This Old House

An old Victorian standing tall on a shaded street

as a low-slung sun slouches behind.

Cats scatter as the breeze whips through the open door;

a static-filled television buzzes and

dust dances delicately in the daylight.

Creaking steps drop deeper into the earth's core

where a stench of rotting flesh fills the caverns.

A deranged doctor diligently dissects cadavers

atop a frozen burgundy steel table.

Bodies stack on top of bodies as

blood pools on the foundation floor.

Silence is broken by screaming

of a fresh victim cut limb to limb.

Each stacked on others like it:

arms with arms,

legs with legs,

and heads dangling like a chandelier

dripping down drenching anyone near.

The final sight at life's end

deep beneath a suburban cul de sac.

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We we were once close;

closer than most but,

pictures are all that's left

of you and I together.

A portrait of you and I

kissing passionately in the cold moonlight.

but as the moon faded so did you.

And I’m left with just the pictures;

your crooked smile, ruby hair ablaze;

everything I need.

A photo of you and I

my arms wrapped around you

looking deep into your eyes.

Ours was the strongest love.

But the pictures fade

as my alarm rings

disappearing:

dreams of a past

that were never present

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We say our goodbyes without ever embracing

an awkward moment where we should be kissing.

a moment frozen where I want to hold you close

instead

we walk apart with only a secret glare left lingering:

a stare that tells us we both know the awkwardness of this kindness.

We need more, but can’t have more.

We want it all, but are left with none.

Only a sea of choppiness waiting for the perfect wave

to crash into us; pushing us together

naked in the sands of all time

never to be apart; never to say goodbye.

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If I say how I feel

we may go from nothing but friends

to more than,

or to a little more than

nothing.

If I speak up

our forged memories could fade,

or we will create new memories

that will never fade.

If only I say how I feel

we could move from this place of ambiguity,

but fear freezes my feelings forever:

my fear for following a flowing heart.

If you only say how you feel

and stop stating we are nothing

we may move from walking side by side

to hand in hand.

But you lie to yourself;

lie to me,

but we never lie together.

Keeping how we feel unsaid

keeps us from enjoying life's journey together;

keeps me instead dreading the journey apart.

Enlightenment

The fire is Her enlightenment;

Her realization of a life wasted

by not loving me.

Praying to me,

my name spelt in smoke

Escaping the blaze of her catacomb.

I breathe the scent of her

our bonds final consommation

deep inside my lungs.

Her fading song

dissipates in carbon dioxide

spinning slowly skyward.

I am Her savior:

Her end;

Her God

Lost god

Voices below

seeking and wanting

life, love, laughter,

murder, misery, mayhem,

romance, respect, repentance,

death, destruction, disease,

purity, prayers, poetry,

wars, weapons, wrath,

friendship, freedom, finances,

chaos, colonization, crusades,

health, harvests, happiness,

travesties, terrorism, torture,

admiration, absolution, atonement,

slavery, supremacy, slaughter;

all in my name.

I no longer listen—

abandoning my creation.

Haiku Volume 12

I would like to start today by saying hello. It is good to see you again old blog. Now it has been over three months since I have posted squat on here and that hiatus comes after I lied and said I would be back in this post here, but I really have a good reason for this. . . it is actually the same as all the excuses in this post here. It is actually eerie how all these things are a factor and how little has changed in my life in the year plus since posting that. My job still is wearing me down, I am still single, I miss my bar so damn much (though I do have that bartenders number now) and my wonderful, fantastic, beautiful friend who I spent a lot of time there with. I really miss that girl, but with our schedules it's hard to get together. that and I (her as well) are losers and hate socializing so that doesn't help us in anyway shape or form.

The reason I bring that up is because she was a huge part in me writing a lot, she inspired me and motivated me to keep going: she reminded me all the time how great I could be and I feel like because I am full of self doubt I need that in my life. 

But let's move on to other excuses

I have writers block like a motherf***er these last few months, I haven't written much except for a few mediocre poems. My mind since December has kind of looked like this:

So if any one has any extra quarters please send them my way; it would be much appreciated.

Next excuse? PokemonGo it has taken over the world #teamvalor.

P.s. I need a fucking Meowth ASAP. He is my favorite of favorite Pokemon, also I just want to state I fucking hate Pikachu. I really hate him so much. That is the worst piece of shit ever,

Ok, this was supposed to be a short intro for some little  poems, but it made a left at Albuquerque and ran right into the rambling town of Excuses, Mississippi. so without further ado I present to you some Haiku!!!

I

Grey Storm clouds billow:

pillows of darkness and grief

dripping tears of gods.

II

Feet stomp and stampede

crushing the seed; killing its

dreams to one day bloom.

III

The news blabbers as

bodies drop to the ground. The

soil red with blood.

IV

Life creeps by slowly;

still I can't keep up with it.

Pelted by lemons

V

My past has passed and

that's where you remain; nothing

but a memory.

VI

Dreams of you consume

my mind. Light in the darkness

of my coal toned soul.

VII

Get up and go out!

Run through the tall grass— balls out.

Fuck you Pikachu.

VIII

Tears from an angel

soaking the shoulder of an

enamored devil.

The Other Editions

Volume 1

Volume 2

Volume 3

Volume 4

Volume 5

Volume 6

Volume 7
Volume 8
Volume 9
Volume 10
Volume 11