I’ve joined the ranks of the black and the blue,

I thought I could make it through without being pierced by the eyes of the wolves.

I watched them claim their kills, lining them up and marking them down.

One by one my friends fell around me and still,

I thought I could make it through.

It is hard to pass a sheep’s skin for the mane of a lion.

I’m calling out the names of my friends,

as if calling cards could stop time.

Sometimes

While I watch rainwater pool on these windows I remember that first night,

The Northern Skies split open and we let our hearts drain out with them.

A girl, with her heart in her hands, and boy with his locked deep inside a steel cage,

and another somewhere in between. She breathed life into him, as her heartbeats echoed from his metallic walls,

and I got to see a little bit of magic.

Sometimes

The only cure to crippling loneliness is found in the shared exhales of two people, so beaten, they swear,

they could only be fragments of glass inside automated bodies.

Where is the switch that could turn off some apathy for the rest of the night?

At least the stillness of the lake at our feet knows how to speak to the stillness of our souls.

I still have not found that switch, but I promised my love to you, and that’ll pull me through.

Sometimes

Two people really are the same.

How we ended up colliding with one another, I’ll never truly remember.

If I were asked when I knew I love you more than I could describe, all I could say was always.

Such is the way with space and time.

Thank you so much for what you have given me.

Sometimes

The world works through showing glimmers of half-truths.

I watched you leaving, and I breathed in the emptiness of a hole so big.

At the time I had no way of knowing the wolves would soon chase me out as well.

Instead I rolled the dye, and took more chances on my own life. Even when we finally

were alone and away, when I looked in your eyes all I saw were reflections of sharp fangs and

yellow glares where I used to find love.

I still can’t blame you for being so scared you believe the fangs were your own,

and when I finally did give you my heart you took it in your sheep’s mouth and ran while I stayed silent, watching.

Sometimes

The moon glows from above,

Her halo shimmering faintly as a crown. She reminds me I am not alone, and I never will be.

Somewhere I learned to love right, and so did you, though we both forget.

How could the sun and the moon allow life if not for their love?

As long as the skies are above the ground we will have them to guide us.

Sometimes

The world can be a bitch. It can thrust its arms places it does not belong,

only to be dealt with by a bit of narcissism.

Why does the world fuck with us? Because we are strong.

Why are we strong? Because the world fucked with us.

Beyond that, not much sense can be made, but when crying on the bathroom floor,

during a school dance your arms were the only things that did make sense.

Sometimes

Eating hashbrowns and chasing the sunset are as close to brothers as one can get in this life.

Riding the whip and changing the songs to what we want, without touching the radio.

Sometimes, too, demon possession can take on the form of sibling rivalry.

I’m just glad we’re all alright.

Take care of yourself, because you are the only younger/bigger brother I’ve got.

Sometimes

More things need to happen before others can begin.

After fighting for our place for too long I had to leave again.

I hope you know how much I care about and respect you.

I guess, sometimes, being the first ones to leave really means being the first to figure it out.

And we will.

Sometimes

All people really need is a little more love.

The scariest of queens can be the gentlest of friends if allowed.

I have watched you go through one of the most beautiful changes I have yet to see.

Thank you so much for all of your help, I literally would not have made it without you.

If there is anything I have left you with, I hope it is the fact that people and things can change.

I cannot wait to be doing work with your highness once again.

Sometimes

The revolution takes place in cups of coffee shared over cheap paper plates.

The secret revolt plotted out amongst the haze of smoke, only to return

to nothing on the shared exhalation. When will we sing with one voice?

When will our hearts and minds turn towards the same problem, so the even if

we cannot reach a conclusion we can at least hold one another in mutual confusion?

If the price we pay for excessive individuality is the death of the collective, when will we realize what that death truly means?

When the smoke has settled from the tip of a chrome gun, will the twisted smile break?

Or will the separation of self and other have grown too extreme already? It was self-defense, I was scared, they wanted my power. Her body falls to the ground, taking with it any opportunity for continuation. They were the last two. The only parts of his claims that holds legitimacy was that fear killed one of them.

Sometimes good things come to an end.

The sounds of birds chirping fill the ears of all who listen.

That is the way of the world;

if you pay attention the songs are always there for you to hear.

The fool knows more than either King or Queen,

it is only by birth-right that they find themselves always being laughed at.

So instead, they laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Royalty only knows one world, and they call it theirs.

The fool knows of more than a thousand worlds;

all existing, side-by-side, in the same time and the same space.

They know no world can be owned by a person.

This is what frees them from the never-ending suffering

of balances of domination and conquest which rules over Royalty.

Though Kings and Queens believe themselves to own this or that,

they are really owned by everything.

Rain falls equally on a pasture

as it does on a palace:

One provides shelter,

the other life.

The busy goings-on of the castle holds no weight on

cattle in a field; only on their death.

So why are royalty the ones who are worshiped and obeyed?

Though the court laughs at the fool,

the fool laughs to themselves with the knowledge that

they can purchase their own freedom without losing a cent.

For a King or Queen to find their freedom

they would have to lose everything.

Upon exiting the palace the fool lets out a final laugh:

the sun sees everyone the same,

and would light on everyone’s skin equally, with radiance;

if only the royals would leave the dark, damp emptiness of their throne rooms.

Standing at the water’s edge

You were here with me so long ago.

Now I can only see you when my eyes are closed.

Rain breaks through the steely surface

And smoke leaves your mouth.

It was your third that day, when you looked at me

and said, “Where else can we go?”

We stole a few seconds to ourselves that day

and you seemed so content when we had to say goodbye.

If I could have held your hand for a lifetime,

I would have.

On top of an abandoned table rests a crane,

made of folded coffee receipts

and pieces of napkins ripped into

the shapes of countries litter the floor

where we first learned the

secret songs of each others spirit.

If our story carries on across the oceans,

will it be told as hearts on fire torn apart by time,

or as the synthesis of souls folding together?

You have been through much before,

I see it in the way your eyes won’t meet mine.

In a dirt-floored room I was struck

for the first time with a question.

Am I a puzzle piece kept separate until it is time to play my part

in your larger picture?

Or did we meet so we could learn together

that none of us have our own square stories,

and none of us are truly waiting for a single missing piece?

Sometimes I dream about the music you could have made.

It’s as beautiful as you are when I close my eyes

and feel the hand you pulled away

holding mine, unafraid and content at last.

Wouldn’t that memory have been sweeter than a love

kept secret and played out in quick glances up from the ground?

I collected the shredded pieces of my heart

and taped them back together one night,

so we could learn to love,

complete and whole.

But the next day you kissed me,

goodbye.

All I was left with were the edges you touched,

and a feeling that even if our pieces don’t fit perfectly

we could at least fold together

into something beautiful and new to us both.

When will we learn that sometimes our love is a demon, and that sometimes a demon can love?

If I promise not to hurt you, will you look at me in my eyes?

If I hold your hand, will you accept the touch beneath our skins?

There is a kingdom under the outer shells of our bodies and I am here,

to explore the intricate design of your soul.

If you let me I will guide you through the fallen out cities and refugee camps where I found comfort from the encroachments placed in me by those who became so lost in love that the only escape path was through pressing a button

which held at bay the inevitable self-destruction of a system far past max-capacity.

The radiation of past loves glow from within to without and unfold a series of

emergency tactics and counter-strikes until the once great city built in me, for me,

lay in decrepit ruins crumbling around me.

I have cleared away everything I could, but how can one clear away what they cannot see?

The depths of my soul ring with an electronic babble of times past, until I discover that like most uncomfortable noise, this one too slowly fades away.

Then you entered.

I watched you curiously looking through the bombed out boutique windows,

stopping at the now empty museums commemorated in the honor of those who have now left.

In your skin too I see the afterglow of someone infected with the twisted love we are told to feel.

You turned the corner and there arrived at the town square I once held court at.

You looked up and saw me, and our souls began the dangerous dance we have been taught.

Infantry, navy, bombardiers, cavalry will be called in a sacrificial onslaught labelled self-defense.

Then, right before the lines are drawn, you close your eyes.

What happened to the battle?

The war?

I was never a fan of initiating conflict, but now what?

In the silence, a footstep is heard.

My eyes shut too.

Another footstep.

Another.

Have I ever known the feeling of another soul against mine?

How do you love someone when they are afraid?

Love is not about change it is about acceptance.

I accept you for all that you are and I will promise to never look only at who you are in my mind,

but to constantly look back into your eyes to see the gentle smile, the warm comfort, you.

Yet at times when I look up, all I can see is you running, running, running away.

Your hand presses into my own, but the love is lost in the mazes of your own soul and I

am so tired of chasing my way through labyrinths of heart, mind, and body without so much

as a turning glance of recognition.

I have slain my demons, mapped out the walls of my own mind, and now have come out the other end ready to feel the touch and love of a familiar form.

My heart is in your hands.

Are you ready to open your eyes?