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

“Nothing can compare to the feeling of your kiss, the friction of our lips slowly burning the red out of my blood, leaving me drunk on your love.”

I like shy, cherry boys,

Who act sour, but really they’re sweet.

They slowly creep around the corner

And go speeding down the street

 

I like those shy, cherry guys

Who’s faces all turn red

The second that they see a naked lady

And never try to rush them to bed

 

I’m a sucker for those cherry dudes,

Because I really like the spring

They blossom into beautiful petals

And aren’t ashamed of being pretty things

 

I’m a fan of any cherry man

Who at his core isn’t a bad seed

Yes, he comes off self-centered

But he’s not afraid to admit his needs

 

I like shy, cherry boys,

Because they are prettier than me

They taste good, and look so tasty

I want to teach them about the birds and the bees.

 

I like those shy, cherry guys,

Even though they act like they can’t see

So I keep away and hope that someday

Those cherry boys will come to also like 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, Uncategorized

“Coloring in the spaces between the lines on my wrist, I have to admit, I’m a pretty shit artist.”

You were coloring in my lights,

Drenching a binary world

A pallet of contradictions.

Unbalanced, indiscriminate yellow,

Stoplights shaded evergreen,

And as your lips buzzed my name,

I felt the edges of a wave

That promised to dye

My timid October orange

Every variant of the red

Lurking in my veins.

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 fate is the reason for my everything, then why am I baring these burdens alone? I never asked this, so why? I just want to know why..” (part 3 of 5)

I want fate to touch

My crowning breath,

To blister in its fever

As it traces crimson

Around naked necks.

It’s a vibrant sensation,

Echoing the shade of dusk

Throughout my bones

Until they are reduced

To Georgia Red Clay.

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 started smoking recently. I hate the taste, but I crave their warmth, and I have to admit…they make 2AM feel a lot less lonely.”

My blood is fighting against me.

I can feel it squirm throughout the day, a sharpness that begs for reciprocation.

I’m burning up all of my second chances for just a few moments of relief.

It’s nothing new, waking up to dried lengths of crimson.

It’s nothing new.

~And yet~

I take some solace in the fact that it still hurts.

Because that’s my only proof.

It’s undeniable proof…that I’m still human…

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

I know what fear tastes like, how it sinks into your soul and creates…dark, so much darkness that everything is a shadow or unlit alley, and I can’t even run because I have no idea if I’m running away from the danger or getting closer to it.

Red wine is what comes to mind

When I think of how you poison me.

It’s slow, delicate and good in small doses

But I’m overwhelmed and drowning in your sea.

 

You are bitter to some, smooth to others

It just depends on who you ask

To me, you are nothing more than an addiction;

I’m always looking for the next glass.   

 

You don’t rob me of my senses, but slowly

You work your way into my veins.

I’m not sure when you tipped the scales

And managed to drive my blood insane.

 

You turn me vulgar, you turn me sweet,

But of course those are just my lies.

I want you to be the real cause

But more likely that’s how I am inside.

 

You are my muse, the perfect drug;

Classy but able to break my will

So be my escape, my fast getaway,

Please, pour enough for the kill…

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

I left my life of black and white to feel the brightest red. But time cools hearts, leaving it in parts, and I’m left with this blue instead.

We used to talk every night; you never let me fall asleep.

A certain wonder enticing my eyes to refrain from closing in your company.

I would instead stray as the rolling thunder, masquerade as your thin visage reflected.

I wore you, yet what is it that you colored me?

 

When we started this you were my softness, my tranquil dawn,

My summertime siesta, a picture perfect minute,

The heavens above fields of dreams, where kites drift on a clear breeze

And rain never falls as the Sun never fades.   

 

But Suns always set, and so moments become memories,

And against that tide of a shifting sky,

Time revealed that softness to be such a frail thing…

 

My mornings turned into the sound of scraping ice.

The sight of my numb breath, frost laced kisses,

Caught in the dark of the far to early evening,

A rattling through my lungs that drives my body to shivering pieces

Across these unshoveled sidewalks of December, Ohio.

 

Yes, I was still draped in your color, but only now do I see

The never-ending shades that your blue could be.

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

I wasn’t afraid to fall, so my head never left the clouds, and you never gave me a proper warning, and my wings melted away, and I believed you when you said you’d carry me, and I kept on smiling, even as my body hit the ground.

I listened to their words and let them slowly poison me. There mouths drip with the sweet allure of brilliant gold used to hide beneath it a torrent of unmitigated disaster. They take from your flesh, tearing away your Auburn days and leaving behind those cyanide times. Silly child, begging to be unraveled but not knowing what that meant; lose is never something humans can grow accustomed too.

Looking down, I see the red
Looking up, an empty room
Looking back, I see nobody
I’m still standing in an empty room.
Clocks are running sideways
I twist to read the blinking 8’s
It’s no wonder it’s so cold here;
No longer is this up for debate.

Call it a gut feeling, destiny or fate
I swear you won’t change my mind.
Call it stupid, this picture of red
But for me, it’s perfectly fine.
Is it sadder that I truly believe that
Or that I know that it’s not true?
I used to want someone to stop me
I was really hoping it’d be you.
The red will fade, and then return
I will make sure of that
Will I look more closely next time?
Or will this red fade to black?