more poems

WEEP

I want to scream.

I want to use my fists for gratuitous beauty.

I tire of twitching and living in daydreams of violence.

I want to draw sweet ichor.

Streaks of vermillion running through my palms,

Hot. sticky, sweet – blood across my face.

HERE

Beyond the sea, a sanguine rose. 

The blood within the soil.

The tears of the ocean.

The voice of the wind. 

I am home, for I am the salt of the Earth.

FAULT

And even from across the sea,

I can still feel your hate.

I can still feel your love.

I can still feel your pity.

But I cannot feel anything else.

PATCHWORK

Day by day, step by step, piece by piece,

I kill the old me.

The one that should've never been born;

I'll cry for him, for his naivety and precocity,

But I'll kill him nonetheless.

"A golden band.

In Heaven, as it is on Earth."