Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“So although I might like it for one afternoon, I don’t want to live on the Moon…”

My lover, the crescent moon,

A lunar light who wanes

As my time passes,

But never fully fades.

I’ve carved my soul

To match your curves;

The sight of which

Heralds me to your evening.

Waiting through midnight

For a shift in the nebula,

I seek neither the secrets

Of the shaded sky,

Nor the calming whisper

Of a trillion stars;

I am fixated solely on your luster.

Perhaps the truth is that

I am more water than man,

As you can pull me

Away from my shores,

Knowing I’ll always rush back

When you call.

Ah, my crescent moon,

The loveliest of thieves,

Snaring your shine from the Sun,

And fashioning a heart

From this foolish man

Made from the Sea.

I am yours.

By my very nature

I can never deny you,

Not a single drop.

My crescent Moon,

There will never come to pass

A moment in this life

Where I could ever

Tell you no.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

“Be careful of who you let back into your life; mistakes are often disguised as second chances.”

Seeded into my nights,
Your essence claims me;
Hidden in my shadow,
Your fists find purchase
On peach shaded skin.
When you feel yourself
Losing your grip,
Fingers morph into claws,
Piercing my exposed flesh
Until my moonlite profile
Is brushed in heavy strokes
Of ferric crimson.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Poetry, The Modern Classics, Uncategorized

I wanted to give you the love I thought you deserved, and everything else…I figured that was the price I had to pay… for thinking I also deserved my love…

We thought we were floating

Amongst the clouds,

But when our fingers

Began to sink into

Their white underbellies,

We understood.

 

The air was smoke,

Born from a warmth

We mistook as the sun.

It was just another fire,

Another wasted

Spark of romance.

 

It turns out love

Can feel an awful lot

Like burning alive.

Posted in My life - Written by God, produced by 21st Century middle America, and lived by me, myself, and I., Uncategorized

Etch these words into my skin, so I may never forget. I steal my light as a paper moon, only glowing after sunset.

He creeps into your mind at the most inopportune times, stealing away precious brain cells and holding in the CO2 that you’ve built up in your veins. Whatever warmth you had seeps out through your open chest, replacing the justified anger with docile tones and heavy shakes. You feel leaks, tiny pin pricks along all the spots you kept secret, the spots that he now owns. Time erases nothing, but diminishes everything. He’s hands haven’t been there to stroke your senses, yet a single glance brings back a nervous tingle in your stomach, and the world melts like chocolate left out in the afternoon sun. You want to run away, but the sight of him is as quick as summer lightning, and his sound echoes like distant thunder, and you’ve always been a fool when it comes to storms…

You will lose yourself in his winds and rain,

And you will claim a home inside that hurricane.

But that home will be nothing more than a dream,

A space where his violence will swallow your screams.