~ serial killer.

Does it feel goodTo shred your friends to piecesSo you can fill their bloodInto the void inside you?Wherever you goThere are inevitable casualties,Corpses left wonderingWhat they did wrongWhile their insides rot and their minds scream.I have seen you wait Until the sun sets to strikeA woman, and in the morningYou pretended you didn’t;In the morning…

~ stitch my skin.

The road we were walking on was lined with trees, Black and white stripes illuminating tired faces, Two people sick of all the races Childhood and real life put them through — It was always, “Let me listen to you,” And, “You’re young, you don’t know what to do; If I were you…” I split…

~ (x) you are not here.

His sinisterness is silent, Black liquid slowly poisons his veins(He is drowning.)It emerged from a dark placeA snowball of rope:Braiding one strand of jealousy,One of possessiveness, Another of fear; together they makeA macabre manWho lives by the phraseUse and discard.(His motivations — or mine — are irrelevant.)No matter my lightOr how bright I tried to…

~ meditation.

Find a quiet place inside a forest,With leaves that crunch under your feet;Even Bach would perturb the peace:No false self-aggrandizing epiphanies. Life is not poetry.Place your mat upon the twigs,Fold it once, twice, four timesTo save yourself the pain —It comes in doses, or waves,Even though you try to escape it,It finds you when you…

~ last open letter to someone.

Tell me if I was wrong to trust you.(I don’t want you to know I’m writing this.)I always believed you would be differentFrom the deserts I crossed, flesh falling off,Only bone remained —(Much like the new wounds I now nurse,Dripping blood into the salty sea of my tears,I do not know the source of these…

~ ballerina.

When I was tenI wanted to be a ballerinaSo I could dance with the cloudsAnd make merry with raindrop-wine,An astronautThat I could travel to Proxima CentauriAt half the speed of light;When I reached I would be almostEighteen, almost free,Save for relativity;And a poetSo I would do thisAll inside my own headWithin the worn pagesOf an…

~ quiet.

It is evening; the pine cones Loom over blue water Lazily parting grass from green grass Winding without forethought Meandering, meditative. The moon is lush, Gambling with her light, Where shall she cast it? Amongst the gray shadows Of the sharp-headed trees, A figure waits for me Steady and unwavering. He sips my weariness, Draws…

~ Party at the B/W Discotheque, part one.

I was late to the party. Most of its guests had already arrived at least a couple of years before me. But that was probably because they had received an invitation earlier than I had. You see, this party is very prestigious – almost as prestigious as the Met Gala – the only difference is…

~ a raven emerges from hell.

The Old looms patriarchalOver the present,Nullifying dreamsMade of half-broken convictionsThe hot winds of traditionStifling the candleBurning from both endsOne can onlyGo to the mountains, meditative,Breathe in the silence of thought –The Book threatens, totalitarianIt speaks of the one truthTo govern all and by whichThe unworthy inherit the Earth,As the harvest is consumed by flamesThe steel…

~ cartwheeling on a monday evening.

As the evening swirls Into the solitary nightSparkling gold pixie dust settles Into the crevices of her sighsInfusing them with hopeBehold, the clouds paintA glittery rainshower Upon the tapestry of time.How she would love to liveAnother day, relieved of her burden,With the wind in her hairAnd a smile on her face!