Will You Love Her?

Will you love her, love her senseless,
plastered black against the night walls
of a million stars drowning beneath the surface of the sea?
Will you kiss her, knock her backwards, bleed her down until the end?
Will you break her, will you
make her, will you shake her hard
against the walls that try to hold us all together?
Will you love her, will you shove her down a flight of
broken stairs?
Will you kill her, will you grill her, question all the actions
against the rhythm of our sanity?

Because
I need to know, know if this love is real
in the vicarious search of blue passion
oozing across the skin.
All I want to do is watch you fall
scream first, into the trappings of a misogynistic
love.

Writing For You

06/20/12

I am writing for you,
about you,
the beat of my heart on the line,
the collapse of my lungs
as I breathe these words
over and over.
I find I don't know how
to deal with it anymore.

Strawberry

What if I could taste
the seeded coating of your lips
and watch the juices run red
against the pale surface of your skin,
tracing your heart and
counting the beats to match
the trembling of your mouth as it
opens timidly to receive a kiss
and be crushed to mine with only
a semblance of summer rationality
against the harvest season
as the fruit ripens,
waiting to be plucked and eaten.

this moment in time

there's the tick of this heart
as i beat back and forth
from within the confines of my chair,
echoing the slow rhythm of each second
peeling free from the constraints
of the hour.
for i'll build and i'll break down
this moment in time, stretch it
thinly across the sides of the clock,
puncture it slowly as i dig my hands in,
tumbling and running my fingers through
all those numbers,
counting it down,
these last seconds, minutes, moments,
the gasping beat of my heart
as i measure my time left
with you.

beat of this blood

i follow the beat of this blood
curved 'round the corners of this page,
my pen on the line,
poised to fall just before the bullet
is fired.
there's a thick trail of mud
along the backside of my legs,
the dark imprints of my footsteps
a yawning smile behind me,
ready to open and swallow me whole
into the crevasses of this poem,
stretched thin between the moment,
those colours abloom across the
back of my eyelids, bruises forming
against the underside of my teeth
as i bite down again and again
until i'm bleeding along the inseam
of my tongue,
your voice forever a whisper
painted on my lips,
only parted open to gasp
as i start to fall.