luminous stars rise
night-blooming jasmine unfurls
'neath glimmering sky

Mannequin-like people
Fake friends—
fake family.

Imitating my friends and families’ actions—
displaying them in a kiosk.

Indestructibility all because of their plastic bodies.
Still, their emotions and thoughts grabbed at whatever they wanted.

Sacrificing so much…
They are unwilling to accept what I have to offer.

Comforting myself in the sheets that they unraveled—

I cannot tell if they take me for granted or whether or not I should leave.

Addicted to you, yet you made the meaning salty.
Excuses — your cliques of words, spewed nothing but gunk.

Yet I respect your figure of speech.
As still as your mannequin-like body.

Can you respect me in the same way?
Not a command but a question.

In the meantime, time will tell.

By the end of the day, you are a part of the residual I left behind — a mannequin.

Fake friends—
Fake family.

In the darkness of midnight, the moon turns away its face
I settle down behind my desk and write down my fate

I’ll form my sorrow in the shapes of lyrics and lines
Ones that won’t make sense in the bright morning light

The pen that bleeds ink made from my hatred and guilt
Words like stones that bring down the walls I have built

I’m the midnight poet, my safety the silence before dawn
So, at first light, all these thoughts will be gone.

A moth came to me
late at night.
Flying
through cold and dark
looking
for light and warmth.

They crave the comfort
of a cozy room,
while the world sleeps.
Yet something so sweet
hides a burning gloom.

Why do you yearn
for that feeling you'll never earn?
Why do you keep seeking the light,
my butterfly of the night?

You observe a shadowy figure
Crouched on weathered planks
Staring into the depths
Of the ocean's vast embrace

The stars shine overhead
And a sliver of the moon
Reflects on crested waves

You watch the figure stand
Then take a haunting step
And vanish from the light

A view so picturesque
That most may never know
What remains
Beneath the surface

Perched on top a sandcastle,
A ghost who rules the night.
In armour pale as soft moonshine,
And brandished sword of might.

From his high keep, he clambers down —
The shore his dark domain.
He stalks the tide’s retreating edge,
For spoils soon to be slain.

The scent of brine and drifting ****
Rides on the midnight air;
Now darting forth to strike his prey,
Swift-footed, keen, aware.

With sharpened blade, he rends the flesh —
His kingdom’s tribute claimed.
And casts aside the rest to rot,
Now that his hunger’s tamed.

Then strikes his armour with his sword —
It rings along the shore,
A haunting drum designed to fright
Subjects still seeking war.

Assured now that his realm is safe,
Sword sheathed with grim command,
He scuttles back to his fortress,
Across the warming sand.

The eastern sky grows light with fire;
The moon begins to fade.
The surf now hums a softer hymn,
The stars slip into shade.

He yields his crown to morning’s glow,
And burrows in his keep,
Where muffled tides and cooling walls
Enfold their king in sleep.

On a night, dark and dreary,
I mused, wearily.
Whatever was I to do
With it watching me?

Wings as black as night,
Ink dripping, feathers like knives.
It has eyes like stars
In a somber, summer sky.

It turned its head and trilled,
Exactly 13 times.
Each note an alarm of distress
Inside my plagued mind.

It was here for me.
It shuffled its black feathers
And unfurled its dark wings,
Showing nothing but a heart.

This heart, my life, my ever-
Changing tune. This song
Began lively, crescendoing.
Ending with a thump.

I watched it falter.
I stared at it and counted.
I got to thirteen,
And then I watched as it stopped.

In the dark night sky

the river sings over stones --


its bittersweet song.

Collaterally damaged.
I took damage to my system.

Using the grit of my finger nails to claw myself into a stable position.
Observing the impact through my palms.

My hands discolored—not bleach.
Discolored.

A damaged nervous system, navigating it like the amazon.
The goals I went to and from are all forgotten because of my accidental backpedaling.

Riding a bike backwards is inferior.
Only going farther away from your destination and all the way back to your shelter.

With all these task in hand…
The success ladder a loopy event.
Like climbing Jacobs Ladder but without the visions of angels and streams of light.