i write a poem for myself
and burn it before i read it,
i write a poem for you
another throwing star against the wall-
tears meet were pen runs out
a war zone of thought blurring feelings.
for when all is settled an oil spill remain-
what once lived here is gone
or is sleeping
what is now here is unsalvageable.
my soul vomit tongues
uttered only understood by some demonic entity
too busy to listen,
my dead eyelids whisper and fall silent
against this violin violence
a sax with strings attached-
yet sounds half life
is but a dead clown face painted
watching its last sun set
surrounded by children with pikes
jeering juggle again I dare ya.