They say resentment is venom,

Disfiguring the face of time spent

Whispering sweet nothings and

Distorting layers of comfort with

Sand.

Pox-marked by an internal plague

Festering wounds of regret for

Words unspoken and the weight of

Lies is carried on the backs of okays

And neverminds.

Our “don’t worries” and “forget its”

Become a rhythm we can’t escape

From and our understanding seems

To bar us from and yet within

Frustration we despise and deny

Inside.

Yet the cure is as simple as speaking

Up, but we can’t bring ourselves to

Complain for it seems vain to expect

Change when clearly we mean less to

Them and need them more than

They will ever need us.

They told me not to touch

The masterpieces, “priceless” they

Told me, yet how could I resist

Tracing the softness of your skin

And staining my fingers with sweet

Assurances of your reality?

To keep you at arm’s length is

Such a chore when all I want is

To smother myself in your

Intrinsic curves and wilderness

Of possibilities yet unmentioned

Hidden in the subtlties of texture

Unrefined, though pure.

Yet as I reach myself out, my hand

Yields to barriers unseen and

Falters in its ability to console

The memories underlying surface

Tensions that break out in waves

On the canvas of your soul.

You fear me and that I understand

For I lack the delicate fingers and

Intuition to understand the

Preservation and construction

Of such an artistic expression.

You always leave me hungering for

Your words which never seem to fill

The void I face without them mutually

Celebrating the boundaries set

Unknowingly with purpose

Unrelenting in binding without

Suspicion or revealed design.

My ears are starved of your voice

Which only seems to grow in your

Presence and wanes only when the

Blackouts steal me from this

Consciousness I can no longer

Deny.

I’ve lost my interests in fantasy and

Fiction is but a caricature of happiness

For truth is much sweeter and I

Must confess that I would give it all

Away to spend one moment where we

Were able to be honestly sincere

Instead of waltzing with loaded

Words and actions across shards

Of glass from promises we’ve broken

And blood-stained regrets that

Gnaw openly at our hearts.

You may perceive me vaguely

As if through clouded streets that

Crisscross in the ev’ning before

The storm or perhaps right after

But know that it is I who worry

Most oft that my reflection will

Chase you off more than yours

Ever could.

Fleeing from winds acrimonious

Harmonious with a will toward destruction

Instruction laid in whisperings violent in admission

Submission disregarding tastes and pleasure

Measured by eyes unfit for recollection

Perfection unnoticed and tossed

Lost in the transition of the frame.

Shame encircled in translation

Supplication and resignation

Consternation with factual dictation

Revelation simple, yet sublime.

Rhymes melancholy in function

Junctions at crossroads restricted

Convicted and convinced of fabrications,

Justifications without grounds for statistics

Heuristics with unmatched diseases and behavior

Flavor of spite and regret. 

Forget words and reason and just listen

Glisten in the stars aloud

Enshrouded by your grace. 

He said she tasted like rain

Yet I can not figure

If she was a light trickle

That slid down his throat

Or if she drowned him

In a torrential downpour.

You’d never know

Just by looking at her

That she could mesmerize

With a tongue built for more

Than repetitious recitations

And lips that felled mountains

With their whispers.

Her curves are gentler

Yet his cries were anything but—

A king brought to begging

Like a wayward bard

In search of sustenance

No inn could ever provide.

She was not a harlot,

But she dripped with honeyed eyes

Like amber shades of day

Capturing deity in fealty

Like sap from a oaken tree.

Soft like her heart

She hung his majesty

From the curtains of her golden locks

Nooses too noble for petty crimes

And stole his faltering steps

Till they found her bed once more.

Taken like a whisper

Fingers barely dragging

As they scrape the dust,

Unsettling settlements of taste.

Gagged and bound by ill fated regrets

Weighing in as milestones

Sinking with each breath

That tries to rise against.

Unconventionally sound advice

Softly lingers still

Like wet footsteps on linoleum

Tracked in from the snow.

As bitter flakes of northern fury

Cling where others fall

And mingled tears end rapture

Of uncommon contempt.

The scent of wilted fuchsia

And faded poppies,

A delayed high

Too far gone for escape.

When honey turns to poison

And sugar to regret,

Like tempered steel

Fading into dust

All things feel lost.

But wandering is not a plight

Or a plague to flee;

It is its own freedom

With patterns of calm collection

And cool acceptance.

While unoriented

I am fine without a way;

Content in my own skin

And mountains of frost.

I have my escape

From savage life

That seems only to serve

Itself on bones

And quenches thirst

On sentiments unknown.

Yet I cannot falter

For it’s fool’s admission

To think and not suppress

The very lines

That draw my cage

And trap me here within

These homemade walls.

I’d let you in,

But I’ve no doubt

That once you’re here

It’ll never be the same.

You know, I’d rather

Have never even met you,

Than hurt you at all.

Sorry will never be enough

Merely words that will always fall short

Of tears that refuse to be shed.

Guilt is a useless thing

A weight that drags and drowns

Muddling reason and rhyme.

Sorrow’s crushing might

Foreshadows faltering steps

Sinking into shame.

Tendrils of perception dulled

From jagged pieces of memories

Tarnished in time.

Broken paradise

Falling like brittle stars

Aflame in their own malfeasance.

Bitter stones impacting

Leaving scars of circumstance

Without chance of recompense.

Fame without fortuitous planning

Caving into doubt

Halting progress and elation.

Illusion shattered

Images fractured and forsaken

Lost to sounds without a name.