Category: 12th

meet me at the station
stay with me downtown,
hear the words i speak
watch me hear yours.

feel the lights flicker
and appear –
slowly
as the sun disappears.

watch my fingers twist and turn
fidgeting
reaching for yours
lacing, listening.

we are the only ones.

the station –
people come and go,
but we don’t.
it is us, and us only.

so meet me at the station,
stay with me till dark –
till everything’s alright again
till we’re ready to say good night.

i play hide and seek, but without the seeking.
i hide up. i hide down,
far, low, wherever i feel i need to go.
and so i hide, with no requests. and so i hide.
no one passes, no one peeks.
i hide, and no one seeks.
and so i hide, no cold eyes watching –
i hide in peace.
i run and laugh and sing and dance,
but still i hide.
ever hidden, ever free,
i always hide but never seek.

wasting your days in vain again.
you’re vain and you know it to be true
but it’s only in the depths of the night
(while you waste your days)
that you truly do realize just how vain your vain is.
and so you sit
(wasting your days in vain –
again)
and think about the pain.
the one no one sees –
because you’re vain!
and this vanity, it’s insanity –
rushing, running, knocking up your brain so all you can really do is
(waste your days in vain).
and this gives you pain
so somehow you find that vein
(the one)
and now there you are:
vain
in pain
wasting your days in vain again.

My chair groans lightly as
the window does, for I
am like clouds that tumble and fall,
like a little child that has

Fallen, oh has fallen. For
the wind has knocked her flat.
Sweet music, however, she breathes deep,
and it serves as her lariat.

To bring her back to do
what she has never had to,
to lift her up by her scruff
so she can learn to be tough.

My Music will return
when he has come back home,
and the wind will stop its howling,
and music shall take its turn.

But the clouds don’t part for
music, and my chair will
creak under the same weight,
and as for the windowsill,

the Storm will press against it,
but won’t break through, not yet.
For your echo still resides here,
so I still feel you near.

Music still echoes throughout
this house, but the radio
now has gone, leaving behind
and empty silence, the memories
Of a Song.

poison girl.
Self portraits made out of ashes, nothing was ever truly made to last.
You wanted a snake ever since you were a little girl, did their venom call to yours? Your poor mother asked for a mouse and got a viper instead.
Inhale carcinogens, exhale something much worse, every time you open your mouth something deadly slips out. Unnatural smiles glinting in the dark lure him in, but it’s the venom in your fangs when you bite his lip that deals the deadly blow.
Nails drag along thighs and up spines leaving crimson ribbons pooling in their wake.
Forked tongues tie cherry stems into little bows and kiss men they shouldn’t. It seems like party tricks and luxury sins are all you live for these days. You haven’t slept in days but your bloodshot eyes glitter like rubies in the glow of your cigarette butt.
Lust is a color you could never see, but they tell you it is the same color as pain.
ask Mr. Mouse what lust looks like and he looks back at you, ask him what pain looks like and he looks back at you.
Your mother told you never to play with your dinner, but “what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her” you tell yourself but the smile you flash the mirror shows a little too much fang for innocence. The girl in the mirror has hungry eyes, an insatiable carnivore already looking for her next meal.
That night you took a bath so hot you thought you might finally feel something. Smoke lingers in the air above you like a halo as you take another drag. Being lost is scary but what’s scarier is when destruction is the only path that feels like home anymore.
Your mother wanted a pet and instead she got poison wrapped up in a pretty little package, and you loved your mother dearly but you never changed, only grew older and bit harder.
You are seventeen now and couldn’t stop yourself even if you wanted to.

Life’s existence is the result of incredibly
unlikely events that were certainly bound to happen.
And over millions of years life evolves towards a hopeless level of intelligence-
a mishap.
The ability to see and to think so sharply,
leaves behind incomprehensible questions that
we can only answer so partly.
What created this?
What created what created this?

Think about it-
A calendar is an elliptical clock,
at which our beloved sphere is timed revolving around
an enormous mass of plasma,
lost.
Lost in a giant spiral of stars
suspended in a dark and mysterious substance of empty void.
We’re really just another grain of sand in this vast celestial beach.
So where…
Where are we?

The fish swam in the light,
towards the frog who was smiling blissfully.
A chaotic war arose,
trapping them in a slippery aroma.
Smoke emerged when the two clashed,
covering the battlefield.
Emerging victorious, the frog ate the fish.
Waking up in a sweat,
the frog hopped to a cliff waiting for his next victim.

Sometimes when we rest I forget the sound
Of his voice and how it could fill a room
And next thing I know I wish to be drowned
In it complete with no sunlight to bloom

I can recall his mouth open and close
With forgotten words and forgotten tone
And suddenly the last of what’s heard goes
Left with nothing despite it being well-known

I turn to him, our waking eyes meet
Always seems to feel like the first time
I watch him move his head against the sheet
Listening close for his morning chime

With tired eyes, I’m told good-morning
And once again, I feel my love forming

“HUT!” he yells
and the army of men he commands
promptly shuffle their feet
and the royal leather
ends up at his service

with a movement
fluid as water
and yet powerful as a thunderbolt
the royal leather travels
the galaxy
and cuts through planets
like a knife slicing bread
in spinning rotations
like the propeller of an airplane

in reality it lasted 10 seconds
but it felt like 10 centuries
as the great journey ends
right in the hands
of the running back
and into the endzone

in reality it lasted 9 years
but it felt like 10 seconds
the fame got to his head
the prestige felt oppressive
the freedom was terrifying
the fighting was liberating
the drinks was electrifying
the drugs were everything
and he spiraled down
and down
and down
and down

today he tells his story
to future present and past journeyman alike
a story of what could have been
of what was
of what shouldn’t be
of what you should do
of examples and morals
a story about a perfect spiral

America, land of the rich and powerful.

Streets shattered, dilapidated, worn by corruption and false truths
Homes collapsing, education dwindling
Politicians wearing the sin of greed proudly

Light diluted by an unpleasant sight
Halls filled with lobbyists, keeping one goal in mind
Seen as collection of dolls bound to a corrupt puppeteer
One that cuts the string of life at the drop of the hat

A corporation whose dishonor knows no bounds, only driven by the root of all evil
A celebrity running black markets of immoral injustice
A politician, bought by the highest bidder

And many more nameless faces behind the scenes
Filling their endless pockets with green, objectors with lead
Never satisfied, like a rabid dog with endless hunger

Representatives of power, not the people.