Last night I dreamt of your death

There was a wick in your veins

And I held the flame.

You said, "send me off like dynamite."

You said, "this is my sacrifice."

And for once I found Jesus

But not in a Bible or in a pew

I found him in you.


We can’t experience life without death.

You don’t know what love is unless

You’ve felt hate.

You’ll know what it means to be early

Only if you’ve been late.

This much I know of fate,

It’s not an escape.

It’s just a resting place.

Kind of like the bed I woke up in today

And I called you right away and I said,

"Last night I dreamt of your death."

And you said, "thanks for checking." 


Summer. 2013. 

This outbreak isn’t about you.

No, nothing ever really is.

We’re all too selfish

And that’s the truth.

Here I am again,

Gazing at my own face.

It’s pale, though, and un-powdered,

Untouched by me

Or any other man.

It strikes me tonight,

As ugly.

Perhaps only in the train’s

Fluorescent lights

And dark windows.

Sometimes I think I look like Joan Jett

And then sometimes I don’t.

But it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter that the pages are worn

Around the edges

Because God knows I am,

Although I don’t know if He is.

I have this shrinking feeling that He isn’t


Spring. 2013. 

My mind is a callused horse.

I’ve been riding it too long.

It stopped in the middle of the path yesterday.

I could only whip it so many times before

It started to bleed,

Scream and bleed

And throw me off of it.

Not really sure if I’ll ever get back on again.

Last I saw of my mind

It lay dying.

I said my goodbyes

And walked on alone

Wearing raw, my soles

Until I too was bleeding,

Bleeding and screaming.


October. 2013.  

Do you caress like a Klimt?

With Flowers in your hair?

With a bare back?

Are you a bare back lover?

I want to know what your love is like.

What your tongue is like.

I want to know what your rage is like.

Are you an angry lover?

Are you a hopeless romantic?

A bad kisser?

Can I test?

You know I won’t judge you.

It wasn’t entrusted to me.

That’s your job.

But still.

Are you ashen in the wind?

Are you a dirty candle’s dirty flame?

Do you leave wax behind?

I burn candles in alcohol bottles

Because I like the smell of tequila in the air.

And the drunkenness from breathing.

Can you even read my writing?

Sometimes I can’t even.

My hand can’t move that fast.

And my mind races.

But still I’ll try my hardest to pleasure you.

And you know I hate that word.

And I know you do too.

But let’s face it.

You want it as much as I do.

Run these fingers ragged.


Spring. 2013.

I’m old enough to bleed now.

I look down and I see red.

The shinning’s over

But the subway still smells the same

As when I was young.

I will still think of you sometimes

But with no emotion

Just passive observation.

Your memory will not hurt me

Or haunt me

Because our parting is

Nothing but timely.


December. 2012.

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