The Poet

I cannot bear anything but archaic love. A table cloth of hope spread over misfortunes. I recollect your unshaved smile and all the unshaved smiles and sapphire eyes I swallowed up. My dreams are haunted by the gentle touch of a man who wants to attach himself to me. A heart continues thumping on the…

I. A beginning and an end Every middle detail smudged and ripped because I cannot bear to relive my life II. The middle details must be highlighted and aroused III. Those intricacies have created me

Beauty; self defined and fragile. Much too fragile for those who cannot fathom themselves. In the mirror I see a ghost. In the garden where we find roses we read, sunbathe and soak up the fragrance. While people reach their last breaths and I do not save them.

Rolling beyond  where grey meets black and white Walls cover us souls peaking out I named you my cousin yet I barely know my own Be my sister As we begin your words may be unable to reach my mind I may misconceive your tongue How it curves and clicks I will try so hard…

My intention of enveloped desire is to tear you apart I shall leave you and your immoral ways to the ones who do not mind. Fall into my abyss. Fall, where ladies find an egress

Is this heaven? Where sunlight meets grass and each of us share in a communal manner Father waits by the water Calling nothing but my name and I, who speaks of extravagant things. whilst living in poverty or reverse

When nobody hears my voice and I am sitting lonely Tears falling for pain and longing are each results of an event I am unable to recall I call and call out I am only here

The sky cries when you visit me and the sun hides I take that as warning

Suddenly, I grasp how shortly my time will slip away and how my white sheets will soon become grey and the pictures on my walls will all fall and all I can do is sit and watch the ticking clock as time rolls away

There was something archaic and sorrow searching about the way I descended into woe

She is my fiend and she wants to bring me to Hell She smolders me and my spirit evaporates

Silent wind blows against the silent structures Surrounding I, standing tall Albeit they are emptier than at night and nighttime hides itself in whispers Night is purposeful in its silence Daytime belongs to noise