I’m lonely…

And loneliness is when your blood is deficient in love,

trust, kindness, compassion and all of the good things above…

Spring crawls through the debris and it seems like there is a lot of things,

I can be lonely with.

Sing with the robins in disbelief that there is still winter seeping

through the skin,

It is not too long until there is grass beneath my feet,

the snow still glistens in the sun yet

I feel so incomplete…

All else awakens, yet I fell asleep.

And this is the season of happy faces – hollow hearts,

in anticipation of glee and sparks between them,

this is the season,

all the smiles, oh, how I would love to believe them.

Give me your pain like water to a stem,

it inspires me, only then shall I thrive…

I need pain,

only then…

I am alive.



Don’t wake me

Don’t wake me from my sleep…

I won’t see my screen light up or hear the beep,

I’m in too deep.

I put my cares aside and drift away,

I hug my pillow and take the leap.

Switch between dimensions,

nightmares and wishful dreams,

I have no worries…

Just for this moment,

I let my eyes close and pretend I don’t know you,

nothing around me counts,

just the street lights outside my window

covering the snow,

turning it into a photograph – sepia tone.

Sleep – like a tiny death envelopes my whole,

I am one in my bed but I’m not alone.

I don’t hear the phone, leave a message after the tone,

I’ll answer when I’m alive again,

In the morning to come…


Empty carapace

An empty carapace.

A string of unsolved murders tied to the feet.

Wobble through the seasons with a hollow heart.

Chocking on the hatred and the rancor,

Blood on my hands as I watch it all fall apart.

I’ve joined hands with the dead and danced with the living,

and none of those saved me from the dark.

Kept on my knees to stand up tall again,

kept my ears open despite your vicious bark.

No one can possible envision the emptiness I hold within,

a black vortex of unhinged emotion,

rage that I hold in.

A barbarous silence fills the air,

but you can’t see me,

I’m not there.



One day at a time

Seems like I can’t do it no more,

death is the only thing on my mind

and I can’t seem to step down in life.

Hope the heavens take me,

hope the heavens bless me,

I’m sick of being so tired.

In and out of mental prisons,

cycles of abuse seemed never-ending,

a healthy dose of skepticism didn’t save me from pretending.

They were condescending,

The doom impending,

wasn’t worth the money I was spending.

No shoes, no clothes would put a cloth over my wounds,


Can I go?

Would you let me?

Another day would be too much, can God save me?

Or maybe I’ll just shut up like I always do,

Put the mask on and be the person who,

stood beside you like nothing was wrong,

the same person you devalue,

but oh well,

I guess it’s like this for now,

having nothing, staying at my parent’s house,

barely have a dime to my name,

but I have my soul and I have heart,

everybody but I to blame,

I have poems, I have art,

and no shame in my game.







This room is my prison.

A dark cell governed by darkness I sit in.

This bed is my home,

and these walls – the only thing that listen,

how the sound changes from silence to shrieks in a second,

all the pain they’ve reckoned and all the punches they’ve taken.

They breathe in unison with my fears at night,

but they keep silent, all four polite.

Pillows – the tear catchers,

catch every drop from my eye,

These things are all I have – all that keeps me alive.

Never alone in this room that I own,

This place and these walls are all that I’ve known.



The High Priest

For once,
let me be the beauty and not the beast,
not the under,
but the High Priest,
worthy of your attention at the very least.

For once,
let me hear gasps of amazement when I walk by,
let me be visible to the eye,
and not bantam like a fruit fly.
Let me be loud enough for you to hear my
war cry,
because I,
want to leave speck of a spark
before we all die.

I want to mean something,
I want to be more,
worth more than a penny and a louis d’or,
shining so bright,
no one can ignore.
I want you to see me,
and be shook to your core.


We are born,

we take on our path,

each and every one with a cross on their back.

Some heavier,

some easier to bear,

some wooden, some gold plated,

the latter being very rare.

We carry them to work, to home and back again,

while we laugh or cry,

it’s always there.

We go to sleep, lay it aside,

wake up again, wear it with pride.




Satan’s Cellar Dweller

Every day scrambling for something good in me,

But there’s evil in every cell,

It gets the best of me.

And every night I go to sleep,

I pray to Jesus on the crucifix,

Fall asleep with good intentions,

wake up as the best friend of Lucifer.

Dwelling in my cellar,

angels try to break through,

I know evil is the strongest force,

but maybe there’s something good, too.

Here he is, the fallen angel, knocking at my door again,

I try to fight but once more I let him win.

It’s ten minutes to three, I’m sharpening my knives,

Homicidal ideation, I might be taking lives tonight.

I walk these empty streets alone,

Looking for an easy prey,

Someone is about meet their death…

on Lord’s day.

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So bored and out of it,
Staring at the stale, dry cracks in the wall,
A cockroach leans in for a kiss with the dirty dish.
It’s been a while…
Look at the nightfall,
I’ve been waiting to put this cigarette to my lips,
Make a wish.
Smoke caressing the lungs like a gun gently brushing against the temple,
It smells like death, if the smokes are going to kill me, let them.
It’s been too long,
Already twenty-five out of seventy,
and the thought of leaving this hell seems heavenly.
I have nothing to offer,
just my worn out shell.
Like a bride rejected and left at the altar.
If I go unnoticed, I won’t have to tell.
But for now, let the bones decay,
I’ll be here in the clouds of smoke,
Waiting so patiently,
when twenty-five becomes seventy,
and my life is erased from the first, to the last day.


Yet again,
these pits of hell,
grip me tightly ’round my neck,
it’s a love song, it’s a spell,
feel this pain spread in my chest.
I slip into my comatose,
heavy, medicated sleep,
a thousand needles, head to toe,
as the night grows dark and deep.
There’s no escape and no salvation
from this illness I possess,
It’s a cage and I’m a beast,
held in captive and possessed.