The deliberate
Movement of the mountains, and
Flow of the ocean.

My hurricanes clean
My face of humanity/
Inhumanity.

I am barely man,
Only flesh on the surface.
Something of this world.

I am stone and sea,
Heart heavy and longingly
Dancing with eyes shut.

Trading in our hearts,
unemotionally here.
Turning to the sun;

We don’t find answers,
we don’t even find solace.
We dance like they do,

like impressionists.
Our art still has clear borders/
Performances end.

We take our masks off.
Pointing out our own flaws, yet…
hmm… Something like this.

Talking at myself
again and learning nothing
new of importance.

So, dance flower dance,
tear your roots and die trying
to amaze us all.

I got hickies from
an absolute angel, and
I feel like magic.

All the sleep I've missed;
she wore no bra and still she
pulled off her sweater.

Pulls my face to hers
if she desires to kiss me.
She said she'll be back.

Been ****** all weekend
by angels with brain damage
or cleanly shaved heads.

Could not sleep when she
was riding me to heaven,
so stayed up longer.

Finally trying
to catch up on missing rest
when my head grew loud.

Now is not time for
day-dreaming ; it is late now.
We sleep in silence

Dream of tomorrow?
We rest in the future and
wake up in the past.

Stare into their eyes,
run my fingers in their hair.
Mistake this for love.

She has cigarettes
in place of **** to be said.
She does not say much.

I don’t think I have
people happy to see me
and all these “artists”

are impressionists,
somehow living alone has
become a statement.

I consume myself,
and am neither satisfied
or disappointed.

I have given you
all of the wisdom I have,
now ******* will you?

Stop acting like I
owe you something, or that you
never shut me out.

I saw you and I
opened every door, but
you were “too afraid”.

Leave me alone then.
You hesitated and lost.
Your chances are gone.

Keep close what you have,
and cherish that in my place.
The doors are closed now.

I am using them;
Their bodies constellations,
to fill my own void.

Exploring them, I
might find something nostalgic,
even romantic

to fetishize or
mutilate haphazardly.
Accidentally.

******* problem solved;
Fill in your holes with nothing,
to slow the bleeding.

Bleed from the mouth as
you kiss their own deep red lips.
Hold hands as you ****.

Mercy, mercy, I
pray for something to stop me
as I go deeper.

I empty my own
empty self into their voids,
as they place their stars

in my otherwise
empty skies, begging, begging
begging for fresh light.

You are... what? Thirty?
I'm twenty three and full of
******* and pure charm.

You were drunk enough,
didn't care about *******
on your period.

Barely there, yet soft,
so soft you felt like velvet.
Grabbed your stomach and

asked, "Do you like this?"
Sober, sober, sober, I
said with a smile, "Yes."