My pen exists
Between heaven and hell
And feels the pull of both.
Swinging like an undecided compass,
I never know what mood
Will govern it.
Which polar end will win today?
It taps the page like a metronome
And I wait with bated breath.

There are 10 kinds of people in this world,
and binary accounts for them all.

They're happy and sad.
They're ones and zeros.
Villains and heroes.
Villains, yet not all bad.
Despite everything life decides to hurl;
Despite every brick ball of fear
Through the stained glass windows of their minds,
Through it all, they survive.
They're angry and glad.
They're happy and sad.

And in their duality, they're still smiling there
at your sharp hasty words
at your venomous hurt
that you wish so desperately they, too, shared.

The impervious nature
of humankind littering the beaches,
painting a repugnant scene
upon a breathtaking canvas.
Paper wins again.

She reminds me of a foxglove
Eyes drawn to her like steel to a magnet
She reminds me of a foxglove
Her sweet perfume an olfactory pleasure
She reminds me of a foxglove
Tall, slender, beautiful
And just as poisonous