he stares
-obviously
he remembers
when their eyes met
a latte ago
Tag: Writer
high noon
i choose not to shoot-
to wait;
but everything
everything
is telling me
to let rounds fly;
air sign energy
it was a
`
spacial
`
experience
hanged man
it’s time to recover
you can remain pressed
that never pressed me
they all see you runnin’
like time is runnin’ low
time for some class
bell rang, late for class-
it’s over.
yorknew
her eyes
they screamed
violence
violet in the sun
red in the new moon
this is our requiem;
tie me down
i knew it
the moment i saw you
i couldn’t look away
scornful eyes peered down
i didn’t care.
the way you bounced
in the summer night
i caved in your eyes
i’m glad they never returned
i wouldn’t have let you go
nonsense nonfiction
i chose to take my time
to fill the holes
left by fiction
trauma stop
she was a needle beetle
crawling on all fours
ice in her veins
of what remains.
red puff explodes from her eyes
circled her like a vulture
claim to be of culture
nothing but guilty spies.
untitled 10
she used to say
the number twelve
smelled like pine
outside~
one chirstmas morning
12pm
i knew what she meant
~
it’s twelve days till your birthday
i remember that night;
tragic vandal
we’ll light
a pine scented candle
in your memory
scream & yell
i remember you
differently
a quiet one,
now
you yell from the highest mountain top
whatever happened
i’m happy
i love your voice
Saint's Muse 