Liquid burns
as does smoke
and both share the same portal
both the same host
this liquid that burns
does not wash away the ash
that also burns
their host, how she croaks
and liquid burns as much
going down
as she does
coming back up
but not ash, who sticks
soundly to her host
loyal only to the tender pink flesh
of both lungs
and whiskey, she coats her masters
insides
as a freshly painted wall
And sometimes they converse
a friendship of
cotton-tasting tobacco,
and bittersweet alcohol
the best kind of pain
self inflicted
unwilling
regretful
but oh, how these twice-given agonies
go together so well
with their host, their slave
who is also their master
but never completely
for control between these three
must be separated by four
ash, whiskey, the host, and the choice

some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
my
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
there'll always be mony and ****** and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry.

You dug your claws into my skin
Your teeth glinted with blood
and I couldn't help the fear that crept from my belly
in a shockwave
and strung its way into my heart
You lean over my shivering, bleeding body, and you smile
isn't it a beautiful sight, the broken pieces of someone else?
And like the fear, I can't help but feel weak
beneath your hulking figure
your wide smile
your laugh
even your eyes
You are the perfect predator
and everything about you draws me in
and spits me out
You rip through my skin like a woodchipper
I scream at the top of my lungs
until the pain is drowned out by my cries
agony is often described as unbearably painful
I think it is just a little more than that
and it would sum up perfectly fine
if you only described it as torture
if you only described it as something in multitude
for agony as one is agony as for many
and it is always different
and this, this is different
My agony, piercing through me in sharp pinpoints, numbing me at the edges
that is my agony
and you are the criminal
inflicting it upon me

my                                                 heart?                           mind
    

                                           mind
    is
                               P L E A S E                                           never
      
              silent

                                                 please                               D O N ' T
help
                             me                    
                                                               I
        am                                                                 lost

                                  gone
where                                                                       G O


                                            have
you
                                                                         gone

gone                          gone
                                                                                                   gone
                                                      P L E A S E
try
                                                    to

                   find                                                                me


I                                                          can't

                 see                                                                    it

                                     is
dark                                                    D O N ' T        


help                                           help                                     help


                       my                                         thoughts


are                                                      too
                    G O



              scattered                                                      to
                    

          
                                       understand


I'm                                                                 t i r e d

                     can't  
                                                           sleep
  

               please                                
                                              don't


                              go                                               go  



don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't don't

                                                  don't

P L E A S E D O N ' T G O P L E A S E D O N ' T G O P L E A S E D O N ' T G O P L E A S E D O N ' T G O P L E A S E D O N ' T G O P L E A S E  D O N ' T GO P L E A S E D O N ' T G O P L E A S E D O N 'T GO P L E A S E D O N 'T G O P L E A S E D O N ' T G O

Anonymous, my person
invisible to the naked iris
but how my vision focuses in
on that singular word
at the bottom of the page
almost more bewildering
than the words at the beginning
how I long to know your name
that we could speak
and perhaps I would then understand
why these words were made
and just how much you meant them
and just how good it felt to make them
oh, Anonymous, my lover
I read your works with a passion
for while I may never know your name
I know these words by heart

Hell's teeth, biting and nipping at my ankles in a teasing,
sensual way
They tickle the sensitive skin around my neck,
leaving bruises in the shape of bite marks
Oh, God, how they make me squirm

Hell's tongue, swirling passionately with my own,
a sweet taste just on the edge of bliss
It darts forward, like a predator,
before moving back and to the side, in a soft, heated dance
Oh, God, how it makes me groan

Hell's hands, holding me up before I have a chance
to melt under their pleasure-bringing caresses
Touching me and rearranging me in ways too sinfully delicious
to say aloud
Oh, God, how they make me scream

Hell's eyes, drawing me in
and drowning me in a heated pool of desire
Roaming up and down my body as though I was the most
beautiful, sensual thing on Earth, above, and below
Oh, God, how they make me feel