My mind paces,
stalks in circles around thoughts of you.
And the others.
I have concluded that I am unlike
all the other humans.
I’m not sure what it is
that makes your species so.
Perhaps it was ingrained
in the fibers of the earliest of lonely
and jealous people to stalk this planet.
You, and they, are preconditioned
to find one mate,
to pair with one soul,
to love monogamously.
Until the last breath rattles
from your aged and withered lips,
Or maybe just the bitter breaking
of your preconceived infallible bonds.
No, I have the anomaly of loving,
truly, simultaneously, loving
more than one of you.
It’s a curse.
And it is MY curse.
It’s true.
A forbidden love,
so passionate,
for more than one.
It is this multitudinous torture,
to be riddled with the guilt
that accompanies living in this one
cannon timeline.
Why can’t I have a parallel universe?
A paradox of many lives and love?
I am spliced so many times,
Fractionated, less than human.
Like a whisper of what I once was.  
Several panes of glass that don’t quite       touch
Thin, fragile and a false face of totality.
The space between each, is the overwhelming vastness of eternity
that blinds in lonely blackness.
Every sheet is a separate piece
of what once was
me.
And the galaxies separating each,
spread farther with the passing
of light-sped time.
I know the love I feel is real.
It will not waver.
But also, doesn’t matter.
It breaks my heathen heart
to have spun these silken webs
of deeply bonded love onto others.
Entangling them in passionate emotions that are absolutely unobtainable at worst
and just out side of reality at best.
What does this make me?
Am I not a human?
Is this an evil, inside of me?
Am I demon?
There is no answer.
And there is no hope of forming
an inception with my victims,
Nor an existence for my species.
I mourn in lonely secret solitude.
I am the first, and last of my kind.

‘April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain...’

The chilly wind entered the dark room,
lamp post flickered outside
as he closed the window,
a gush made the feathered pen tumble as the ink splattered on his white crumpled paper

she opened her eyes and said, ‘Go to sleep...’ but he kept writing and she dozed off

the remnants of his past became an ash...

He found a title ‘The Burial of The Dead’

the candle was blown by the wind, he just stared at the dark sky, the waves from the coast was angry and his head needed the fragments to come altogether
his heart, knocking on silence, crying

requited love

the heart pounds
its engines and its seas -
mend and free.


unrequited love

in the wild and
desolate sea we drown
our hearts full
of sorrow.

The wooden grip
of a solo match
soaked with petroleum
sears eye lashes
Clear the dust bowl
down the highway,
forty miles or ounzes
to burn your fashion
Desolate, dystopian realities
somewhere to be found,
is it me? hanging there
bloated, round.
Get your clean, cold buzz
cause until the cable or noose is paid
it all ends in a
black and white fuzz.

I sit on my bed,
Gaze soft and unfocused.
Wrapped in the remnants of a shirt you left behind.
Or maybe I stole it.
An air conditioned breeze sends a chill through over-sized armholes that expose the flesh of my *******.
It wakes me from my hazy state.
Glancing up, for a moment I see you in this shirt...
But it’s my own reflection
in the mirror directly opposite my bed.
Disappointment washes over me and I let my gaze slide to the window.
Up, I see the summer moon
as the ghost of you fades from the forefront of my mind,
to its rightful home in my subconscious.
You and I are simply not to be.
Fated in another life,
But now our lives are intertwined and intimately connected to others.
This dream is not mine,
nor is it yours, to have.


It is time.
To bury a memory,
a hope,
a dream.
I watch, from the edge of our six foot trench,
As my own hands throw the first earth on an unmarked grave.

I don't think you understand
The extent to which you've damaged me
How insecure you've made me
This monster you've created
So afraid

You created this beast in me
And you left