How will I sleep
if I keep
images of you
in my head?
I took a walk
to talk to myself
hoping you’d slip my mind
long enough to find peace.
Yet something triggers memories
till endlessly I’m thinking.
Velvet skies.
So impossible.
Vermillion plateaus.
Verdant mountains.
My ears burn
while scarlet streams roar
as I remember whore
that can’t compare anymore
to your liberty.
You are
the hill of Aripo.
Refusing to be climbed. 
The untameable wild.
The unteachable golden child. 
Why must you be conquered? 
So I shall find,
by leaving behind
clumsy desires creeping through my mind,
beauties I can grasp.


Pain full writing

I forgot how to write
Perhaps an inflated problem
because I only forgot
when I became too happy. 
That inspirational sorrow
was stored away
for other times…
Only to be opened on the rainy days
Only to be open on burning days.
only to be open…
on the suicidal days
The trying days
When I cannot go on
and must write.

Backseat Ride

After our argument,
asleep in the back seat.
Thumb in your mouth,
as if on your mother’s teat.
In my rear view.
Our words and your.
I swear I’d never help.
Yet I always do.
I want to be else where.
Yet here I again sit.
Life is too fleeting
to continue with this shit.
I am too tired
to drive too far
so we have stopped,
stranded where we are.
If I try to explain
that somehow we can’t grow
the pain in my stomach
would let me know,
you’re my responsibility
as I am yours.
No matter how we fall
we’ve become each other’s floors.
Turn signal resounding
as if announcing
that this would all turn around.
With sobs
or a coo
I’m being introduced
to a new you.
Please stay asleep.
My eyes straight ahead
despite the high beams
on the back of my head.
I fear how much trust
you have invested.
Though it was terrifying.
I confessed it.
I have a persona
of almost indifference.
Despite the fights
we have a resilience.
It’s a sorrowful thing
to cling to this sort
of strange relationship
with all the scars
from battles fought.


Waiting On

Sitting, cold,
alone. Holding a flame
on my own. Was I to blame
for love. Have I tried 
too hard? As I often have
before. I believe in God.
Though rejection makes me
unsure. I never prayed
for love. Though I’ve been told
actions make it so. 
I diverged from the story I was telling.
In wind howling, heart swelling,
I looked, waited, and sat. That idea
should be reflected upon. The small slights
make a difference. 
And it should be noted
what I have done. What I did. 



At this point
you begin trembling, sickly.
Dreading the coming unseen.
What to do.
Who to know.
Damning decisions and sometimes…
making the same mistakes.
At times you laugh.
You stop, then,
you cry.
You find religion but not faith.
nothing matters anymore. 



Sometimes I worry
if others approve
of you and I.
I know this does not matter.
They are not us.
Yet I still find myself caring.


Who Am I

Let me taste syrupy sweet lies
that attracted those other flies.
This is my gift to you in July.
A personality more suited to a Gemini.
But you’re a cancer
in that you’re all over.
Were you honestly lying
when you said you’re bipolar?
You’re too kind
though only at times
when you call me beautiful
to play with my mind.
Then kiss me coldly
only to soothe me.
I know your cloudy transparency.
How clear you are to me. 
You’re hoping to find romance, 
dreaming for fantasy,
working for perfection,
but we’re too human in reality.
I saw how you became dark
to hide that away.
How you want to find true love…
perhaps one day.
And that need to be loved
has defined who you are.