When you wake,
the clouds of your foggy head shall part.

My semblance of what I could be,
my treasure of all,
the ghost in my shell.

In comfort,
feathers drop like dew to your skin,
mocha, gold, soft and hairless.

My flower blooms for you,
in this bed of weeds.

When my inspiration is gone,
there is still always you.

I was thinking about
your phantom body pressed warmly cool against me,

and I thought of...

tasting your harmony breath,
tracing fingertips across your vapour soft belly skin,
tickling rings around the small of your horizon bending small-of-back, grasping your silk as *** ***,
swallowing your sweet sticky blooming sugar flower.

and then...

*******
              grabbing
                              choking
                                            spanking
                                                             scratching
                                                                            moaning
                                                             slapping
                                                   biting
                                   pinching
                screaming
*******

a cleansing storm

                       all
   over
             you.

You are not beautiful
because your hair is something love is made of.
You are not beautiful
because your eyes are brighter than ***** of hydrogen.
You are not beautiful
because you stand tall, stand strong (stronger than me).
You are not beautiful
because of the endless secret midnight reasons only I know.
You are not beautiful
because you survived assassination attempts.
You are not beautiful
because you bend, but have not broken.
You are not beautiful
because of the lust you inspire in every man that sees you.
You are not beautiful
because of the way our son shines in your light.

You are beautiful,
because you are brilliant...
because you give me life...
because you are creation's sigh...
because you are the taste upon my tongue...
because you are the whisper on my every word...
because you are the blood that caresses my every beat...

You are beautiful,
Holly,
because you are my Heroine.

I wrote your name
onto my skin
with the permanent marker
of a razor.

And when you left...

I washed it away
from my body
with the cleansing power
of a blowtorch.

All spun out like the chaff,
the fire breathing drags on,
clever little jots and tittles thrown in anger.

But nothing good ends well,
as the saying went.

I never wanted anything
but your happiness,
and I will not reciprocate the attacks.

I am not like the others,
and you know it.

There were always words I could have said.
I could've danced right off your edge, World.
Instead,
I stared into the Star's direction (hypnotized) for nearly a decade,
and stumbled, blind, off your edge, World.

This aircraft is in flames.
The fuselage, broken.
My fingernails, bent.
My knuckles, white.
My parachute, missing.
My life,
flashing before my blind eyes.

How the warm water seeps over your skin
in a bath that is too cold as it slowly pours into the water,
How the purr of a cat sometimes hits that cracking note
as it sits, legless, on your lap in Winter,
How a man can feel like a child again
when a woman undresses,
How I can feel so certain,
your bared back against my naked chest.

Just like a dream that seems a lifetime,
is often only a few seconds in real-time,
you passed before my mind and heart
making eight years seem like an instant.

Now I am
waking
wondering
if you were real.

Now I am
trying to get up from
the bed that we made
the bed that you sleep on now
rub your sleep out of my eyes
see again
the things that are real.

I am swelling amongst the waves
violet petals crash hard about,
dash me onto hard dreams.

Every stance is futile here,
mouths opening to receive me,
knife-edges awaiting my blood.

I have so rescue,
and so I think to you.

I've only got so much left
and no ones listens to me not screaming for what I want,
my mouth full of feathers and blood,
weakened to the state of living past the point of dying,
to the point of numbness
where I can cut this skin like construction paper,
stretch it over love you never had
and find something that can carry me forward
into somewhere I can finally rest.

I want you, back of my throat,
past the lips, parted so willingly
around your shaft,
hard and firm.

Let me gag like a *****,
saliva dripping,
I'll be the best *****
who has ever ****** you.

Reach forward, caress you in my hands,
staring up with eyes full of fear
and hope
and relief.

*** for me, baby,
***.

Empty my ******* head out
in one great last blast of passion.

I've been drowning under your weight
too long
in stances of submission
weakened by your laugh,
ceaseless.

Watch my lightning bugs sink
into death, let them burn
out and collapse these lungs
into delicate origami butterflies
like the fragile hatred
I feel for you.

My bones reach you too late.
Would
excuses heard as lies
lead our ghosts into
their graves?

My skin soaks you too soon.
Would
heart-break lived as death
give my life a way
into my tomb?

My loyalty ***** your face.
Could
prayers answered in vain
let my life ever
escape itself?

I feel like you are the only real thing I've had.
I feel you in my heart.
I think about your taste, your scent.
I think about you.

I think of you as a child to me.
I think about you all the time.
I think about my seed pumping into you, your *** up, my feet planted forward
(you know the position)
I think about you.

I think about your smile.
I think about that giggle.
I think about your eyes rolling back as you ***.
I think about you.
I think about you.
I think about you.

All the things, unsaid.
The thoughts, unsaid
behind a blue light lcd
staring into the white space
I do not fill with the:

I miss you so much and it hurts
I so very much enjoyed our time together
And maybe I'm over emotional
And maybe my vision is blurred
But I hurt when you aren't here
And I hate this machine
I've become.

And I worry she tore all my veins out
replaced them with wires, unfeelingly
pumping signals to this lead heart,
just gears and steam.

I am a machine, not a man.
I am efficient
I am strong
I am unfeeling
And I destroy everything
I touch.

Sometimes
I feel spread so thin,
like a man who desperately searches for his home,
and suddenly realizes
he is a vagabond,
and has none...

This is dedicated
to the dead words
deleted.

If you were a worm,
I'd spend my days in dirt
letting you run through my fingers
along my gentle hands.

If you were a worm,
I'd spend my money on earth
rich, black, loose
where you could live.

But you are not a worm.
You are a human being.
And as a human is
infinitely more complex,
so is my love,
infinitely exponential.

Squeeze the bone until the chalk runs dry
escaping into your body
unwound like chalk
on a whiteboard.

Lust should only allow so much;
but you find places, cracks in this
brittle sidewalk, where
you grow through
green,
like grass.

I am getting closer,
princess.

miles where I think about you
feet where I see you
inches where I smell you
millimeters where I breathe you
contact where I feel your skin
(hair standing on end)
inside you
(fingers, tongue, ****)
filling you with my ***
where we are whole,
and one.

Well she lives, a life allowed
permitted apostrophes
clinging to the nerve endings
in my mind.

Where are you, suddenly,
a cry from the night.

the trunk, withered
the leaves, fallen
the Winter, dark

And as I sat there, in the midday
That tree like family skeletal
My hope was present
My hope was bright
My hope was you.

Let me wreck you,
bind you across the world
in hunger wrest
control away for you.

Scalpel through
the ample blue
ravages a belly
never true.

When right is lost
a cashmere sentence
is **** in mouth
all that's left to us?

I have:
coconut lips
wrist bindings
finger marks
hand prints
tongue on skin
palm on ***
nails on throat
stubble on neck nape
gentle caress
tender heart
shivering words
rough chin on inside of thighs,
soft,
wet.

Do you have:
lip to gently bite
hips to trace with feathers
collar-bone handles
eyes to drown in
body to wrap around
legs to intertwine
voice to whisper
scars to lick
mouth to breathe into
and hair to hold like a leash, until
it becomes release,
collapse,
lost breath,
speechless,
rocked to sleep?

My heart cost less than I expected.
You spent every cent of it.
You borrowed against its little value,
ruined my ability
to ever lend it again.

Tied to furniture
in near-weeping posture:
lust can always bring you here,
carried in its spider-cradle arms,
eager for my marks
across your hidden spots.

I am your ***** little secret,
*****.

I have erased my name,
in shadows lurk,
behind barely closed curtains,
watched by Gideon Bibles,
hazed in blue television light,

your only sound,
barely abled gasps of,
"Yes, Daddy...please, Sir.
Yes, Daddy...hurt me more."

Tied down,
bruised,
bitten,
opened,
all your secrets revealed,

collapse
into the pool of *******,
muddle your words just enough
smile your bottom lip,
cutting against your teeth.

I have won the respect of the princess,
shown her the strength she has,
awoken her mind.

My reward is the ownership of her whorish body.

Sparrows burst from my head
like a broken breeze
an explosion of feathers
black and blonde,
and I can't hold your memory
as much as I'd like.

My churning gut,
full of sour milk,
running like a river,
full of playing children,
and chemicals.

And like the pointless energy
of these words,
my fists crack pointlessly
against the depth
of a black-water ocean,
filled with you.

I won't even speak to you today,
I know it.

And I want it to be your fault,
but I feel it's mine.

Her words
bring me to earthquakes,
if I had held someone before
I no longer recall.

I am lain bare,
barely aware
of these binary borders
holding me back.

Her body curves like flowers,
I have bent backwards
on numbing fingertips,
and still she sits,
a spell
possessing my soul.

I've got so much for you,

(fingers that play twister with yours,

stencils carving your name just above your skin just
barely brushing baby hair around
your navel,

barely breathed words of love,

soft sandpaper stubble to drag out goose fleshed neck nape
as it reaches up to reach my chin,

slightly parted lips grazing yours and then a sudden
gasp of teeth into your skin,

waking wrapped around you in a moment I can make feel
more than a mere instant but like it would never end,

as the sun sneaks its way into the blinds
reflecting soft shadows off of your every angle,
and the power to
take
your
breath
away.)

if you'd only accept it...if you'd only accept it.

Clamp onto my weakness,
precious.
Where did you run to,
holiness?

Your everything
equaled torn ligature,
some jaw-grinding equation
where I sent prayers,
unanswered.

Strip me naked,
break my bones,
open your heart,
and breathe in the butterflies.

I'm so close to slipping away
burning life into irradiated ash,
slipping beneath the waves,
and escaping.

Baby, let me break.
Make me happy,
lonely, aching to
love.

Able only
to hate.

You were railroad track marks
the spots you placed
up and down like pinhole cigarette stains
all across my breaking heart.

You were an escape artist act
up in the sky
like memories of sharp objects
drawn
across our skin.

They say people cut themselves
to feel some control,
but they are wrong.
We opened skin
to make sure
we were still human.

I am grocery bags,
carried through your rain,
now split at their soggy bottoms
spilling what you filled me with
(fresh produce, water, sustenance)
all over the ground
like rotten, polluted, abandoned
trash.

I'm not the power they say I am.
Lost and curdling in my corner,
a broken, brittle man,
shaking in the recesses,
corners in which a
faucet drips blood.

So break, baby, and run.

I am a symbol of death,
and my name is rot.

The lens is out of focus,
for the first time,
the lens is out of focus.

This mixture of metol and phenidone is making
the edges show
clearer.

So hold me down,
run your fingers across me,
and I'll slide right into focus.

Earth risks freezing for lack of sunshine at Star's absence
green blades of grass turn brown
fallow ground, brown soil hardens
invaded with spiderwebs of white frost
the animals, frozen in place
the world - a tomb
there is no warmth without the world's
shining orb

the Moon is lonely, no light
to reflect
to hold it
to warm it

She is the One, the one and lonely Star
Burning bright
and like the Sun
it doesn't matter how far her orbit takes her -

the Moon still reaches for the light, his hero...
feels the warm photons
to reflect
to hold it
to warm it

until She spins back to Him.

Words no longer have meaning.
I strip them of their false hope,
reaching spaces in between,
letters like notes in a song,
between which, the truth
is told.

You couldn't pry this void from me.
I grasp onto it like a greedy child,
sloppy and heady from
your soury-sweet mother's-milk,
drunk like you never were
from my ***.

If I poured myself out onto you
like milk from a glass jug
would the little droplets
sour and stain your love?

Wake up, heart.
Gently rise, open those eyes and look
at what you could have.

**** the sadness from your bones,
lick the moist marrow clean.
Explode like dust from the Sun,
rain down into my cavernous chest,
spread life back like the flowers that bloom.

Let me die at your feet,
born again into something luminous.

I was counting the number
of your flaws for the first time,
trying to find an excuse,
trying to find some armor,
trying to find a modicum of control,

(letting go is always
easier
than being let go)

I was struck dumb by futility.

I was counting the number
of your flaws for the first time,
and for the first time learned,
that zero is a number.

I can take you from a minor key,
to a major key.
A bow drawn across your
strings of hair.
The fingers delicately firm, push against me,
that I may push into you.

I wear you like a weapon,
I bring death to every fear inside my gut.

I am a vase,
an Egyptian glass jug that will take every drop I can - careful
for I may overflow,
and we may drown,
smiling shaking *******
squirming stained-glass synchronicity.

I'm sorry
I can't field the answers to questions
I won't relapse into.

My heart is hurting,
and I can't stop it.
I want to feel again, so badly,
but it's dead.

The muscle is not alive.

Just like my writing,
this boy isn't real.

A mascara face print, where those tracks of teared-makeup
once ran across your face,
now dormant upon the bathroom stall wall like the print of a mushroom,
forever etched into that Formica board separating defecators from one another
all day long;
save the absent omnipresent five-minute stands that occur as ours did –
**** ******* against a fragile toilet partition as your recurring image
the face mashed against a solid substance,
standing behind you and convincing you of the ***** ***** that you are;

you already know that...but it feels so good to be persuaded this way.

Within
without
within
nothing like a truck load of pain to ease your reservations.

The sky rains feathers onto your wrists tied down,
your blind eyes nervous,
excitedly worried in the best way.

I am the gentlest man you could know.

I am the roughest man you could know.

In those little contrasts,
wax paper and lace,
milk and alcohol,
cigarettes and oxygen tanks exploding like your body,
when I devour you.

Your wry smile,
smirk the moisture away
on the back of you hand,
drawn across your lips.

Bring me to my knees,
that I may look you eye-to-eye.

I would dig deep:

past the

sun-dress
knee-highs
*******

to the

flesh
scars
secrets

bring back the

joy
confidence
excitement

protect them with my

heart
words and
deeds.

"And every time he woke up in the coldest sweat
Scrawled to the bone with her nails
was the promise that she wouldn't let go..." ~ "Momento Mori" by Antemasque*

I was dreaming
about you
and realized
I haven't dreamed
about her
in weeks.

Sunspots and stutters singled out in the paradox of oil,
dripping like *** I do not want.
Curse my name, break me apart
leave me (hear).
*******.

Help me crawl to you,
who are you?
*******.

Drape me in your comfort, fingers in my hair,
my baby screams, hold your hand on my head,
cradle me in your peace,
death.

Wipe the tears from these sun-burnt cheeks.
This ******* temple shattered,
crushed me beneath it,
crippled my ability to breathe.
Pray for me.
*******.

These brittle teeth are covered in germs.
Let me inside you where I turn my sins over to you.
Who are you?
*******.

I would skin my bones,
cover them in tar,
bathe in alcohol,
light me aflame.
Love me. Hate me.
I do.
*******.

Wearing my words, she holdse far.
Fist aflame against her men,
as she stands in fingers and teeth
and ribs breaking skull.

But, oh...

How could less be more when
all that she has ever wanted
is writing this for her?

But oh...

If she only knew
all I've gone through,
skies of red,
and dreams of blue.

But oh...

In refrain like a sad song
that tears fall gently from,
is all that this boy has
for the night.

And so I beat my fists,
aflame,
on my pillow
praying my hair
catches fire.

I would spread my life wide open
if only you'd come
fill this bed,
my empty head,
and too- full heart,
force me back to
sleeping lengthwise.

I am writing words because speech is often too much. Writing to a black haired girl I have dreamt of, damage done. Aloe shatters in an explosion of feathers, lost out in between my tears. My weakness is something I call a strength, what broke was tempered steel beneath her gaze, wide-eyed in love. The Mother Mori bends her back, back at me again and I enter her, conquered. Do you even read me? I've started moving from your well of gravity and am writing a story of my life with myself as my own unreliable narrator. Would I slide into you? When it's never been a problem, the lack of your insides wrapped around me suddenly becomes one. Butterflies flutter around the butter that has begun oozing from the wound you have made in me, like a sweetly scented rot, a gorgeous gangrenous gap in my skin, attracting flies. When speech becomes too much, I write. You brought me to life by reading me. When you don't read, this dies.