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

If we were made out of the sky, I’d be the chilling wind, you’d be the Summer heat, and together we’ll form pockets of clouds, blocking out the Sun, throwing barrels of thunder and lightning over the edge of the world without a care.

Your lips were stained

The same shade as dandelions,

And I was caught up

In the promise of a short winter,

Where my wishes could be heard

Beyond the veil of stars,

Carried on those white seeds

That feel lighter than air.

 

A single taste was all it took

To reveal the obvious;

The scent of pine on your teeth,

The green edges of your tongue,

And the shimmering coat

I mistook as the reflection

Of a sweet spring flower.

 

You coated your lips

In the oil of distilled resin,

Making them shimmer in the sun,

As brilliant as any precious metal.

And in the end I gave in,

Letting my desires devour

The poison that was your kiss.

 

I can’t erase your taste,

So I’m afraid that with time

I’m slowly going to starve

In the allure of your turpentine.

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

“The scales are tipped in my favor, but I’m too afraid to make a bet…27 years, and I’m still unable to bet on me…”

They say the sky wasn’t always gray;

There used to be a white light,

A star close enough to touch,

But we wasted it’s warmth.

 

We let that fire burn the air,

Tinge our shoulders bronze,

Feed our flower petals

And guide us towards tomorrow.

 

It shared everything, expecting nothing.

So what did we do?

We took those flames to light matches,

And the matches to ignite black powders,

Delivering hot lead through bodies

Of everyone we’ve ever held dear.

 

We got close enough to the fire

To light our cigarettes,

And spread the ash over gravestones;

A flicker in the moment,

And everything is turned gray.

We burned it all down,

And left our dreams as dust.

 

Where has the Sun in the sky gone?

The place where dead things go;

Towards the heavens drenched gray,

Choking the entire way.

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’ve stretched out my soul to widen my shadow, the only part of me that seems to understand how much of a fool God must be for creating this bullshit.

The Summer flickers into the year with lingering regrets;

A medley of melted marshmallows and perfume laced bug sprays.

It’s not a storm like the Spring, raging in, forcing growth and change, no.

Summer stumbles with no direction, as if lost in all this sunlight,

As if the added hours of daytime and sweltering drafts have incited a lethargy

That takes a provenance in refuse cartilage of swollen anatomies.

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 wasted all of my good fortune on memories that could never last. I didn’t save anything, so of course I have nothing…” (part 5 of 5)

I want fortune to listen

As I struggle with my speech,

To flinch as the words reveal

Scar after scar.

My words resonate regret,

And as all moisture

Evaporates in my throat,

Every note is coated

In varying shades

Of a screeching rust.

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 spent the summer wishing for a storm to wash away our spring, but never stopped to think about what comes after the rain.”

I spent my summer melting,

My autumn fearing another fall.

 

The new year was a blanket

Of snow and cumbersome guilt.

 

A spring sun demanded I begin,

But all of my roots were dead,

My branches devoid of green.

 

So I wasted the Suns generosity;

I still received it’s light,

But without the strength to blossom

It just created a gilded shell.

 

And that’s it all there is;

I’m just painted gold,

Paper money in the wind;

I hold no value except for

The values others place on me.

 

So I am buried,

Hiding from any hint of rain

Lest my colors start to bleed.

 

I’m afraid of the smallest storms,

And nothing, not even time,

Can stop me from withering away.

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 let you in, caught myself swallowing your air, your every word stroking the walls of my lungs, giving me a reason to breath.”

I’ve spent entire dreams on you.

Your soft hands return to me,

And I feel safe again.

I know it’s not real,

Just light from the Moon,

A lie that bends my seas.

I fight for every moment,

Breaking clocks and watches,

Turning hands back

While leaving others blinking 8’s.

But you always catch me,

And you insist I must go.

It’s not you, but it hurts,

And I know it’s a dream,

But still.

Not even in my dreams

Can I be the one to walk away.

I just need you,

Whatever you have,

For just one more,

And one more,

Please, I cannot leave,

So stay with me

Until I dream no more…

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 haven’t prayed to God, any God, in years, so don’t mistake my screaming to the sky as blaming God for anything.

You bare your teeth to the pavement,

And a heavy throat rumbles

Like jagged thunder.

It’s not yet time for the fireflies,

So you are left with chewed fingernails,

Coffee kisses and limestone skin.

The Moon is calling you,

Because you are a tide,

Slowly spreading your cerulean

Towards the edge of creation,

Only to be pulled back, back,

Back into the shifting brine.