There is poetry in my blood.
Some blood in my poetry, like that
Fresh from a broken heart
On a band-aid lip kissing
Old pain into fresh pleasure,

And promising truth, comfort and
Loyalty within a blizzard of rose
Petals and cotton candy dandelion,
Being easier to believe than anything
Else ever.

There's poetry in my blood. Cells
Red as new love; white cell soldiers
Devouring infectious threats; poison
Lies and painful heartless behaviour
Such as infidelity or being broken

Up with, in a bed at night; in a
Blossoming garden, or worse,
With a pen in hand, mid-love,  
Mid-poem; mid-
Heartbeat.

I am dizzy
                                                          ­                 Dizzy from despair
                                  *I am tired
Tired of despair
                                                         ­  I cry

I am full
                                                           ­                Full of loneliness
                                  I am sick
Sick of loneliness
                                                      ­     I cry

I look happy
                        But really
                                           I am not
                                                           I cry

everyone has a fear of falling
from buildings
planes
and your lips
when they call me;
but we should be more like the winter snow
falling with the sole purpose
to create beauty
and to know
that my fear will keep you warm
in the coldest
darkest
times

Dreams have become
Literally
Quite lyrically
Lately
Drifting away
On a bed of melodies
Listening to the songs
Of past memories
Bringing around
An air of clarity
And it seems
The subconscious bleeds
Figuratively
Over into reality
As I find myself awake
Singing songs I've never heard