This Is Not For You


It opens by telling
“This is not for you”, unfortunately
caution was never in your character
and so you embarked, journeying to the
pivotal moments in my life, flipping through the
heartbreak that infested my otherwise mundane etchings
and pausing upon assumed smiles painted in verse,
plagiarized, nonetheless by myself, from the other me:
the one that hummed to the sound of your laugh
harmonically creating a melodic medication I used to
subvert some of the pain, and still the rest bled into those pages,
buffered, filtered through as if you caught all the dust before I could
inhale each breath making me more pure than I was a second ago,
but I always would exhale, inducing harm,
twitching, your eyes glance from line to line executing my text
and as you operate on me a continued nausea builds,
slowly affecting you and as you hear my footsteps in the hallway you
unsteadily replace that journal and
surprise yourself with an uneasy smile.

Lost Memories


Lost memories are a
dark room, overflowing
with developed photographs
nailed to each wall
loosely hanging off-center,
slightly too far to reach
all the while too close
to be seen, without a
hazy blurring of
contrasting pigments.

Wavering


Un-vocalized taps ignite, decibel explosions,
proving the still microphone to be turned on,
unfortunately I am wavering, shaking too much to
nimbly thread my syllabic needle into
the ears of the audience and sew sentences;
fabricated by my passive lips now hanging numb,
mourning their sudden loss of motion and
still trembling I release tension, breathing
a shuddered sigh all over the room before
I finally begin.

Recreating The World


The wind blew pure sand
across our rough edges
dusting us with yesterdays footprints.

As we leave, making our own,
recreating the world
underneath our feet designing
natural man-made art.

In front of jealous water
waving to us goodbye,
washing away our own
world we had left lingering.

One Too Many Excuses


It took one too many excuses
until I heard your silent steps

finally exposed, squeaking through
the cracks in your well worn quiet mask

held together by your, motionless touch,
and etched with picturesque words

now nothing, but visual reminders
of those one too many nights.