twenty five.

Honey dew dripping

      Off of lips I’ve kissed

With a charcoal heart, nothing left to

Lose besides you.

can we just kiss already

When no one tells you the way home

When the streets have no lights

And our nights become mornings

With no breakfast and quiet kisses

I only wish of you in the morning-

When the moon is seeping into my room.

The taste of you still sits upon

My tongue. I want to call you mine.

And I want that all night.

a dried mind

As my eyes meet the pale pink rose

Sinks into oblivion.

Thoughts glide through broken glass

Meeting velvet sunsets.

Touch my tongue with a Monday Mind

Flowers seem to bloom with

The midnight moon.

   skintight

Cut my wrist with a rib cage.

Chew on the souls of the dead-

November the Fourth, choke on

Holes filled with nightmares.

poem

Ancient stories heal the minds our children once own.

Blunt trauma, thoughts with scars thrown to the unknown.

Contrasting ideas, months with no sun, who really knows anymore.

THE TV WON’T SAVE YOU

There is doubt that sits upon the very bottom of my toes.

Rubbing sand against my teeth, only to show my blood is black.

Old newspapers dispersed on the kitchen table where the cats sleep.

Glasses full of water, sink is full of dishes, rats eat my mind.

Time is thrown in a closet, for days that seem to fly.

When children begin to die due to lack of knowledge:

Books don’t exist anymore.

heavy items float.

Inspire the minds of the birds that fly

      Above the skyline, before the sun sets, before night swallows us whole.

The room begins to sway, as the ceiling becomes the floor, the floor becomes the

Ceiling. Walking on walls, tongue tied, and the telephone has rung. Off the hook, off the cliff,

OFF WITH HIS HEAD. Noise stops, silence enters the skeleton’s eyes. When the black

Sea rises, the stars will float and the Moon shall sink.

            Below the water, underneath it all, RAW.