA 2014

The lioness drowns in

rain that pours from heaven,

filling the cracked, dry ground

She raises her eyes before the

torrential downpour overtakes and

embraces her;

cold, wet death awaits

And she wonders...

"How is that a love story?"

I saw a girl once

Her face was passive

Sometimes frowning

Sometimes smiling

Her face was luminescent

as the moon, but there was

something odd about her

She was statue on Sunday

She was silence at prayer

I had to ask her name

But there was something

Technologic about this

Preventing her to rise her eyes

I couldn't understand

She was divine and all

She was poetic, but there

was something keeping her

eyes from looking at me

She was more like headache on Mondays

or final projects on Sundays

She had a plastic cage

with signals trapping her

essence in some kind of BRB

There she was crosslegged

My head hurting

Giving pulses

Every time she replied OK

The mythology inside her

disappeared in an instant

The poetry flew like sending

messages to a machine

That hates reply emails

Her eyes, demonic after all

Told me LOL "What you looking at?"

DA 2014