Alcohol is my friend,
it makes me cool.
Gives me the feeling
I’m all grown up
and ready to rule.
It brings class to my photos
on Instagram,
makes me feel carefree
on those days I can’t quite
get with the program.
It whispers sweet nothings
in my ear at night,
changes in the morning
to leech off me like some parasite.
I keep it at bay
by giving it more,
I’m mostly happy in knowing
it’s me he adores.
This dance is out of this world,
it’s a gas when your head twirls off,
not so much when your stomach's unfurled.
But so what! I’m no amateur,
I’ve heard how the bottle can turn saboteur.
A crutch to lean on, I’m told,
even so, the rhetoric just gets old.
Hey, I’m just fine!
I don’t need a helping hand,
bottom line!

There is beauty in buried love—
tenderly wrenching.
The subtle and soft carry so much more power,
and every touch is a stolen blessing.
No moment is taken for granted;
we are present.
Every look: a confession
to be churned over and over,
while we waltz with desire
never hastily.
We are ravenous for a love so blatantly before us but we don’t dare to indulge.
Mm-bap-bap Mm-bap-bap Mm-bap-bap
So we make beauty with the withstraint and we call it discipline.

I say I don't like you
         Try to convince myself the feelings are gone
Pretend to be okay with all of this

         Then I watch you run
Your fingers through your hair
         And my heart drops

Looking into shadow.
That place back there
     where light won’t go.
and I see…
                      …me
A me, I think, not me.
I’m not that thing,
sorrowful wretch,
a broken soul that peers back
from the blackness I deny.

I Am Me! but me won’t let me go.

**** You!
( **** me…?)
**** this…

“Shadow, won’t you let me go?” I ask. And
I answer…

But, as yet, I will not hear him speak.

We were a country that lived near the equator;
I was the land and you were my infinite sky.
We have lived and witnessed our aeons together.
Each moment fleeting, and passing by.  

The wind whispers, and the creatures rumble
weeping for me the unfair weather I hold
Only the dry seasons and the rainy seasons come by
and the sky, he's always done what he's always told.

When he cries, he creates floods and storms
or peaceful drizzles and ditz so plain
and when's angered, he takes right up
the moistened land and then grants me pain.

At night, he's terribly beautiful and quiet
the stars twinkle like stickers on my attic
The silent love, and the prolonged memories
and what he holds, goes far beyond semantics.

I sung, "Precious sky, I am your earth
the land you watch with clouds and dew."
And he replied, "Pretty land, you are my purpose
and there's nothing to take me from you."

This itch is a burn underneath the nails of my toes
Crawling through the crevices of my skin like a virus
Toes, feet, ankles, legs to my knees
I cannot relive this itch with a scratch it’s a *****
The sickness has consumed my body to the whole of my neck;
Choking me, this Amour
Whom has left me in a puddle of oil on the asphalt
Light a match
For the only relief I can manage is a heavier burn
In flames I plummet
Landing perfectly at the bottom again
Walking uphill I resume

Wrinkled. Dry faced. Charging down old stairs.
Not what I expected, but I lunged my frantic knife.
Wild eyes turn to wells as aged bright stars stare back.
Heart shattered visage glides, bumbling. Mirage.


Please go do some gardening. Your flowers are
Sick without you. I miss you. Dream spoilt. Crooked,
Half-hearted, direful springs sprout poison youth.
Seedlings blight your wrathful name as petals grow…


The flowers you grew colourless now bloom bright.
They miss grey! True blue is cold- burdened purple.
Feel the life drink backward, clutching an endless
Night you downed tools without final reconcile
Or friend blinded from drugs.
Now staring beyond a time-stained bitter fire,
Burnt images caught and ****** through empty dark
Tortured fear-stricken blood wincing agony- ****.


Fate lamenting, sharply-flashing, tortured picture,
Lying motionless. Bleeding internally.