Our Sanctuary

As the houses burn around us, we try to save our own. We build defenses of formidable measure to withstand the most perilous of onslaughts. We fortify our roofs with unbreakable ethics and stay true to our shelter. We stay away from our windows because they show us what we must do without; the pain and misery outside those doors deal great damage to our exposed exteriors. We craft our success to persevere through the fact of eventual failure.

We’ve pointed out spades of errors in the integrity of our fellowmen’s houses…we pledge not to make those same mistakes. I have one other, one other person in this bout of foul play, I stare my darling in her eyes as she set flames to our drapes boding slow death to our sanctuary, she was freezing and needed a heat my body could not provide. The chandeliers fall to the ground and burst into glass cutting chunks of fresh meet from my sensitive legs. I stare my darling in her eyes, I stare my darling in her eyes, I stare my darling…in her eyes as she promises forever…confounding reason with flames. I beg my beloved, who which has the power to remove, these flames from our haven, to not mimic the shortcomings of her friends, I beg my beloved to make eternal peace with her heart and not temporary splendors with her actions. I beg my beloved to think about her honor and truth, for these virtues can rebuild our home. I fear the weight of a vexing plight and allure of a false tomorrow may fill her lungs with that cinnamon smoke, and that is when…I will lose her.



I had a dream that I lost her,

The light left and I was forced to rekindle my flame in this new darkness,

I had a dream that I saw her, bewildered and heartless,

We had to be stuck in the same cage,

Because I could feel her breath on my shoulder,

The breath began to go colder and her eyes began to glow bright red,

She was trying to wake the dead-

Feeling of abandonment but bred injustice instead,

She was between two nexuses I didn’t care about,

I began to shout-

In the dark,

Trying to keep my spark,

From being consumed by her stark-

Attempts to swallow me whole.


I woke up,

To the bells of my alarm clock,

Completely sweaty, completely still in shock,

I could not believe,

That another person convinced me I didn’t need to breath,

That another person made my wants feel like my needs,

I couldn’t believe,

That I would be force-fed an understanding I simply could not conceive,

A plight of reality of knowledge,

A pain held on my ribs,

I got up to work…

Getting dressed with my eyes closed…



She rejoices,
3, 218 choices,
By combinations from articles of clothing she reads with her eyes,
She dresses, scurries, to the 6 foot mirror, she agrees with the way the fabric traces her thighs,
She grabs her makeup for beauty creation,
First, the foundation of expectations,
Second, the blush of vanity,
Third, blackening eyebrows with artistic adeptness,
Fourth, gray lipstick for instilling mystery,
The toil of the illusionist!

To town, with whorish friends, all different in attractiveness, all different masks,
1,2,3 a fourth glass–
Stings the throat,
Jabs and pokes at her fragile structure, no coat —
Both cold,
Thankfully some devious guy came to give gold by fabric jacket,
Grab it, sip it, tag it, snap it,
Snatch it, rip it, tag her, attack it,
A pill in cup, up in throat,
Shhh, keep still and hope,
Ew goody it worked,
She excuses a silly quickly dizzy burp,
Where are her whores?
He grabs her shaking wrist,
To dance and twist about the floor,
She’s weary…

Guidance to apartment,
Close the door,
Flimsy, clumsy, modest whore,
Lift the dress, remove the panties,
Impale by fingers quite handy,
Latex hug, a dive inside,
His voice guides, confirmation with weak head shakes,
His second head hat breaks,
Fun and mistakes,
He came and went,
She woke…a night believed unspent,
2 months later and a bump.

She 1,055 choices,
From combinations of affordable activities she read in articles,
But her childish preferences lied in drink,
Particles of dust from disgust sleep on her heavy tongue,
The night she turned 21 years young.


If you were to place you fingers right between my vertebrae,

You’d behold what keeps breaking my back,

In fact,

It’s the evil cousin of dismay.


It sleeps in witched chambers of questionable thoughts,

The ones that don’t belong,

Strong, be gone, a song—

It sings off hollow walls that rot.


The brain be my beaten chamber of me,

Pink and free,

But bound,

Trapped, the sound—

Of what it screams,

Often worse than it seems.


I have given enough power to the passing moments,

I have given enough self to selflessness and atonement,

A thirst,

A thirst,

Not quenched,

A thirst,

The worst, is close,

The first of notes,

Of screams to a bursting throat,

That bodes a choke…

And finally breaks the cloak,

That she has up,

She the demon, she the beast,

That rips the joy from my face and base from my feet,

But no longer.