love poetry

It’s something 

I have so very little to offer


I love you

I love you

I love you 

And that must count for something. 


Morning after whisky blues

She told me she was

In love

I asked how it felt

Her smile split her face in two

The night was still young 

And already I had wine stains

On my Sgt. Pepper tshirt

Suddenly I was sad 


The reaper awaits

at the fringe of the forest

My soul

stumbles and sways

chaos ensues

I try to snatch the lighting

from his eyes

He is bruised

and butchered

and perfect

I swallow fire

like apocalyptic lemonade

I will never

be the same

I brand an “H”

between his eyes

don’t lose the rage inside

don’t you die

untouched by me

don’t hang your gods

too high

chaos ensues

My soul

stumbles and sways

He is bruised

and butchered

and perfect.

The Epitome of Splendor

He said the only cuts worth having

are the ones that scrape against bone

the ones that grind you down

and build you back up

He whispers through the bitter-blood taste of the Cabernet

Do you know pain?

I etched it into the skin on my wrist

years ago

the night of delirious bowling

I made myself vulnerable

only to swear never again

I have paid the price for this oath

For apart we were a plague upon the other

Together we were the epitome of splendor

Do you think this is true?

His grin is cocky,


and he tells me

My writing is the epitome of spendor

when he is the muse. 

in between chords

Dusk brushed the building tops

I saw the twinkle in your eye 

within the city lights

A sigh formed in longing

the memory of a frosty kiss…

the smell of leather

the scent of you.

These are things I will forever miss…

The music played

and I liked the sound his fingers made

sliding across strings

in between chords

But nothing could break me from this melancholy trance

I was sad about the news

the man on the moon 

needed a space suit to breath

and all mountains will crumble

into the sea


Boys passed me in ski masks

but payed me no mind

except a nod and a peace sign

The wind blew back my hair

my skin became ice

I stood on top of the mountain

caught in between chords

and waited for it to crumble.

Mediocre sins

I was afraid. I was ruined. I was damned.

My only redemption was found in finding offense at a sexual joke

and keeping my legs forever crossed.

I was visited by shadows

but they melted away

Perhaps my sins were too mediocre

for the Devil to be bothered.

I belonged nowhere, to no one

and then you came. 

You say there are pieces of you still broken

Deep throating God

wasn’t all it was cracked up to be

Still I found beauty in your ugly

A sliver of peace inside your chaos

But you could never be a saint

You could never be a gentleman

Not in those boots. 

I can still dream

None of this is easy

the things we cannot live without

are slowly killing us

Spilling us out into the radioactive


But I can still dream

The Blacks of his eyes

are not black at all

but burn like lit cigarettes

I will wander inside those tiny embers

and wonder 

Can we live forever?

All the teeth gnashing

and regrets

Didn’t do a single thing

I’ll snort whiskey out my nose this night

and put on another ring

(I’m fucking kidding!)

But I can still dream

Although my heart is stone

my heart is dangerously sentimental

For you

I gnashed my teeth together many a night

crying “this will not do!”

And it did nothing

for me

Because he was vile, after all

and I fucking loved it. 

But I can still dream

He writes poems from the future

it’s the strangest thing

Perhaps he chased a lucky albino’s foot

right into the fire

that decorates my wall

He’ll return to me someday

covered in soot with adventures to tell

For I can still dream. 

Cardiac parts

In the wake of last night’s

Whiskey fists 

 I belly crawled into the mouth of the abyss  

 In search of the remnants of his heart 

 He said keep the cynicism out of my kiss 

and the poison out of my bite

But I liked to play with cardiac parts 

Maybe it was the way it squished in my mouth

Maybe it was the Charles Manson glint in his eye

Maybe we were all meant to murder and fry

Maybe we push the repeat button

over and over again

For I loved the tragic

and he had a thing 

for shitty women.