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Delicate muse with the knowing smile Please share precious moments with me for a while Would you tell me your name or perhaps even more While I fall in love deeply, forever, for sure Loveliest lady with rose-petal skin Could you open your heart and let this fool in I knew from a distance where my heart belongs To the delicate muse who inspires all...

do you feel it? as you walk slowly through the dark, in this fallen neglected labyrinth of the mind, where mold and filth fester upon crumbling walls, and rainwater seeps and falls like tears of the damned, this once great building now diseased and decaying, a parody of the minds once entombed within, can you hear the echoes of the screams? from...

Goodbye my old friend, You’ve slowed in your old age You should know, your openness and creativity Helped break me from my cage I may be the only one who visits you now But I hope you wake up Some way, some how, If anyone reads this You’re in the right place Please come here often And quicken my friend’s pace Thank you to all who’ve come and...

They gnaw at the edges of me, little sharp-toothed things with hollow eyes, crawling from the cracks in my skull to lap at the marrow of my thoughts. I used to fight them. I used to starve them. But hunger makes them cruel. So now I lay the table. Silver plates of regret, goblets brimming with old wounds, a banquet of memories too raw...

Only the night matters, its granaries filled with gold, the awakening of the voice. Under the regime of the sun time bends the heart, waiting frays the mind. That's where I survive, among fragments of screams and visions of blue; my dream-horse lost in the desert.

They call her a voice of brown pain, But we’ve heard louder cries, from fields soaked in sacrifice, from mothers who buried sons, not metaphors. They sold us short, for lowercase lines and over-capitalized lies— as if formatting could mask the absence of truth. She speaks of lands she never walked, names wounds she never bore, calls for borders...

We suffer together - Some more, some less And the less console Themselves with how They aren't the more. We have aids and We are blind and We rot in gutters. Would it be rude If I prayed for us? I remember myself When I see you there And I wonder if We can make it to An elegant solution. Like a beautiful song Plays on human breath By means of a...