tempting

I am the devil incarnate
I am the itch
just below the skin that cannot
be
scratched satisfyingly enough.
I am the welcoming rays of
sunshine
on a day filled with work
I am not ashamed.
I am the processed
junk foods
in the cabinet
next to the organic products
and you choose me.
I am the cake on the table next to
the bowl of freshly ignored fruit.
I am the bottle that needs to be opened
and drunk
and the bottle next to that one, too.
I am the sand that can’t be escaped
and it pulls down hard.
I am the last cigarette in the
pack that you say is the last
and I am sliding into your finger tips and being lit up.
I am the last bit of money needing to be
spent, wasted, gambled away.
I am the rock that is crushed,
cut, smoked, snorted, injected.
I am the poison coursing through the
veins of addicts
who cannot resist the urge to sin.
I am strong and impenetrable
and you are weak.

a short tunnel

You can pass through the
tunnel for
a time
and adjust your body
to a false sense of
light and security
but remember
eventually the tunnel will end
and you will return to the
ever enveloping darkness
that tries to eat away and devour your soul
until you become a shell of the
you you used to be.
Let it invade your body
and take over for a time
so you can get to know its
icy fingertips,
but then you must go to war
with it and reclaim your sanity
and worth,
otherwise just let it consume you
and watch your personal
beautiful destruction commence.

use the duct tape

Oh, why bother
trying to pick things up from the past
when they should be left alone
and picking them up should be high-treason
for there’s never a reason
to try and go at it again.
People always
dwell on the events they wish
had happened differently
and they cause their own personal hells
that they can’t escape
because they’ve wrapped
themselves up in illusions of
impossible possibilities.
When things fail
the first time there is a reason
for the disappointment and letdown;
it was never meant to work
but we pick up the pieces and try
to fit them together again
even though we see that they’re all
chipped and cracked,
duct tape will fix that–
until it starts to leak toxic
fluid and poison what’s around
without warning or sound
and only then might we learn to
stop. 

corrosive poison

Never has man been so alone
than on this island
that is most certainly not deserted,
in fact
it is highly populated
with billions of souls
that could not possibly be more divided.
You pass them on the street
every day
and you smile and say hello
and as you are walking away
they turn and glare at your back,
pull out guns and annihilate you
and you were never any the wiser of it.
Keep walking along life’s street
and you see your friends
and catch up with a bit of
cozy smalltalk and then part ways.
I just ran into the dick
they text your other friends
and you were not any the wiser for it.
People never truly express themselves
they always hold back the
truth and how they really
feel
so they can spare your feelings.
This is like a poison that
corrodes the insides of the population,
and they’re never any the wiser for it.

winters of an island

Stranded on the islands
of regret and loss
he reaches into
the clear-as-night
water and cups his hands,
bringing to his lips
the sustenance of man.
The journey has been a
perilous one for him
and it has taken nearly
everything out of him
everything but his
memories.
The memories they shared
of the first time they met,
unsure of one another’s
presence and potential
power
over the affairs to come in
life’s chess game.
Cautiously they came to
each other and discovered
the wonders and the
electricity of each other’s skin
causing currents
and pleasureful shocks
that awakened passion and lust.
Memories that with each
revisit are altered and
given new emotions
different from the ones
previously attached.
Recollections that can cut
so deep
drops of blood
may even trickle out
searching for an impossible bandage:
a new heart to shock and adopt.
The island is lonely,
he said
and its winters are fierce
nearly unbearable.
Help me escape it,
he asked her.

an empty lake

A frosty morning in mid-November
the grass crinkled-crunched beneath my feet–
having arrived at the lake,
not even a puddle but a trench,
it became clear that
the previous evening had been a
treacherous one for you.
Your head was turned to the left
and your eyes were still open,
like unfinished novels,
though apparent your soul
had left some hours before.
I knew not what had transpired
other than it was clear he had been drunk
for he left a bottle of Bombay next to your hands;
his dignity too.
You shouldn’t have crossed him
while he was drunk,
that was thoughtless.
You shouldn’t have stayed after three broken ribs,
a hip fracture,
and a fear of loud noises,
that was reckless.
You shouldn’t have allowed him in again
to bring an heir to this earth,
that was unwise.
Now that child lie dead in your womb
the maternal tomb of your corpse.
His name is Julian, you told me
the night prior
and I killed you and rolled you into
the once full lake.
I’m sorry I drank.

update

I haven’t posted anything in what seems like forever, and that is because I haven’t written anything in what seems like forever, but what is really only a few short weeks. I wish everyone the best and a happy Holiday Season. I’ll try to get back to writing and posting very soon; I feel nearly empty without it.