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

“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.

His image hasn’t been there

To stroke your senses,

Yet a single glance

Betrays a 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.”

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 hear something; not just words, but genuine heart. I wanted to be chased, but not if it meant forcing you to chase me.”

Beyond my understanding

The goodness I showed to you

Trying not to run

From common insecurities

If every breath felt the same

The sharp intake of oxygen to my brain

It’s all the same for you

I’m just the same to you

You didn’t need it; you didn’t need it

My heartbeat, soft as a whisper

Hold on, bright green eyes

Tell me your story again

Watch yourself fly, far far away

Flee your mistakes, flee from reality

What did I do to deserve this fire

O right, I did nothing

O right, to you I’m nothing

Nothing is sweeter, sweeter to my lips

Then your poison, three words from you..

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

“My love remains an unfurled bud, a future with a diametric fate; I’ll blossom in the Spring, or else suffer through another winter alone.”

You aren’t here.

But somehow,

Even when I can’t feel you,

I am guided by you.

I know what you are;

Just a false light,

A fleeting sight,

But my eyes

Catch your fire

And my heart takes over;

I can’t move forward

Without you.

My world remains opaque,

Where nothing exists

But the indent of your feet

On a path I can only follow,

Hoping that it leads me

Towards our new beginning,

Or to the end of me.

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

“In my heart, time stands still. Nothing changes, nothing grows… no matter how deep I go, I can’t cut myself free from you…”

This is how our world ends,

In that space between a heartbeat

And where our worst thoughts

Are lost into open air.

Isn’t it strange how acute

A simple sound can be?

How an uneven pitch can cut

The same as any knife?

Lines we set in sturdy stone

Are whittled down into dust,

Nothing more than a granite coat

Sprinkled onto cotton twine.

Faced with your whetted tongue,

You flay every boundary and beyond.

Our dreams are red confetti,

Quickly drying into tinder,

And it’s with the bitter taste

Of irony at its best

That we ignite our pyre

With the same spark

We once believed

Was love.

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

“You aren’t here anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m alone. Even though it’s hard, I’m able to keep going with a smile, because of you… Thank you.”

When my light begins to fade,

And I cannot tell the difference

Between the edge of our Sea

And that rocky ledge

Where old things go

When they are called home.

In that half-light,

Where time splits open

And everything that once could fly

Embraces the finality

Of a perpetual slumber,

Know that when everything goes,

Nothing is diminished,

Nothing is extinguished,

Not a single part of my love

Will be dulled.

At the end, it remains.

It must remain, because it’s you.

I have no other reason,

And for no other reason,

Could my heart endure.

It’s you, it was always you,

And I promise, my sweetling,

We will always be,

Forever love.

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.