art – Photapia

In Watercolor

A smile painted with watercolor thoughts Diluted in shades you will never see All absorbed on paper thins, A lifeless canvas Your love, a metaphor So warm, so abrasive Bristles as soft as your touch When you are not mad Your words, a blow to the head Ruby red waterfall My grip, my breath Intermittent…

Brand new hell

As we turn deeplyinto ourselvesIn an inward sort of diveTo explore the harrowingof whatever hell is This brand new hellThe devils are picking upA susceptible gazeWe are lost in a field ofThat neverending doubtAnd the sky is dimThe sky is your dreamMy hope, effervescentYou don’t ever get used toThe icey cold airIt crystallizes on my useless…

Can’t

I cannot write about you Not because I can’t but because I cannot the thought of it the thought of it stops as soon as it starts almost as if my body wanted you gone which you are but you are not the smell lingers however imagined and the sound that sound the sound of…

My Name

You ask me what my name is I say my name is life And you say That doesn’t sound right I ask why You say I haven’t seen you live I live everyday as if time were broken But broken ain’t a verb You ask me what my name is I say my name is…

Blood is ink

Embody me In the song you sing In your written prose With the words you grieve Portray me With the ink your pen spills Like every lie you’ve told Like every hope you’ve killed Devour me With your lust For nothing else moves me For no one else, for no one else

I’m No Poet

I’m no poet Though I play with words The same way you play me My silent need to provoke To earn what? Since any attention is positive And neither is something I gain from you I went out looking for you today Through red and yellow of spring Though imagined Almost if seeing grayscale Was…

Like Open Fire

Feeling warm on a cold day is a skill They say suffering is a choice But my suffering is an open battle The bleeding. The dying. And the yelling won’t cease When you’re told you’re like an atomic bomb Detonated, and everything’s gone When you feel like a stampede Like a forest fire Like open…

210903

What’s it called when you feel everything and nothing all at once? I don’t think I’ve ever understood “forever” until that day Memory is a time travelling machine There I am As I approach your corner Red brick under a bright clear future inviting me to see that sea of red While your mother attempts…