Black Matter

Black crow on patio,
Why come you?,
In times when wishes wane,
Black crow sit outside bedroom’s window pane,
Black crow still.

Oh spirit of night in day,
Please spread your wicked wings and fly away,
Through heavy rain below saddened clouds,
Black crow, you must leave loud,
I must protect my home.

You, the monument of my coming glum,
You, I, prominently becoming dumb,
Unspoken, numb,
Unbroken but done-
Conceding to black matter.



Why is it like past paths unchanged?,
In present tense,
I own my vices, every night before rest,
Remembered are what cannot be swallowed…
It’s every night.

The morning, a new man to decay throughout short hours of long day,
Be rationalized into appropriate, and thought pure,
Convince the likes of lots and spare few,
A smile and pep,
Jolly wide jaws and jokes,
Remembered are those that cannot be swallowed, so I choke –
On apparitions of upheaval,
Leave sanctity at bedroom’s door,
Let my clothes, in a room alone, descend to the floor,
Let the blackness of my prior self consume this room, from which its housed,
His stench in sheets,
I do not seek!-
The same night’s ending!,
No same sleep,
His brain’s weak,
To temptations of lustful peaks…
Into webs of unclothed whores,
I can plead…no more,
For salvation from what before,
I can no longer cry…in ink,
For separation from my recent past,
He be taken to his very last,

Beautiful in Chains

Beautiful in chains,
Red rings around her wrists,
My shackled muse, with disdain,
For my disease, with clenched fists,
Be bolted to ground, and tamed,
Lashed and maimed,
Controlled and trained…
To obey.

Disobedience be harshly met,
Curling toes and black whip wet,
Back blotched, choose to sketch,
Trails of her consequence, punishment, and regret,
I, ignorant to mercy.

Strike white skin,
A smile,
The dark night’s light spins-
Her back bends, hung,
About the ceiling,
Intimate with feeling,
She screams red,
I unchain her, we shower, and head straight to bed 🙂


My aunt always used to tell me that I will never keep anything because everything breaks at a certain instability, and I possess that instability. Enough intelligence to build a thousand bricks, and more than enough anger to make them fall. I, the perfect vibration.

Contingencies for when I may become unsound,
By the expectations of those who care for me,
I was completely free,
From the shackles of normality,
The oddity scorned for differences,
I could never hold beauty still in my trembling palms,
Fragility of innocence shattering in my hands,
I knew for a fact I was the forever damaged.

My father always defined the man, strong, protective, and big. Higher than boy, equal to woman but lower than God. He demonstrated the power of embracing abnormalities in character, nothing was unacceptable. He showed expressively rights and wrongs and decried what it felt like to be victim to people’s rationalizations of said wrongs. He made sure that I-

Could stand without destroying the base to which my feet rest,
He showed me that I was the only person I needed to truly impress,
He showed me cavalierly endurance in horrid distress,
And made me truly discover that the shaking stops….when I think less.

The Flow

The salty chips cut into my alarmingly chapped lips,
The bag in one hand, the book in other,
From an external angle it seems to hover,
Above my left knee,
There is only silence around me,
But yelling words of trailing characters echo in my insides,
Being brought to life with contact with my eyes,
The contacts in my eyes,
Are arid from staring…for hours,
The pointed power,
Keeps me seated,
The cushion heated,
And my eyes open.

“Literature take place with me,
In my noiseless solitude,
Bring fervor, emotion, and attitude-
To my usually dull life…”

I smile alone,
I lie the book down,
The living room is freezing,
These chips are bland,
My eyes are sore,
I have a cramp in my hand,
There’s tons of crumbs from chips on the floor,
And I just remember I had plans,
Welcome back.

On Bloody Floor

Bobby could not understand the beat of her heart, for it was weak,
Jessie could not mutter a word through her oafishly gapped teeth,
It was Bobbies job to keep-
Jessie’s heart jumping,
But he could not hear anything but a light thumping,
Bobby dived into her chest with jagged tips,
Grabs her heart and held good grip,
Mimicry, he helps it beat,
Faster impressing the tissue deep,
Jessie screamed from pain,
Bobby did not let go,
Jessie screams from pain,
Bobby did not let go,
Because death is scary,
Obviously silent, yet emotionally loud,
Three months pass, Bobby two hands in, Bobby cannot eat,
Three months and three weeks weak,
Jessie cannot hear Bobby’s beating heart,
Grip goes,
His hips bow,
His hands fall out,
Quick slips, No!-
She screams low,
She now beating slow,
Beating no-
Two bonds severed on bloody floor.


Some ire never leaves,

When chosen, deliver her from evil, mentally reprieve,

When spurning is stunned,

By a mourning’s morning with hot tea and warm wheat buns,

The heat numbs,

A shooting mind, the smoking gun,

To discover justice in death dealt,

Replicate a heart’s death felt,

By pulling of thin metal…

A man’s test of mettle,

A woman’s refusal to settle.

Red in eyes, hot in palms,

Dead with whys, I cannot calm,

Oh some ire never leaves,

A season constant which terror deaves,

Please choose to believe in an end,

The abject thoughts seem to recommend,

A cutting out of a blackened heart,

A blackened art,

Displayed on light posts to find the missing parts,

And to avoid the prospect of being simply sick,

She simply sick, in mind and soul,

In heart, my goal,

To cut out the infected organ…to save the body,

The little body,

A quick chance to finally be me, ungodly…

I’m sure, that some ire never leaves the hearts of the chronically unpleased,

It never breaks from its hallow chambers of muscle and ribs,

It’s crib…

Where it rests until direct activation,

Of its true purpose with agitation,

And finally lay rest to clamor of exaggeration,

My goal, my aspiration.