You are the chardonnay
on the top shelf.
Moonshine smiles,
let me stay awhile
and drunken sways
dare not break the bottle.

I take baby sips
worrying ***** gets me too drunk
too fast
too quick.

I get a taste of prohibition
and only you I think of.

You are top notch liquor
on the bottom shelf,
lowering your standards
so I can reach you.

You burn me in the best ways.

You are a drunkards dream,
and oh am I so happy
to have found
you.

I woke up to the sound
of moon on my skin
and velvet on my lips.

The scent of pine cones
will always
smell like
a memory I lost
long ago
of home.

I'm listening to you speak,
playing that voice on repeat,
breaking my bottles
on my teeth,

chattering smiles,
loneliness bites cold
down to the bone.
Warm it up with a grin,
so fake,

but they don't see it.


Good.

Why would I want them too?

He wears a coat of flowers,
suit and tie
complete
with thread
made of vines.

Buttons are stones
covered in mossy delight.

He is a rotting corpse in a field
made of flowers.
His presence mighty deceiving.

W a t c h     o u t,

He wanders the Earth.

He is a trickster,
someone dead inside
that seemed so promising...

I reminisce in the days my knuckles
weren't covered in blood,
but Cheeto dust.

On the run from myself,
disguises a face I no longer recognize
staring back at me
in the
mirror.

Black clothes were gothic
rather than mandatory.

Moonshine was the way the sky looked,
not a drink.

Innocence is held most dearly by those who no longer own it.

Children do not know what they have lost
until it is gone.
Object permanence fun,
not a problem.


Cheeto dust,
finger licking,
orange not red.

orange not red.

orange

not




R                            E                            D.


An unsettling sort of ending, childhood,
you can't pinpoint an end nor a beginning.










Hey, at least it was fun while it lasted.

You owe the world
nothing
but the
spite
its given
you.

Gunmetal cold barrel to my head,
the smell of his slow suicidal tendencies
in the form of cigarettes hanging off the edge of
his words.

Cold Gray-ash eyes stare bullet holes into me.
The trigger ready to be pulled,
he's teasing me with a finger caressing...

Cologne sparks sharp scents,
the wind carries his essence,
pure ice scents,
into my veins.

My lungs encase the newfound delicacy
eating up the smell.
Hungry for more of him,
I bite my lip wishing it was his skin.



His aesthetic
Snacking on my soul
And I do not decline.

You don't have to be their savior,
you don't have to forgive them,
you can just cut them out,
and be angry as you want
for as long as you need.

I drink down the sunset
like it is tea,
a warm invitation
calling to me.

I inhale the sharp scents
of the orange of the sky.
Release a will,
a want to cry.

Beauty at its finest,
refined into purity,
I reach out like a child again,
all I want right now
to enjoy.

I watch fiery red,
a beautiful bloodbath
encasing the atmosphere.

Purple's and pinks
like sugar filled fruit gushers.

Ah yes,
the sunset,
relaxing,










drink it down tonight.

The ambience of your presence is one I treasure.

I want to be tethered
by your presence
to the Earth.
Be the roots
during my hurricane.

You keep me grounded,
and I keep you moving.

I am moonskin
hiding in
sunlies.

There is beauty in potential.
Fleeting moments of desires
to be freer than I am
come stronger and faster
when captivity has been for this long.
The potential to be free
will always appeal to me
more
than freedom itself.

Between the lines of boredom
lie something so much deeper

skin cut
eyes shut

what is there to be interested in anymore?

Late night walking,
basking in the glory of the moon,
and contrasting street lights
with midnight escapades
are blooming in
morning glory again.

I hide myself under the shadow
of the lamp post I call home.
The sharp lines of light
just outside my reach,
ever flickering
in front of me.

Even the end of my cigarette,
burning ash warmth on cold lips,
snuffs out
just before the burning tobacco
reaches the darkness edge.

Majority times
I am happy to be angry
because it gives me
just enough confidence
to
speak.

Avert your eyes, sinner.
He is a God of celestial winners.
Golden crowns of power choke him under the pressure.

Another nameless face
and another faceless lie.

If you have the courage to
twist the truth
in front of my face,

do it with pride
and look me in the eye.

Lie again and perish.

I will throw gasoline on my inner fires,
anger boiling bursting bubbling now ****** waters.
We will paint the revolution in the ashes of our sorrows.
We will fill up the absence of justice,
paint them red


p a I n t   T h E M        R    E    D.


Anger flicks flames licking tongues on vocal chords.
Hate filled speech but aimed at the right people,
makes all the difference.



Let them fight fire with fire,
it's their land they burn, not ours,
ah the treasures of fighting in foreign land.
If I can call my body that.


We're tired of being upset,
we're tired of being controlled,
we're tired, kiddo,


So let's do something about it.









The revolution is at midnight,
we rise with the moon,
for we are among the stars in the dead of night,
bright light when there is nothing but darkness.



























R                         E                            D.

I etch my blessings
on a matchstick.
Counting thoughts
like carving wood.
I set
myself
on
fire.

I am a dog that laps up
God's tears.

Divine beings spill their secrets to me
and I sit
like a good girl
on their kitchen floor,
listening,
but never speaking
the same language.

For what my father did to me,
at the very least
was not
what his father
had done to him.

I want to lose your memory,
in the archives of my mind,
and one day
your picture will flash across,

An old scrapbook, a picture on a phone.

and a nostalgic sense
of hidden memory
will overtake me.

Who knew
that a body as soft
as feathers
could have
a heart
of
stone.

***** of feather
fill the air,
flutter and flap,
their wings tear
the atmosphere
with expertise.
Two little birds:
Plum and Bean.

I have discovered myself through the pieces of poetry.
My soul is scattered
across a field of
words.
Worry and doubt rain from the heavens
and nurture poems.

The darkest days bring the best poems.

And now the sun is out.

And a field of flowers
is here
to greet me.

Was it worth rain?

I cannot answer that.

I stare at my field
and wonder the same thing
over and over again.



Was it worth it?

I pick at the scabs,
left in my mind
from falling off
my destined path.

Blood breaks the barrier,
and tears spill anew
with it.

You've battered me with your silence
only to shatter me
with your words.

I throw ****** feathers aside,
looking for the fallen angel,
whose wings have vanished
into thin air.

I don't think
she remembered what it was like
to be holy,
but God,
did she emminate it.

Her blood held crucifixes,
gold chains,
still chains.

Eyes held heaven in their capture,
and she holds me
in captivity.

I found her above dark grounds,
but with gold dust of an old halo.

Am I blessed with her,
or cursed to admire from afar
for eternity.

Her pure soul,
not to be tainted with
my mortal hands.

To be simply in her presence,
is
heaven
enough.

I want religion wrapped in flesh.

I taste communion wine
and holy bread
when I kiss her.

I watch her bathe in holy water,
as the smell of frankincense and purity
wafts in the steam.

I see her crown
placed gently on the sink,
awaiting the return
of the one true queen.

I hear hymns
when she asks for a towel.

I think to myself
that she is God,
and keeps this from me
like a coy secret
only she can know.

She is religion wrapped in flesh.

Cool lungs
fill with chilled air
that know no breath
and I am myself
once more.

Romanticize yourself.
There is no overconfidence
nor cockiness
nor pride
in declaring yourself
the ruler
of your kingdom.

The depths of your soul
Are an ocean blue
Beautiful clarity at the shore,
Delightful surprises in the dark.

She was more to me than a soul in a body,
to me she was
sweet
sweet
ecstasy.

I want so desperately
for you to be a bad person
because I don't think
I can forgive you.

He was crying oceans,
while she was swimming in them.
The salty sea, pushing waves of pain onto his soul.
Seeing her happy,
without him,
makes him wanna drown in the sad blue hue
of the sea.

I hunger for this world,
unaware
there is another.

Moonlight pools at feet,
sunlight perfumes the air,
daytime sings of spring,
and night screams beware.

Flowers in the daytime,
thorns in the evening.

Beware those who are night and day.
They will capture you
in sunrises and sin,
but sunset calls,
and oh boy,
will they answer.

There is something so forbidden about women
that just makes me want them more.

I feel as though
my lips have touched
Angel feathers.
I have kissed
the holy;
an honor
and a curse.
For no halo's glow
will live up to
her angelic prose
ever
again.

The wolves howl
with grief
and I feel among them;
just a wild animal
with a fear to survive.

And here I am yet again,
Waiting at the door,
melancholy no more,
begging for freedom,
picking the scenery apart,
down to the bone.

Cool purples and blues,
play in the night,
I know now what's
behind me,
I know not what's in my sight.

I wear grief like a look,
on the edge of freedom
begging to be let loose,

but

staying in the house,
imagining freedom,
rather than face
the disappointment
that it truly is.

Think between drags of a cigarette,
do I dare excite myself?
Or drown the hope
before it drowns me?

No time for deep breaths here,
just existence
on a celestial plane.

.
.
.

And here I am yet again,
Waiting at the door,
melancholy no more...

My sins may outweigh yours,
but they are sins,
all the same.

I did not spend eternity,
cowering in the masses,
hiding in books,
and disguising in
danger,

only to have you,

strip me bone-licking naked

in front of an audience
of
your
choice.

There is aestheticism
in letting go,
but even more so
in holding on.

Her corpse careens
through the night.

Pacing up and down
till morning light.

Her soul returns with sunrise
and her body now not a fight.

Take away her pain,
strip her of the sight.

A need for the darkness,
to numb the pain onsite.

She lives another day,
breaths another night.

Take away her sunburns
for moonlight.




She is alive and alright.

I know your aesthetic
better than
I know my own
not because
I choose not to know,
but because I'm
too busy
seeing
everything
and thinking of
you.

You will never be able to buy satisfaction with words.