I like tight clothes
for they still hug me
when everyone goes

Words are hollow shells
breaking under weight of the
actions, rarely bold.

Inspiration lacks
when my muse has gone away;
My heart flutters not.

I can feel it in
the air--the world becoming
consciously aware.

Why waste all these
words on you when you can't even
open my snapchats?

I dreamt of slow-dancing
and we waltzed until I woke
Hazy scent of desires unspoke
I, mangled with your absence,
breathe a mere thought of
reality's biting grip and rip
the blanket from my bones
Naked and exposed, more
vulnerable and assured
than ever to disclose
those tender tickles
I feel when in repose,
visceral and verbose
I spew black for it's
pronounced and bold
amplifying the dark hold
melted to my frame
Bursting free, finally
with a pounding chest,
primary shades to express,
and fear tentatively at rest
Your hand in mine gives
a soft and slow caress
and I exhale our dance
of coalesce.

Eager to see what
is in store for the new year,
just two days away.

Take me for granted--
You'll be sorry that you did;
No more excuses.

Your beauty is unmatched
your essence unscathed
you could wrap me in your curls
and leave me bound for days
The thick bristles on your face
resemble a forest to discovery,
your mouth a cave to explore
lighting the way with electricity
generating from our rapport
Sweeter than a glob of icing
on the last slice of cake—
Your twisted expressions
make my chest quake
You’re a lot to take in—clean cut nails
and pasty speckled skin; the
trail of hair on your belly and
your form soundly sleeping
where our motions had been
Now you are far a fields away
frolicking in colorless grass,
lost and in denial of what
you could have made last.

I think it’s hard for me to stay open
because I’ve been securely bound together
by a thick bind of resistant glue
I snap shut because I’m not used to
displaying all my content for eyes to peruse
I’m written on pages to send your soul on a walk
through caverns with deep trenches of fear
I want to be known through the words I select,
the ones I need you to hear
Read a little deeper, give me your attention
follow the sequential bouncing ball
I’ll whisper through these dry pages
what I feel before I ruin us—ruin me
from not professing to you at all.

why try anymore
why stand from the floor
why speak over a roar
why commence action
why repeat interaction
why sentence construct
when I'm interrupted
why decide when time
keeps on--why contemplate
why this apathy
     despond
melancholy
why this grim mask
life moves so fast
brain's slowing down
mouth stops speaking
thoughts flicker away
no memories today
feeling sedated
tranquilized
catatonic
mute

I guess I’m really the fool
to keep tripping over beards
that have no intention of being kept,
just spreading the seeds of leftover
crumbs and dried up *** from
one pair of legs to the next
I should’ve known, I had been warned
The signs were seen miles away
but I’m an aimless wanderer in search
of I don’t even know so I missed
them by a year of ******* around
Eight in nine—a personal best
but on whose bedpost do I perch to nest?

I see your face when coming undone
And it’s only a distant memory
When I remember to forget you, I wonder
   did you forget to remember me?
I answer my own questions because
you’re not here to do so,
but my answers aren’t uplifting, they only
keep me down and feeling low.
When you’re working, eating, sleeping,
   I’m working, eating, dreaming
of the day, the instance, the moment
when two clicks sound of two brains connecting,
so when silence engulfs, I’m not predicting
my future without your decrepit words
I cremated in the bones of ineffable warmth.
   I wanted different things for us
and you wanted different things for you
I’m trying to figure out who gets what they want,
because I certainly never do.

Touch can be primal,
sensual, and relieving,
yet rare to receive.

The longer you wait,
the longer you’ll be waiting
for the thing you want.

A word of advice:
If you don't mean what you say,
then do not say it.

Cozy wool sweater
the weather is fine and dandy
the sky is a matte
of the ocean blue
similar in color to your eye's hue
   Thinking of your smiles
   warms me like your hugs do
To stay cool
I picture days, breezy and serene
I draw two figures laughing, holding onto
each other, radiating passionate pleas
of exclusivity. I want to kiss you
in front of others, I am tired of
hiding my affection, with so many over time;
I want to freely call one mine.

Off days are a rare
thing for me as of late. I
have no time to waste.

Can I please reatreat
to my sweet hideaway that
is my cancer shell?

Sugar free
take a sip of me
for the last week
is the last week
I’ve decided to care
about you or me
or anything we perceive
that’s right, it’s over
It’s All Over
or is soon set to be
as far as you’re concerned—
I’m not. I’ve concluded
we’re all damaged goods
we’re all in over our heads
we’re all unrealistic dreamers
we’re all toxic fumes, killing ourselves
slowly and everyone else with every breath
Balance is necessary but in which department
I forget—-thus is the reason I am still who I was
and cannot proceed to find this “love”

Waking up is hard.
It doesn’t get easier
with nothing to do.

While the snake feeds, the
girl blinks and breathes, seemingly
transfixed by the death.

My heart aches from your words
Don’t make assumptions of me
when you don’t know who I am,
only what I reflect of you
We’re moving too fast
Emotionally I’m unstable
Mentally unable to understand
why I feel such grief at the
idea of happiness within
my reach? Because on the
other side there is terror
of unknown waters, and I
will definitely sink instead
of swim because my legs are
tired of kicking back the demons
of uncertainty; drowning in
my own ocean of sobs,
all because I’m sensitive to
the pain of others, and I want
to hurt none or leave anyone
to ache as I do; so I hoard all
of me and what I give to you—
serenity dissolving to apologies
when I owe nobody but me.

Sometimes I wish
my over-thinking would
short circuit my brain and
leave me brain-dead.

Sometimes in mirrors
I rehearse conversations
I will never have.

Sometimes I think you
are passively avoiding me
or actively ignoring me.

Sometimes I want
to be so turned on
that I never turn off.

Sometimes I can’t sing
from my soul because
it’s buried beneath my heart.

Sometimes I just listen
to the nothingness
and the noise, but I’m
lost in the silence

Even on bright days,
rain can still persist, pouring
like tears down windows

The days blow on by;
I’m still wondering why I
even care at all.

The night is young,
and she waits for me
to rise before the sun
and take my leave
   Day breaks while
   my thoughts weave
Tree branches sway
dropping fallen leaves
Cochlea prickle
as The National plays
sketching an image
of better, sweeter days
Time has flown
and with me it stays
  segmented lines
of those poignant days

Redundancy.
I read my words
and I’m sickened,
that you had this
effect on me. I read
them and I’m fatigued
by the redundancy.
I have nothing to say
that hasn’t been said
in the same way
only reconstructed
to better play the illusion
of new ideas and
some sort of change.
There is always the basis
the substance of being
the substance being
my overactive feelings
and constant repression
of what makes me alive—
this feeds the depression
and I cry when I think
and I’m dead when I don’t
I’m lying when I speak
and lying when I don’t
I’m fighting every day
my feelings when I
have them, and finding
every day, I have more than
I can fathom, and I can’t
always put into words
how or why I feel things
so I tend to repeat
what comes naturally
and when I reread
I am exhausted by
my own redundancy.

Conversing with you
is frolicking on puffy
white clouds of content.

I will pour myself
like coffee in your morning cup
and tickle your nose
with my greeting aroma
I will wisp my steam
through your nasal passages
stimulating your system
of sluggish nerves
I will listen to you,
  my favorite song,
keeping beat with my heart,
harmonizing with your hum,
lulling me to sweet oblivion
I will forgive you
as one forgives oneself
because we are human,
vulnerable and feckless
  lonely and restless;
I will lay beside you
all season until sunrise
when light peeks through shade
and fire burns in our eyes
I will fall deep down
the well in your iris
and find myself inside
  guiding us both
towards essential growth,
to intertangle like vines

Summer has gone quick—
a sequence of unfolding
events, fixed in time

I don't want to write about you.
Orange and greens
   Filtered means
Diluted--dreams
                 reality
tangibly mixing me
  up inside
Resuming to prove to you--Me
I control my self-worth
I am not alone on this earth
   Only in temple
   What is simple
   and complex; I am
perplexed in this life
These nerves--the nerve
of them, vibrating exponentially
causing imbalanced beams
  to teeter and totter,
tearing apart the seems
that once held together
the molding of what
   I am to be

Caffeine curdled with cannabis
a rushing stream of nerves
corrupting my senses
  stalling the hunger
  arousing the amygdala
     to focus on what?
Connaturally knowing
through text I display
sketchbook paper smudged
with charcoal black
the color of my mood
  keeping my will at bay
Too many words
not enough time
   relative to all
   conceptually absolute
  mentally resolute
emotionally destitute

I crave you
more often than I
crave delicious fruit
I always want my citrus
thirst-quenching juiciness
but I’ll take vitamin D over vitamin C
and save ripened tangerines
for when I’m feeling a little weak
in the knees after squeezing your
blooms—good enough to eat

Summer loving
Ice cream shovings
into dripping mouths;
a melting cavern,
chocolate pools bubbling
under tongues suppressing
   mundane topics
let's get a little gay
take off my top and
         lay on top of me
**** the chills
with your bikini thrills
refocus your scope sur moi
  basket case weaving
  message receiving
southern comfort relieving
   excavated sediment
sentiments circulate
agreements perpetuate
a consistent blend
of froth and forthcomings
  remember to remember
one's habitual shortcomings

Familiarity
smells like Old Spice
and a fresh brew
Let me grind my way
       over to you
  Comfort is
the sound of
  your laugh, rolling
from behind your lips
and gently stroking
       fingertips
   Longing is
the hunger I coax
by imagining our
   movements when
pressed together
       close

July is summer—
sprinklers and bathing suits,
the month of my birth.

The seventh is bold
and no longer afraid to
heat up a little.

The time is nearing
and I keep hearing your name
flashing bold and white in my head
Oh, I never want to get out of bed
unless your smoke's in my fire

The time is coming soon
I'm still stuck in my room
scribbling down words I can't say to you
Oh, I'm not right in the head
I cant leave my bed because
your smoke's in my fire

Clock is tick, tick, ticking
I'm terrible at picking up
on inconspicuous cues
The wick is slowly burning and I'm
quickly learning your smoke's in my fire

  The time is now
I'm flickering toward you but the
draft from your presence puts me out
I'm smoldering, embers circling
the smoke coming from my fire
You're the smoke of my fire

It's shedding season--
a time for growth and flaking
away dry, dead cells.

Early afternoon rain
crusted eyes cracking open
at the trickling sound of
pattering puddles

Moisture conforms you
hugs dry skin tight
frizzing stray hairs
leaving them a flight

There is peace
tranquility in this moment
Waking the mind
resolving the heart

The future is a sparkle
a firework feeling in my hands
that billows out and expands
to flash multicolored wants
       while crackling needs
I hope it blows our minds
    exploding blissfully
before our eyes
painting the sky with
our names in starry white;
Innocence revisited,
awakened by possibility

You can’t have your cake and eat it too. Not for long, anyway. Cake doesn’t settle well when it’s all you’ve had to eat. It’ll churn like butter inside you, and creep up your throat to project like a cannon, barreling through a wall. Cake won’t sit right with you anymore. At the mere mention of cake, your insides will crawl with disgust and an association of icing will replace your taste buds with *****. You will never be able to enjoy cake—at parties, as a delicacy, with ice cream—because you got greedy and wanted to eat your cake first rather than save it for such an occasion. Now all the different kinds of cake you fantasized about trying—black velvet, coffee cake, buttercream pound cake—will only be a reminder of your pitfall that led you to make yourself sick with desire, for cake. You can’t get the icing off your tongue, the smell of batter baking has festered in your nostrils wired to the pungent taste of red from between your teeth. But it’s all you can think of when you’ve been wronged by your favorite dessert. What sort of chemical reaction in the bowels of your stomach caused all of this sorrow? What rejected the cake? Your body has a way of telling you things—we should listen more. Cake is not sustenance, it has no value as a nutritious food. It doesn’t help, only hurts.

Darting specks of light
refract beams of ideas--
forever fleeting