“(In) Over My Head”

don’t listen to

a    word I say it                        cantbreathecantbreathe         

doesn’t seem                             don’t believe me / malignant  

like the t r u t h                         self – my mind – destruct

is truth a thing I want it to be or is that just me

                                                               m     ind reading?   remind me.

  1. existing
  2. feeling           expressing how y o u         were feeling

conversation memory ; conversation breathing a practice in       breath.

                                                          I’m trying          I           swear

this may-be

dying                                               the words are blurry again


obsessive                stop.                      r



I’m crying vulnerable                        up

cantbreathe feelings                  make your mind               over

c h  oking me here/                                                   up           whelmed

keeping me here                         the mind’s make                      fear

damage malignant ; contagious is this what I am  un hinged is a dangerous

thing to be                                                           figure out how to

                     this mind viper                             breathe and sani

my hands are dirty                                           ty will follow I

                                          somebody p              swear I won’t

                                                              l               danger to my                                 

                                                              a              self I can do this

                                                              n             my arms strong

                                                               t             but not l      ong

                                                               e            enough


“Half God Half Devil”

Your body stretches towards mine

ill flower

with roots as hands

but thorns growing on

the inside covered in sticky

red brine

born this way but

twisted into your own creation


I couldn’t help

but love

your throat covered in

the sins

you couldn’t save

I loved those too

your wrists awash in

good behavior

preached with

living torture

made with lines

drawn in the

sand of my favorite


made of you

misery marigold

“The Candied Spider”

Falling in the black,

needles from decades past.

When life hands you venom,

you drink it with honey,

throwing up flowers and vinegar.

Devouring the red,

it goes straight to your head,

narcotics standing in your stead.

Passion and poison are one in the same,

collections of a home make,

keeping you awake.

Roses in your hair,

this fancy nightmare,

courts the craving.

And on your tombstone,