the world is
solution
maybe then mediation anything what everyone else says is
someone tell between
everything is a fake
i hope i me
someone
someone get me anymore but lose myself and i will lose you that is all me out of this
i not is as easy as breathing
need what it is i know and want lying good and right and what it is i
to him means i myself
i don’t used to navigating on my own
will sense of it
i will not be need them
don’t need that don’t need am right no one change even if I me
this is not i help me fine
this is lying to loved me anyway
everyone get i all done
i will make leaves me
so will it you
even if i not all right
am nothing is all right
lying to him die tonight
maybe then
peace
maybe then a change for you
i will too
the world is on fire
Posted in Fiction
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Am I To Believe
Everything I have been gifted —
these fingertips, this tongue.
Everything I’m waiting for
under the burning sun.
I am a monster in my own right,
but you already knew.
Tearing open my own flesh
but then — who am I? And who are you?
I’ll eat you alive, I will —
bite by bite and blow by blow.
I’ll love you, kiss you, trap and kill —
it’s the only way I know.
Posted in Love Poems, Poetry
Tagged devour, eat, food, food of love, good enough to eat, love, love poem, poem, poetry
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What If
What if they gave us
everything we asked for,
what would be left to want,
what would be left to pray for?
What if they gave us
everything we needed,
What would be left to lack,
what would be left to beg for?
What if all the color in the world
is an illusion like the blue of sky?
What if all the sound in the world
is just a pretty lie?
What if everything we’ve got
is burning down to die?
Who are we fighting?
Who are we losing to?
Who are we up against?
What’s it coming to?
Posted in Poetry, Songwriting
Tagged 100 words, bigger picture, hope, lyrics, need, poem, poetry, questions, song, what if
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Know ( )self
Intangible thing,
a belief in self —
how is it that you cannot hold it,
cannot wield it,
cannot shield yourself with it?
Because it cannot be grasped?
But in the hands of another,
it cuts deeply enough
that you bleed for days,
for weeks —
filled with a dread so ripe
you cannot help but open
to spread its seed far and wide.
The fruit is bitter, poisonous,
and all you allow yourself to eat,
save what you steal from others.
What emptiness lives inside
that you fill it only with what you take,
what you tear down,
what you ruin?
Posted in Fiction, Poetry
Tagged 100 words, mental illness, personality disorder, poem, poems, poetry, poor coping mechanisms, self hate, self-talk, writing
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Untitled
The scent of her
is thick on fingers,
lips, skin, sheets;
she leaves a trail of pheromones
wherever she goes,
inspiring late morning sessions
of fast and frantic fucking,
the kind where it’s hard to get enough,
hard to think finished is finished,
hard to do anything
but lay around and love her.
The soft of her eyes
is inviting, enticing,
entrancing, intoxicating;
she looks at what she wants and takes it,
molding and shaping it
to be a harder, faster,
stronger, better version of itself,
so that she can swallow it whole,
and leave nothing else
for anyone else.
Posted in Love Poems, Poetry
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