you were scared of more than me when you called and i could hear it in your voice

i never understood when people said that
a heartbreak could destroy them
and i thought that, since my love was not loud
it was not strong.
my love was not fireworks, no bouquet of roses.
it was a tree, taking root and burrowing ever deeper.

have you ever seen a tree pulled out by the roots?

my chest is a crater.

my ribs are too small for my lungs.
my jaw clenches and my eyes weep
without the tired consent of my battered mind.
my whole body is become slave to my heart
whose steady beat is
no
longer
triumphant

i am alive. i am alive. i am alive.

but i am no longer alive
i simply
exist

Consummation

Cease with your accusations, mother -

hide your jealous tongue behind your lips.

You come to me with flowers still bright with the sun,

your voice crackling with arrogant pleas,

entreating him as the keeper of chains.

No ill-will binds me thus.

Wipe those tears from your eyes, mother -

Your grief earns you now only scorn.

See how my lover's eyes darken,

cast your gaze to our intertwined hands,

watch as I devour his cold lips with mine.

My fire blazes in his night.

No wine darkens these sanguine lips, mother -

the sweet stain of lust mars my skin.

The cries of the damned led you down

here with unfortunate souls who’ve no choice.

Comfort them on your way to the surface;

hellhounds will follow you out.

See her retreating, cruel lover?

Place your hands at my waist; steal my breath once again;

let me warm your bed as your soul chills my heart.

Remind me of when you first whispered to me,

your voice the soft silver shadows of trees.

Sing to me once more.

What care I for Spring in the arms of my lover?

I’ve a dark shadowed god for my paramour,

with lips sweeter and deadlier even than sin.

The lord of Death lays iron crowns at my feet.

Rise from your black throne, my master, and

claim me now as your wife.

Show me your kingdom, my lover,

lead me down through the fields of the dead.

Let us feast on forbidden fruit and wanton wine,

let the underworld hide us from sight.

As we fade into death, let winter rage above.

Murmur my name like a prayer.

Euphemisms

He’s gone and he’s not coming back.

I often wondered why we soften our speech,

why our words deceive with thoughts they lack.

I think that our human lips are too frail,

Our voices too weak to hold

the brutal truth of death,

of heartbeats stilled and skin grown cold.

Our throats will crack the words in two

(He’s de

ad).

Our eyes will

fill

and our breathing

hitch

and all at once, the spines we have

s

t

r

a

i

g

h

t

e

n

e

d

will remember the weight of our hearts and

c

  r

     u

     m

   p

  l

e.

And so we lie.

Because ‘he’s gone’ reminds us of business trips

and school days.

Temporary states in which

he is still living.

Not the reduction of corpses to ashes,

the irrevocable loss of spirit.

Not death.

caged birds, cry

people were not meant for cages;
souls cannot last long behind bars.
captivity destroys the heart,
and minds will burn like dying stars.
cruel chains and locks may scar the skin,
but slavery twists and warps the mind;
those who escape are something else -
they people they were are left behind.
bright souls rotting deep in dungeons
forged in fear and incompetence.
graves of geniuses, dug in soil made
of decomposing innocence.
regimented armies trample blindly
o'er feilds of brightly crafted thought,
and commanders within their rules
build boats that can't bear to be rocked.
the world saunters into slavery,
selling its curiosity,
pawning its will to think, crafting
an ignorant monstrosity.
people were not meant for cages,
but our souls have been enslaved for ages.