Friendly Poison

Friendly poison kills me,
Cut into me through tiny wounds,
Again and again,
Filling the weakness I abandoned,
Burgeoning too large to ignore now.

I smile; I want to cry.
I smile; I want to rage.
I smile; I want to run away.
I stay strong, smiling for weaker souls,
Coddling their malcontent while hiding mine.

This poison composes simple requests,
An endless train of need,
Again and again,
Bribing me with my own conscience,
To serve the friends who cut me.

I stress in bed; I want to sleep.
I stress in bed; I want to rest.
I stress in bed; I want to be alone.
Nowhere can I hide,
When my mind fears phones and friends.

Deathly solution can cure this poison,
And I think of this,
Again and again,
But not them, never them;
Not friends who see the tool I am.

My strength, my kindness,
This charity I run,
Donating my life to fix friends,
So long as I give it away,
This poison will never end.

I’m ready to die; I want to live.
I’m ready to die; I just want to live.
I’m ready to die; I just want to live for myself
Without these “friends” pulling at me,
Poisoning me.
I want my tombstone to say, “Death by Altruism”.

Maybe, someone will get the joke, and feel a little less alone when she has to go back to her thieving friends who constantly steal her time and morality to solve their problems.

At some point, you just feel that… they should be able to take care of themselves…

You taught them to fish…
They know how to fish now…
Why are you still fishing for them?


I promise to post something happier soon 🙂


Fame Free Angel

I liked this week’s DPChallenge, so I decided to participate.  It’s a fun little exercise: writing a story in fifty words exactly, though I wonder if I’m meant to avoid writing a story-poem?

Eh, who cares? 🙂

Fame Free Angel

The curtains spread; the light waned,
Except where her glory stood:
Abandoned on stage,
Left to fuel ten thousand whispers,
And a fire for one ego’s rage.
She walks down the street,
Fluttering her wings,
Keeping hers feathers, her smile,
Reserving her name and self,
For those she’ll call friend.

Burning, Burning…

Mind Burning

Burning, Burning, always Burning.
The water glass sits empty, idle,
Dry as my leathered throat.
Screens and papers engulfed with fired inks
Are as drought before my desire;
Barren to my drive.
There’s no reception left in this feeling.
Change the channel, but they’re all the same:



Alone and no connections.
Six billion souls,
And not one I could understand.
Honesty… Honestly?

Coats and Scarves

A little poem that seeped out of me while trying to work on my short story.

Coats and Scarves


Love softly warms feet and fingers,
A red blanket harboring pink airs,
Caring for the refugees always forgotten
by Coats and Scarves.

Hatred storms the rigid shore,
A black tempest reaping the deep blue tears,
Shed for lost beloveds and the futures taken
to make Coats and Scarves.

Despair screams without voice, refracts without color,
Lives without substance to the empathic mind,
Concealed behind smiles and laughter,
Unable to find peer through its flawless disguise.

Despair lives alone in the company of others,
Always cold by a heart still stone,
And so reaches into the closet,
for Coats and Scarves.

The Loneliest Place

My latest poem. I aim to depress (myself).


The Loneliest Place


I seek the loneliest place.
Not the darkness, the shroud of night,
There where I’m safe.
Not the empty room, the voided hall,
There where I’m comfortable.
Not the silent airs, the dead to hear,
Where masters play from my headphone ears.
I seek the loneliest place,
Where light and crowd and noise,
Bustle just a word away,
Just a single greet,
To cease this endless tease.
I seek this loneliest place,
A chair within civilization,
Knowing full well my ethereal presence
Will never be seen by lightly beings.


When I write, I have this sort of repetition style designed to roll words along quickly upon a playful note. I think it seeped into this poem just a bit, and I’m not sure it works.

Planting Vows

My first attempt at poetry.



Planting Vows


My love met you in a bar,
A casual meet, a friendly greet.
We did not date according to fate.
I did not send my passions to sail on sparkle-blinded oceans,
Seeking lands destiny made especially for me.
I did not discover you.
I chose a patch,
Simple soil unclaimed unfettered unloved.
I brought you here,
I brought you who could have been her, or her, or her.
Together we uplifted the earth,
Planted a seed and sat back to watch.
We oft trampled that soil,
Swore to burn it to cinder,
Then burn cinder to hell,
But our seed grew roots,
Slipping a little deeper,
Spreading a little wider through earth’s soft skin.
Stalk and sprout rose from our understanding,
Flowery petals bloomed pink and rose red from our affections.
That’s our love blossoming there,
That fully grown flower,
In that secret garden now ours,
Plucked not from destiny,
Gifted not from your divine entities,
But grown, cultivated,
By you and me.
At one time it could have been her, or her, or her
I brought to that patch of soil.
Now, there can be no other,
For this flower I’ve come to savor
Cannot be found through mortal endeavor,
Nor prophecies and guidance divine.
It can only be grown
By you and me,



This poem dialogues a groom speaking to his bride, but honestly it could digress to represent any kind of romantic expression. I got the idea from expanding upon my personal idiom: “True love is cultivated, not discovered.”

I have to say, poetry has a rather powerful allure. Unlike longer short stories, poems can be written before the initial inspiring seizure wears off. I like that :O