I am water,

tap dancing on souls

with ethereal feet,

flowing through veins,

moody and reckless.

Permeating layers

of skinned stone,

plunging membranes

of crystal water.

Moving like silk

through rumpled sheets.

Slow and sweltry tenacity

increasing to throbbing,

fingers of water

urgently touching

dry, fiery river bed.

My flooding waters

can create or destroy,

every drop of me

is your life,

shimmering spirit

of hope.

Turbulence,

racing blindly

in thirsty gulps,

splashes of fine mist

swimming onward,

puddling on skins.

Vagabond drops

of water meandering

boldly to the sea.

You are my weekness 

You are my pain and happiness 

You are my world and the whole universe 

You are all I want, you are all I want to embrace 

You are my weakness and sadness, and you are.. definitely, my happiness. 

You are the blood in my veins and my whole universe. You are- the universe. 

heart is heavy 

eyelids barely open 

pulse slows 

my ribs 

turn 

into 

daggers 

that 

stab 

into 

my 

soul 

my 

hands 

become 

arthic 

and 

curve 

around 

my 

neck 

and 

suffocate 

from 

the 

carbon 

dixoide 

that 

fills 

the 

air 

around 

me 

the 

walls 

fill 

the 

gap 

in 

the 

middle

of 

the 

room 

and 

press 

into 

the 

sides

of

the 

bed 

breaking 

the 

frame 

underneath 

that 

carries 

the 

weight 

of 

my 

existence 

I lay 

back 

and 

await 

my 

death 

and 

watch 

the 

reaper 

dance 

across 

my 

walls 

in 

a midnight 

blue 

cloak 

carring 

a hook 

he 

takes 

his 

hook 

and 

digs

deep 

into 

my neck 

and 

yanks 

my 

cornary 

arterty 

and 

takes 

my 

soul 

and 

leaves

my 

carcuss 

for 

the 

ghouling 

eyes 

of 

attendees 

at 

my 

funeral 

the 

four 

horsemen 

come 

kissing 

my 

lips 

sucking 

in 

my 

air 

my 

eyes 

sunk 

deep 

into 

my 

depression 

my lips shrivel 

my skin 

goes 

pale 

and 

blue 

the 

devil 

comes 

to 

bring 

me

to 

my 

heaven 

my heaven 

is 

a

place 

of 

burning 

coals 

hemped 

upon 

the 

flesh 

of sinners

a gasloine 

flavored air 

submerged 

in a 6 pack of ciagars 

the devil ’s 

name 

is marboro 

my wings 

turn into 

that 

of 

demon 

I become 

the 

monsoter 

god 

made 

me 

when 

he birthed 

me

through 

the 

birth 

canal 

of 

a 

fallen 

angel 

named 

statan 

I took 

the 

shards 

of 

the 

empyty 

beer bottle 

from the drinker that birthed me 

and tried to cut myself out 

early 

so I could 

run 

away 

to 

thoose 

cozy 

famlies 

that 

you 

read 

about 

in 

children’s 

book 

I guess 

its not your fault your fucked up 

It's in the little things,

making out on the couch like teens

after twelve years of marriage

till my lips feel collagen full

and I am satiated by you.

Or the great - skate present

the pleasing tingle that you know me

get me

and still love me for all my quirks and foibles.

Actually love me more for them.

It's the silence of my closet where I write

as the faint echo of boy's laughing seeps through the walls

an eeked murmur through the drywall that doesn't

disturb the writing you are letting me do.

Distracting our sons. Playing with them.

I love the little things, they pile up, higher

than King Midas' vault of coins.

My shiny, golden moments of pure bliss.

#poetry #love