Time sours

If left to settle and

I have sat here

A pool of fetid milk

Turning in degrees


My blood’s curdled

Moving sluggishly

Through veins as

Frail and thin

As insect limbs

My heart hanging

By a pause


I wait solemnly

Between slats

Of sanded pine

My head a tombstone

A granite slab engraved

Every word from

My lips an epitaph

Pray that what

You commit

To eternity

Is a thing

Of beauty


I am not ready

For this fragrant bed

Of rapacious  worms

But I’ve already been

Lowered into the

Bowels of carrion

The gutted cavity

An open mouth

Through which the

Sun still shines

And I may not feel

Its warmth but

I still see the light


I still feel there’s

Something igniting inside

One solitary synapse

Fueling candle flames

Unsteady slivers of hope

Waxing and waning

Inside milky white moons

As delicate as tealights


Save me from this world

From the butchered bodies

Closing in around me

Like bitter black flies

Save me from myself

Before my doubts

Swallow me whole

And I decay in this

Grave that I have

Made with my fallen

Ambitions, these

Flightless angels

Disguised through

Failure look just

Like vultures



I lose my grip

What I believed

Still not real enough

To set me free

And I’ll never

Grow beyond


Beyond the

Perimeters of

Your closed fist



Not a lot

That I can see

On the bottom

Ground to


By my fears

Blinded by


I hate what

I’ve become

And even more

What I’ve failed to


In my face

I only see the


You left

On my skin


Of violence

Shaped just

Like your hand


My heart bleeds

Snug inside your mouth

Undressed with your teeth

Every beat surrendered

To your vicious appetites


You loved me a little bit

Less than I loved myself

Hated just little more

Then I thought possible

It’s your weakness

That holds me prisoner

And you’ll never be

Strong enough to

To face me

As I am

So you





In the noose

Of your pupil

I see the

End of me

If it’s the

End of us

Raise your

Hand and

Do it again






(I am really down today it’s just one of those days where I stop and wonder what the fuck I am doing with my life. I wonder why I am even trying to write a book. I haven’t the talent to support it. Or even the support everyday I am reminded how selfish it is.)