The night is lonely
stinging me
with all of its
silent beauty.

Seems like
the stars are
predators
stalking me
in this city,
this savanna of
stone and concrete.

I look at
all these
little beasts,
scrambling mammals
who are stressing,
dressing
anxiously,
trying to impress
all those
other oppressed
consumers.

I look at
the glimmering pond
then on
to the whining blond
who is carrying on
like a spoiled diva
ruining my once pleasant
silent evening.

I listen to
the rustle of
shuffling leaves
on those
old oak trees.
I stand quietly
in deep shadows
and listen to
the sounds
that you forgot.

Night birds chirping,
skittering squirrels,
dogs barking,
almost drowned out
by the loud cars honking
parking right up on the curb.

Then it hit,
silver point
bombastic
metal
piercing
my back
till I faded to black.

Thirty something and I'm
living it up,
got a fat belly
with pink fluff
cause I'm a Jigglypuff,
playing hard like
its Pokemon go,
but the fact is
I never practice
and I don't even
like that show.

I was better in my twenties
had the moves like
Crocodile Dundee.
Even so
I never made it
in the movies.
I wasn’t as funny,
and I’ve never been
very thin
or stunning.

Maybe I should go back
to my teen years
back when freshmen
called me their senior
but those were the days
with the most tears.

In truth
there’s no reason to
entertain
going back to
my youth
cause now is better
then it ever was.

Time takes
this pain
and replaces
it with an anger
that maims,
a mood that blames
you
for the weird thing you do.

Never been
more than friends,
but I was hoping
you would dump
those violent
cheating men.

You spent hours
telling me
all about their
cruelty.
How they make you
wonder why
you attract
those kind of guys,
the ones who lie
and lay hands on you.

Meanwhile,
I stop by
when you call me.
When I hear you cry
I play the nice guy
comfort and cradle
the cracked heart,
till you are able
to walk yourself
right on to the next
abusive ex.

Each time
I find my mind
darkened by
thoughts of
self-hate
wondering how bad
I must be
for you to see
sociopathic
sexist
violent men
as a better and
more attractive
alternative then me.

So, I try to move on
until you come along,
say that you miss me
ask me to go to the movies,
and I just jump
right back in.

It was a willow tree once there
   At the land of lake and mist,
   It was standing lonely on the shore
   Waiting for a beautiful hand to touch
   Its shining leaves.
   It was a woman in green, wrapped in
   A scarf with autumn leaves,
   Her hair was with honey color
   Her eyes were magnetizing and dark,
   She came to the willow on twilight "
   Rainy clouds gathered with above
   With gray shadows,
   She weeps under the tree and talks to it
   “Oh, willow, where is my beloved…
    since years he went to the land of
    pineapples and sun,
    and then he never returned..
    I promised to wait him every night,
    And every day I light candles and pray.”
   The woman's tears fall from her beautiful eyes,
   They touched the ground of the tree
   And dropped on its leaves…
   “Don't cry, dear “ replied the willow,
    I'm here beside you, I hear and feel,
    I was also a maiden one day in life
    Waiting my beloved I came here to cry
    Near the lake and mist.
    Years passed by ,he never returned
    And my longing increased
    One day I just woke up and found
     My hands transformed into green leaves
     My body " to stem of a willow tree.
    God gave me peace , I'm still crying
    But I don’t wait for him.
    The woman in green was amazed
    She felt suddenly quite inside herself,
    She stood little with opened eyes
    Gazing the lake, then kissed the tree
    And turned away.
    The willow saw her smile, she never came
    Again to the mist and lake land,
    But her autumn leaves scarf is still there…

It is the face of a wraith,    
skin sagging,
flesh falling,
goosebumps crawling
with supernatural
sorrow and fatigue.

Bone thin,
Sobbing,
ancient pains
rising
from some
inner lining
of desperate
darkness.

Living corpse
in constant pain,
choppy movements
of echoed intent,
only a shadow
of the former
person.

Drawn in
an anorexic
frame
this specter
reigns
where once
a full bodied
figure
danced
in joy.

Nervous glances
fearing
they might catch this
emotional leprosy.
Society let her be,
slowly rotting
from the inside out.
Till she was hollowed.
Till even razor blades
could not scrape away
the suffering stain
and pain
of a relentless
existence.

I find your sin
deeply embedded in
soft silk stiches that you threaded,
the dark dyed lines you used
to imbue your touch
with more than the magic of
love and lust,
attaching me to the dangerous
state of us.

A practiced deceptionist you are,
spinning illusions with your webs of words,

oh deceiver, oh wicked liar
I bind your mouth with twine and wire
to trap your voice inside your mind
but still become ******* in your webbing.

Tenuously tangled and mangled,
I manage to unthread from you
to find a new avenue to the truth,
but just as I am about to unwind
I find I am inclined to stay entwined
with the very vines I used to bind you
because I am not ready to lose
the one who misled my lately leaded heart.

Dance was the shape her body gave to music.

I may be a nice guy
but if you crack
my glass demeanor
I get much meaner.

She sits stressing,
depression pressing
sharp silver metal
into her skin,

leaves adults stuttering
and wondering
what is so wrong with her,
while looking down with
disappointment.

How strangely that lately
they forget
how intense
it felt
when they were kids.

Its like intentional amnesia
as they try to numb
any primal passions,
dulling their once
delinquent delights,
quelling the yelling curiosity
in favor of
a less passionate
drunken love.

But she has not yet succumbed
to that humdrum
self-inflicted
emotional wound
that is draining
yellow liquid,
oozing
that which is
conflicted
that which
we should be using
to understand
everyone else.

Teenage heartaches
and high school drama,
friendships lost
or changed
drastically,
with all the pain
it leaves,
she is set in
an ocean of confusion.

So, at night she lays her face
in a salt wet pillow case
as she cries
herself to sleep,
instead of ending her week
at the bar down the street
like her parents do
just to get through
their working blues.

Watching videos
from youtube
and reading poetry books,
she still dreams of more,
uses her art to explore
hopes and dreams,
while her parents seem
to exist hopelessly.

When the silence comes
she sits disquieted
as dark thoughts
settle like sandy sediment,
then float up
like all that flotsam
from the wreckage
of her young
sea sailing heart.

Her parent don’t
have a clue
how much she is going through
and sometimes
she doesn’t believe
that they even try to.

Dangerous dragon eyes
burn the stars
and scorch the skies
as the warrior lets
her silver blades fly,

Bronze skin
battle maiden,
******* in chainmail,
spear and shield
on her back
as she tracks
the beasts
who attacked
random villages.

Like a Valkyrie
she walked past me
with death on her breath.
All power and confidence,
she passes on to face this
monster in the darkness.

She moved like
a ballet dancer
rushing in
and striking him
in the place where
his scale skin was thin.
then rolled back
before the dragon’s attack.

Fire and fury
bare skin scorching
forcing her
to retreat
but only for
a solitary
second.

Claws cutting,
tail swinging,
scales scraping,
scratches stinging.

The ground
running
with the blood of
both combatants.

One arm
a ragged mess
of jagged flesh.

One dragon eye
destroyed while
sulphur and smoke
choked the breath
from her parched throat.

Long neck charging
as she parried
in a twirling fashion
letting the dragon’s head pass.

It moved quick
but she was faster
and matched that *******
primal fury.

Short silver
sharp dagger
nested itself
slightly above the neck
as the force of the animals
violent
movement
cut itself
making a long sick ****
as it lunged past fast
and finally fell
in defeat.