I want to write evil poetry
Where you are the villian
but I can't

the love I've lost
(Make it your fault)

We could have been high school sweethearts
Marriage with all our loved ones

(Dancing in our suit and ties)
(Ya right)

I wish that could be true
But our time isn't right

Maybe you'll come back
In another life

I await you
(In earnest longitude)

You're the poem
I wish to express
to the whole wide world
in intimate hours

I'm in drunk celebration
Wondering if it could have
been us..

But probably not.
Maybe someone else-
a different story.

the best poems that have been
made haven't been fully written
down with just words.
little pieces ?
  sure.
     Our memory can
      only really keep
              so much.

      But to see the
          poems flow
like the crowds of the multitudes
       that are a part of city streets,
             it is there that I feel
                everything;

              it is all fully written
                      down.

              Presently, I watch the
         Writer writing unrivaled opus.
                            the waves of wind.
                                   honking horns.
                                 the steps of feet.

                                    a child laughs.

some days i awaken from
past memories'
embrace.
hating today but
longing to love tomorrow.

WHEN THE MOON FACED THE SUN
ITS TRUTH ECCLIPSED LIGHT'S REALITY

Sometimes seeing is believing.
Some tend to look.

With the heart's compass, no map;
but led by the nature's call.

And atop the highest mountains the yells will mark the place that you can still see deepest valley.

The landscapes of this world are treacherous, yet all the rewarding. Knowledge gained is knowledge used and with each mile treaded in life the soul is carried onward to brighter sunsets.

open yourself up to me
so you can join me in the heaven
you helped create.

With the golden sun a doorway
and its ray, painted on my sleeping face, charging my soul
with warmth for the day.
longing no more to keep it within.
i glimmer a slight orange.

the smallest note of compassion
would stop the orchestra
in its own onslaught.

what were once walls
are now curbs.
the fences to be lept
like the leaping lambs
in the shepherd's
pastoral gaze.
in his
plentiful roaming hills,
there lack none
of any that
but husbandry.

The pen is an instrument.
Like I am an instrument to
  rhythm.
Therefore my instruments
are rhythm's.                        I don't even
Therefore the pen is            feel like I'm
rhythm writing.                   the one
Everyone that's with my    writing
heart, watch as pen slides  these
to rhythm.                            writings.
I wish for no credit to
myself,
        rather the rhythm.
       The music of movement inspires me.

God speaks through the dance
of life.

she bounds in
vivacious curiosity,
confounds with
hidden sweetness,
and has surprises of
endless mystery.

she is a conduit
of marginal talent,
a paintbrush given
to the immaterial
levees.

a childhood friend,
a silent (but spoken)
trusted individual.

you'd be lucky to
pass her any day.

YOU'D HAVE TO **** ME TO
BEAT THIS RED HOT HEART
TO ITS DEATH

consumed by contrition,
responsibility becomes
more a matter of the mind.

deny false disgrace.
but sharpen your ego.
don't harm your body,
tattoo it on your hand.

i don't want love from another these days
i just want to play the piano
for whomever wants to hear
reeling in its sound
hugging my heart so tender.

it's noting the beat of my heart
proving
you can't fail sound
and it can't fail you.

all the concious good
limited, entirely,
by subconcious bad.
/                                     /
all the concious bad
enlightens, with a good heart,
one's subconcious good.
/                                     /
holding burning leaf
in horrowful vast stillness
minding peaceful breeze

I got good at giving bad advice.

Patting backs and pushing them one step forward.

Until at the cliff
where one leads running into their own somersault flight
of the risk of the failure that there a dive.

I felt weightless
within this plunge.

Had faith the waters
will feather the fall.

I knew I could always climb back up
to go again,
to walk the same foot path my friends and I had stepped into creation.

he said,
she said,
a whole lot
of things

there's a promise
under each word
we strive to live

we are true
and truth has
change

there's guilt in
what we said
that we can no
longer hold,
it's hard, but
we carry on

we only desire
to know certainly,
but certainties
hide their face
to the future
we wish to secure

authenticity.
the all-guiding mysterious-
made known-
gravitating force
at the center of stars
and black holes.

the lifeblood and antithesis
of lying,
and the true aspect of appreciation's cry.

looking for the worst.
but
finding the best.

low tone
to
high tone

sad
to
happy

hell
to
heaven

fear
to
love

death
to
life

­twisted
to
cyclic

imprisoned
to
freedom

ugly
to
beautiful

psyc­**
or
savior

the truth is you had no idea what you were getting yourself into

i don't recall the past dark parts of memory
i just know they build me. i capture them in the moment
to ensure no future rue.
here future has presented me a smile
anew.

if you only get better through spite,
hate my ******* guts
and get to work.

the firefly
and butterwings'
fluttering
attraction
hold the moment
before our lips
pull to eachother
in innocent
amorous heat.

the knife
you never protected me with it
you stabbed me
over and over
and gifted swords
to your many fallen
angels
and ordered them
to attack

if I'm sorry
let's be sorry
together.
a weak embrace
is as
strong as
we hold it.

so hold tight,
we still have
the heavens to
soar in.

responsibility to the devil
is defamation, exploitation,
lies, apathy in hell, and abuse of power.
just to name a few.

so when you take it, please, if you are not them, break it and shake it then stake a good fame when you again remember all that comes with thy name.

If the walls could talk,
they would say beguiling things.

Echo's of machinations,
in sounds of silence.

All the beautiful nights lost to the dark sky that play like projectors on the framework of ***** volitude.

Let go of your mind's constraints
and seize the day with fortitude.

errant skies, orange like sherbert
clouds of grey slowly move by unfettering my ear,
lost times i couldnt heal,
i break free on the taste of ice cream on my tongue
as the clouds around where i fly form a pond
in which i soak in.
the stillness of water. calm wave
in the shallows.
whisked to a burling bastion of a blue school of fish their
scales shining the new found suns light reflecting off my eyes as sparkles
that happen to fall and turn to purple soda and land on my tongue.
whisking around in my form of glee, a new scape of snow and snow
covered grass and snow
falling amid twirling streetlighted paths.
As I fall and I land too and then stand in an old jacket and in my old fleece hat.

The cold of those nights.
Like taking a breath mint but it always stayed somewhere placed within your head. The core, i guess. If you placed yourself right, snugged yourself tight, you'd be an unstoppable machine against the cold.
And with it came the power of being in that ubiquitous beauty.
Every single snowflake.
A present.
I bask in it
It might be bad right now i think to say at THIS moment in THIS time,
That it tastes a little like you
But I don't deny the truth

i'll remember the shape of
your face as if
it the palm of my hand

cups of water
over the surface
of your plentiful
pool

when you had finally entirely let me
in,
i touched a deep and dark seed that I
found most probable
and never said it aloud in respect of
your secrets
but it never changed my view of you
and I decided
to understand how to understand you
and how to heal something like that from its root while you hid your beautiful flowers i had seen all along.

real friends never step away
but sometimes,
they seperate.

you know through it all,
i really do have you to thank for it.

the lapping of the flames
that kissed away an ember
was seperated, possibly suffocated,
by the bearing winds and the
ever-controlling time
constant of the universe.
i believe that fire to grow
each their own,
until the hearty coal
breathes the same breath
of the same room where
they begin to join again.

the warmth of appreciation
of same burning force
felt ***** and branding
like only one other ever did.

sometimes you don't know what you done, did, and do to me.

sometimes a life of tragedy relates in one's duplicity.

sometimes i can read your eyes as my bible, an angel doomed in his own humanity.

one time, i saw your soul and you fell me your weight, that arch of your body i ​wanted to hold so dearly.
it felt like i earned your love; through earnesty enough.
with all that wish of my wishes in the cup.

i hope i grow wings, when this is finally up.

in the hospital bed
they struggled
until they found
their new life.

past reality died that
day, and with it,
a foreign breath of
something magical
was taken. peace,
love, and new beginnings.

didn't you know baby?
i contend to wrestle with angels.

waiting for word
from the Sun,
in a sentence of night,
which is so ruthless and told
who and what is so wrong
on this world we die on.

come down, oh, Sun.
So that I may feel your warm embrace,
so that I may enlighten the brighter reflective truth, I mirrored from your greatness, away from the dark family lies spread by self-righteous rotten eyes and ears. Holding on to modesty trying not to **** for the murdered cousin inside, all while I am painted but villian of night.

My vengeance will taste of kindness.

There's a lot of power in not doing what someone knows you are capable of.

I dreamt of you in lonely Mantua.
Outside my door as I had seen you once before.
Your aura slowly leaking through my home's walls filling the air in a loving daze- I stirred up in its steamy cloud.
Outside I went, outside I saw your smile. I thought you may have saw me shake like I was a beat mutt.
My gooey wound opened upon meeting your eyes- the love is stupidly perserverent.
Then as fast as you came,
without word, without embrace, slowly you set, oh Sun. With magnificent glory of death of day; a hot angry summer's day.
Down flights of stairs where you escaped the Moon's pull.


A dream come dead in Mantua.
Banished from the brightly sky's domain,
I light the night sky,
the nightly earth,
in turn- in steed to show those
in darkness of night there can still be light past these cyclical dying days.

seeds of doubt are like weeds
that nosey neighbors snicker
at yet plant. waiting
as if you owe it to them
to uproot yourself to their
idea of a perfect lawn.

forms crack from the Craving.
sunkissed sea stone, solid but weakened.
the curse outside can't match the ones inside.
angst gifted by nature's euphoria,
dark core evolved into a white magnolia.
wicked spinstress: an honored misfit.
here in these dreams is a focused image.
the reality, no protection; neglect from a timid god.

this sweetness of your lips,
you are saved by your enlightening
love.
even your hate,
come from love.
you flagellate
the heat straight from my
rigid devious bone to bring me up
rather than down.

tear down my vice,
and I would still **** your innocence
within my undeserving needed respite;
like a vampire,
a monster at my own right -a human at best, yet I cursed and blessed to believe in your light.

God designated me as above so below.
so, I crawl to highest mountain with broken body to even capture a fraction of your image.

The more you understand love, others, and its power connecting with others,
the more they see the
part of themselves they still hate.
And they will hate you for it.
Cracking unseen decadance in a deep cave blessed by a pond, inside
(or rather itself), a mirror of
fire anger and pity;
pain abuse and loneliness;
loss death and destruction.
dipping into decades of refractions of
faces, and what lied beyond their eyes,
even more sullen than thine.
I've always known how I feel.
Love always reigned in my life.
The Touched, a community,
at this time plagued;
curse themselves to sleep.
A line of misfortune.
and with it all I still bask
in all of the cosmic confluence,
reaping its infinite knowledge of light.