And I will run

and run and run

through all the time

to find you

and I will search the whole world

if I have to

because being without you

is not an option

-MayAPoetBe (draft)

I love you more than anything

I hate just as much

I wish you would feel

anything at all for me

How can I live without you?

How could I live with you?

My heart is broken

- MayAPoetBe (draft)

An Internal Dispute From Sleep Deprivation

Blatant words befalling blue lips

Smeared the color of sadness

Tri-coated depression

What is art to sadness but apples to applesauce

thefortymillionsomethingpoems

Some statement minus punctuation and declarations of woeful broken love

Gorge upon the sales of music to public ears

I gave my blood, the likes which you’ve never seen and apparently do not want

Pages of fine ink multitudesofwordsmeaninglesswords

The alternative framework lost—

Eaten in the mainstream, some cherry picker we have to thank for this

Poets ought to rip the world to shreds with a pen

Splash ink onto pavement, blacken the world into a deep void

Gross schemes, where the fuck is reality?

I accidentally threw it down the garbage disposal

But the corporations forced my hand

The meaningless throb the echoes of time ticking sand

Mind wrenching melting numbness pain

Contradictory hell

What more is left to do? What more is to be achieved?

Light a metal garbage can,

Set all the books on fire

And all the art as well.

Ichor of old gods

Pitter-patters solemnly

Gaia drinks her fill

—

Deafened ears 
Silent eyes
Rippled waters—
Reflecting murky skies

What remained
Laid in sullened tune
—With calla lilies
In godless demise

My organs wrung
Then clotheslined—
Like some
common rag

Discarded lungs—
Airbags for the worms
And my
once sharp tongue
Sits ’tween teeth
Delicately dead

This damp cavern
Punctured by 
A singular watery tree
The branches splay
Beams of light

Where I lay—
Skin haloed 
in mossy wreaths

Flowers before dusk

Curling from darkness,

How you shrink

So timidly inward

You fill yourself

With seas of fears

Though occupying

Minimal space

I would

Kiss your petals

If you

Loved me

||

Some nights I crave release
In loosed muscles
Over the beaming lights—
Polluted city skyline

Standing atop a tightrope
Roaming like a minor god
My insides disemboweled— 
Numbing immortality

I want to linger in apathy
No inhibitions,
without criminal feeling—
Lonely contentedness 

Breathing with intention—
Aeolus, commanding wind
My soul is drunk
Filled to the brim—
With hopes and dreams

Peace with the worms,

Consciousless things

How I’d like to join them

In holy matrimony

With the earth

As the skies weep

Crank me

Jack-in-the-box

Cricks of rusty parts

As music tinkles

Softly

Through floorboards

Dusty as the attic

And the locked chest

From where it came

Your fingers could

Draw lines

Into the age

Of that wooden box,

The one

With a precarious lid

It delights in your touch

Waits for the skip

Of your heart

When anticipation

Is empty

And

P O P

.

.

.

.

The spring dashes

Firmly into your eye

A lone thing

Without a clown’s company

Reinvention

Feels like a sin

i t’ s backpedaling

Don’t I deserve

To live

Without

A

Hi-polymer

Eraser

?

The Haunted Ceramic Figures of My Childhood

My ceiling is crusted with stars

It brings with hesitation, old memories

Chipped ceramic figurines

Cherub lips, empty gazes

Some were glazed matte,

Others shone glossy

There was a plastic

Glow-in-the-dark unicorn as well

The past hums

A soft lullabied tune

It creeps up your spine

And into your heart

Like ice

The old, dusty window ledge

Where those old figurines sat,

Ate cobwebs and glared out

At passerbys

The paint would stick to

Each small pedestal

Baked under the sun—

They would grow hot summertime come

I would touch them as a child,

Sometimes make them kiss

My fingers collided with their skin roughly

They were gritty, like fine-toothed sandpaper

Cross and unwelcoming they were

Like they had little spiteful souls

That looked at the first floor lawn

In contempt

Perhaps I should have known

It was how all things went

Visible and forgotten

Left for the next apartment owners

f(x)

I would like Math to love me—

Show me the world succinct

Truths and certainties

Laid upon numbers and variables

Only the white of paper

And the black of pen

The value of tangibility

The charted minimums

And maximums

Knowing where

The function of life

Curves and bends

—And whether

Pain and suffering

Ends.

I gathered people like dewdrops

Collect upon a lonely leaf

They were made in the clouds

Of pollution and acid rains

I beckoned and waved—

The wind forced my hand

Yet upon my lonely branch

Ne’er a hopeful bird did land

Only dewdrops grew

Little parasitical things

They burned and ate

And I turned yellow with grief

Pocked with holes

In sickly sheen

Death beckons

And I hesitate

But the solid form

Appeared

So comforting

A being

A rubber wristband

Encircling a

Pale arm

Extended graciously

A plain white

Sterile shirt

Hung loosely

’round their form

And bed hair,

Bright eyes,

A smile

Innocently wise

I would lay

In their embrace

Nestled wordlessly

Drifting

Into peace

If Life had not

Eaten my soul