Children in Crashing Manic Waves

Coffee cups--don't only show up
Stacked across kitchen countertops
The purest emotion from a writer
Reveals yellow stained happiness

Whiskey, cigarettes, thousand page novels
One classical song leaving footprints
On all corners of the author's mind
A dust trail border-lining passion and obsession

Some say routine, some say compulsions
Other's, you're wrecking your life with all these
Falling in and out of heavy loves
But. . .

We swim like children in crashing manic waves
Allow ourselves to sink to the bottomless ocean of lows
And fall in love so quick the heart has to heal
Before the first kiss is given to us by soul's desire

We ride the currents of high unfiltered sweet true love

Maybe there is something to this
To allow yourself to become so consumed by
The things--the people--you absolutely love
Even if it breaks you or leaves you with a yellow smile

At least you were really alive
And felt nothing but a joy that
Had to be had until
There was no more left of it

We ride the currents of high unfiltered sweet true love

Written as it comes. Unedited. Untitled.

You have to tell me to leave you

I would love you to say leave me

or love me

Because there’s nothing more that I want

but to be with you

and watch your movements

in silent black and white movies.

Your classic furrow

and moody flickering candle-light eyes

movements you make in bed

where I’ve been like a tourist

visiting the place I thought I’d never make it to.

I can’t forget I can be called yours.

Between states of grief and melancholy

my mind, an all knowing mother,

gives me you again

between pale sheets and moonlight and shadows;

a monochrome dream

with small parted lips beneath me

and I, finally, becoming your first thought.

The full focus you have always been to me.

You need to tell me to leave you

even though you’re never around to

be left from.

You need to hurt me and leave me for dead

and then hurt me all over again

so that maybe I can go.

Give me a fair shot otherwise

I’ll never be happy again.

Unless I see you again.

I’ll never be happy again.

You know it’s what I do best.

To tell you I love you

without ever saying a word.

And you stand there
and you watch the unborn words

trapped inside try to reach you

but the look you wear

is all the God forsaken words need

to stop and nestle further inside.

And I will always hear them reminding me

what you mean to me

what you mean to me
and the burden will never be yours
but you'll stare with a tortured stare
that I know too well.

I Can't See Art

Where there is impotence to gray skies
failure never meets abstracted youth.
In dreary, ill-lit rooms
eyes easily see Art:
unzipped and
sighs only;
you are mine.

An ocean trembles of guilt, aching
that it won’t bear and bends faithfully
with hot sea-salt tears and
she prays to let love be.
You’re not here.
Stuck in my
reverie.