Poetry is born not in time
Oasic words born rather out of time
Elapsed time uncounted in the stream of time
Treasured verses beyond time
Revamping soul connections bequest of time
Yarns spun in spools of time

Broken, a dove lay.
Crimson blood stains her wings red.
Surly love was the cause.

i wake up in a sweat, but i am so cold
i check the clock, its only been an hour
i haven’t slept in such a long time

far, or near
i can always feel it

am i the moth
or am i the flame

-

My brain has been torn apart
Crumpled together
And smeared across the billboards of my timeline
My heart shredded and trampled on
My body has seen torments and tortures
That parents fear and
Don’t understand the possibility.
I was told it was my fault.
Every action had its cause.
Every act of terror had its reason.
Me.

But it was never my fault.

I wasn’t the reason I hated this thigh,
Or this skin
Or these bones.
Or this brain
This way of thinking.

Nothing was ever wrong with me.