With Decision

I don’t want to be the reason she dies,
I would not be able to live with myself,
Two innocent souls, one transgression,
No, not again.

Vibrantly violent what I beheld,
What pain struck my chest,
What pain struck her chest,
It struck her worse,
It struck me best,
Relentlessly forced me to express-
My guilt for my actions impure…
While still unsure my complete intentions,
These actions, extensions-
Of what my subconscious would not release peacefully,
And as the mountain of disdain increased speedily,
I collapsed beneath its weight,
I broke her, and that is when I knew I could break,
Cold and still beyond the night,
Bursting into day,
My worries would come to stay,
Drag me to reality, and demand me to display-
My worst.

I would rue the next night’s coming,
Heart pounding outside my ribs,
To know I wouldn’t sleep,
Openly burdened by tribulations I couldn’t speak,
Dedicated self-hatred slander and slurs I couldn’t peep,
I would be the epitome of self-defeat,
Which means once I rose,
From the heaps of her I tried to dispose,
At a new nexus now with a decision only God knows.


Cemetery Girl

Busy of late,
Running towards,
In the dark, who fate,
Chooses to intimidate…
The cold cemetery girl bewitched by the dead of night,
Twist and turn under the moonlight’s burn,
Again and again.

With each step,
I do not forget
My reasons to greet death,
With open arms,
Her unholy frozen charm,
Keeps me running.

The purest thing I know,
Her essence gives darkness to my negative space,
Beating frantically what is not,
Finally cloaking what I should not see,
In…and outside of me,
My sweet pea, my darling.

She’s always quiet when she speaks,
I always convince myself that she’s dying when she sleeps,
She implores I do not do that…,
It will bring unwanted stress to my already feeble bones,
My love frightens me when she’s still like, cold like stone,
I believe her home she’s outgrown,
I ask her to come with me,
Follow me back,
She hesitantly silently agrees,
She jumps on my back,
Latches on my shoulders while keeping herself intact,
We arrive at my home,
And plague the people I live with, selfish and unknown,
Breaking the skeleton of my mother’s own throne,
Bashing and beating,
Maiming and mistreating,
She speaks up now,
Loud and screaming,
Providing me with meaning-
To my actions seemingly violent by the minds I’ve set free,
Let them be dead, like her…and me,
Cemetery girl, utterly free,
She smiles…and winks,
I think,
I thinks,
She blinks.


The glorious exposition of her emotion in color,
Displayed on the holy walls of her tiny cage,
It gives her a little more to look at, when she’s stuck with rage,
It simply a mixture of white and grays,
It asks for her attention to be paid-
As she convulses in and out of consciousness,
I stare in, making empty promises,
That one days I’ll release her…
But those are lies,
She’s simply too dangerous and you can see it in her eyes,
They’re calm, peaceful, yet sick,
With a liquid coat that seems lizard-like and thick,
She’s trapped with her problems she can’t fix.

Every night around five,
I hum her this saddened song,
She smiles and laces her fingers through the thin bars of the cage,
A saddened song that won’t age,
It’s 2 minutes, 36 seconds long,
When I stopped humming and looked inside,
I saw an empty cage, still with disbelief that she died.


I am fearful again,
The blaring music has stopped,
Giving attention to my screaming thoughts,
What if?,
One night comes,
In bleak disarray,
Sitting up in bed.
In pitch black shade,
I cannot take,
It no longer,
I embrace my hate,
I slake my hunger,
I take to town,
To homes yonder,
Irate, unbound.
Morals and mind asunder,
I kill the house,
I stab the tongue,
I teach the mouth,
I hide the young,
She screams and shouts,
Pant, shakes, dry gums,
She is ripe with doubt,
Forehead in contact with cold gun,
She knows what’s about –
To happen before sun.

Exactly what I said.

I am free,
I am fearful again,
What if…?


To be replaced by a dog,
An inadequate substitution,
With no challenging dialogue,
A canine hired for platonic prostitution.

He cannot firmly disagree,
He cannot firmly encompass me,
A desperately pitiful pompous plea,
To force herself to get over me.

Poor doggy, beaten with thoughtless words,
Spoken from a harpy chasing birds,
To be stabbed in their chirping hearts and hatefully served-
To poor doggy,
The blood would probably-
Make the meat soggy,
I mean the beak’s body,
I mean the beak soggy…
To be replaced by a fucking dog,
I should go choke the fucking thing,

No Choice

The impurity of my nightmares span far beyond anything I’m willing to admit,
I will not send for help, by text, at night…
I’ll just sit,
In bed and think about why the disturbing feels right,
A contradiction to personality that I seem to can’t get.

Maybe my brain sees sleep as a time to explode,
To resurrect the corpses of dead thoughts,
Along the red road,
And give glimpses of demons I’ve already fought.

Maybe me brain fears its own destruction,
Or relapse,
So it gives me consequence as kind of  passive instruction,
Of when reality was a persistent screaming beast in my overly sensitive ears,
It reminds me my fears,
Those that have harmed me over the pass 3 years,
I think it wants me to wake grabbing the cold pillow to my right,
At times beyond night,
Between two and four,
Flailing in darkness, the silent war,
Ugh….I can’t wake…
My roommate…
Because he’ll ask questions in morning,
And I won’t answer,
I guess I can heed the warning,
That there is cancer,
In empty force,
Maybe this is just my brain’s prefered way of discourse,
Because it knows I have no choice but to see,
No choice but to listen.

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.