To Thine Own

Standing on a borderline between a battlefield,

Love as my companion, heart as my armor,

I’m simply dancing with spits of fire,

lo and behold, in the arms of honor. 

Borderline confessions

of utopian deceptions,

it's all turning in my eyes.

Second Guess

I loved the way you kissed me.

Through all of the muddled thoughts of “Stay away”

and “This won't end well”, my mind spiraled down

like a tornado about to touch the Earth's land with

nothing more than a gentle hand.

And now...

Sitting in my car: breath reeking of cigarettes,

eyes worn thin from hours of tequila filled conversation,

having fought to win a confined place in that lock-box heart,

and all I'm left with are immature thoughts that wash away

every last bit of my self logistics, leaving me breathless in a room

of winding air...

Yet do I listen to this ill-fated prophecy?

Is it even prophecy? Is this nothing more

than the worried concerns of the old-time

friend who has seen the raptures of previous lovers?

Does he recall on how to take a risk, or is this

unmistakably familiar?

There's shouting and bickering, so much so

that I internally scream it all to silence.

Nonetheless there is a continued thought,

ringing like the tick of a grandfather clock:

I loved the way he kissed me.

Reverie

Doors: crashing thunder,
breaking light, soon blood drips
down my chin. Coat myself
in ancient sands,
tell myself I'm in it,
to win.

Rose petals raining, I'm lost,
lost in the blood of my friends.
Puddles, to rivers, to oceans,
I coat myself in ancient sands.

Gates: splitting lightning,
crowds like lions roaring.
I'm gone in the rhythm of my heartbeat,
I'm swimming in the blood of my friends.

The moment, launching forward: A loose cannon,
with symphonies of metal and hungry lions,
sunlight blinded eyes.
As I coat myself in ancient sands,
coming only to realize,
I'm fighting for the blood of my friends.

The Spins

Overwhelmed by a mind

cascading with

slivers of silver.

Now falling onto me:

the laws of physics,

the power of gravity.

The spinning and shifting

of our Earth taking place

merely inside my head.

I tell myself: 

Slow

down.

Only need

one foot on the ground

to stop the hurried rush.

Guardian

Muscles of Antartic shiver,

filled to the brim with Moroccan air.

Hostility, in the eyes of the beholder,

the same which encompass love,

or is it nothing more than a fisher

and his line?

Now it's a boiling kettle,

eyes fixed, finger hugging the trigger.

There must be self salvation.

There must be a way to dance in the street,

with nothing but an umbrella

and the energy of my inner child.

Self conscious ways

lead to an unconscious heart.

It's time to take a risk,

otherwise time will only take you.

Listen close, my dear.

I am the power inside of you,

the voice that calms your gun motored heart,

calms your worried eyes into pretentious sleep.

I have seen the ways you have struggled,

as if you were a player, who didn't know the game.

I saw you when life was nothing but a string,

with scissors held close. I've seen the stranger

about to snip the line.

I'm glad you heard me.

You may not know my reasons,

why I accompany such a splintered soul,

but it is because you have not yet acknowledged,

the presence of the pieces, the ability to be

better than you ever imagined.

I am in love with your fragile soul.

Beneath it all, I see the heart

far bigger than most have.

I feel the pain, launching tears

forward like a worried rain,

yet I want to hold the sun

and dry them.

Darling, you may feel so alone,

but you have never been so surrounded

by all of those saints you cannot see.