Oh , I'd love to let my fingers talk to your skin
Let my fingertips whisper electric nuances
to the receptors within
Send shivers all over your body
Let my palms place the curves in the swerves
of my imagination
My breath saying warm subjectives
next to your ears
My lips pondering the distance
behind your knee
The numbness of your toes tortured
by my trembling tongue
The kiss counts upon the ribcage
of your breathless chest
As the sun wishes it could set
as beautifully as your best

It starts with a pinch and an itch,
Between your shoulder blades,
Trickling down your spine like a bead of sweat.
You groan hot and heavy,
Doubling over in pain clutching at your stomach,
And you have this urge....

Your canines enlarge,
Further sharpening.
The hairs on your arms bristle.
Standing on end when you hear the first tear of skin,
At the base of your spine.
And it splinters your mind.

A wine high pitched and wanting,
A gasp as your hair thickens.
A pelt of fur to keep you warm,
There is pain between your eyes,
Your jaw stretches inhuman and ugly.

Legs snap and your squatting on the floor,
Arms pulled close at the elbow,
Back hunched over.
Dirt digs under your fingernails turned claws,
As you grip the steady earth for purchase.
You feel your heart beating against your shifting ribs.
Strong,
Fast,
And aching.

Lungs constrict and your eyes fly open.
Blinded by the ethereal light of the full moon.
You cry out,
Human voice bellows loud, loud, loud!
The beast sings in your ear.
A roar,
A howl.
The transformation done.
We are free.

I wrote for you
a few lines cut short

on minimum length,
a single piece

I long for you
that's all there is

It's like memory lane filled with childhood and matriurity but without the memories I grew up with strict parents and harsh neighbors my life wasn't fun and after years of torture and hatred I don't know if I can return to this neighborhood this life again. I don't believe I can survive another thought of this house

I'd write stories for you
Where you are my character
And how you made me
Fall in love and made me new

I'd write poems endlessly
About the way you smile
And the way you sing
And how much I love your eyes

I'd write songs to sing
About how my heart beats
About how my heart sings
Your name in a beautiful melody

I won't stop writing about you
About how can you make me feel blue
Then make my day
By just passing my way

If words are the only medium
On how I can tell the world
How I love hearing my name on your lips passing through
Then stopping in writing, I won't

If this is the only way
To say how much you make me feel
Then through night and day
My pen and paper will be in contact still

If these words will
Make the world hear
Of how special you are to me
Then writing about you it is

The first time you saw her,
she had drifted into your apartment
on the tail end of a gust of winter wind.
She was just tagging along as a friend of a friend.
Her starry eyes and half smile
were what got to you,
and they were enough to keep you around.
You caught a glimpse of her
reckless nightmare
almost immediately.
She was stuck in the middle of a
downward spiral,
and she took you along for the ride.
You couldn’t seem to find a reason for it.
She was just sad.
Her body was made up of
howling heart attacks
and incandescent suicide notes.
She was bad dreams,
a fractured spine,
lips hemorrhaging secrets,
and ******* shoved to the back of a throat.
She was laughter at four in the morning
and daisies in a hurricane
with dark hair and darker eyes,
all wrapped up tight in a skeletal frame.
She was your bulletin board of best kept secrets
that you covered with love notes.
You were always trying
to glue her broken pieces back together,
but her edges sliced your skin to shreds.
She did not want to be saved.

Fractured mind;
tattered soul;
a body in ruin —
that’s me.

Morbid thoughts;
frozen heart;
bloated fingers —
that’s me.

Despair and hope.
Love and hate.
Cruel tenderness —
that’s me.

A smoking gun,
a flawed someone
perfectly imperfect —
that’s what I want.