One of my reviewers said it best... happiness really is this simple. [series]

I choke and crave simultaneously.

let's call her jenna. pillowbook.

The ascension of Kor.

...he said I was his sun.

"god, you remind me of coming up for air. sunscreen-slicked and grass stains and the way you say my name." these are portraits of the people in my life, for better or for worse. [SKOW best poetry winner]

"I don't consider this a nightmare."

i'm not the healthiest eater, but i enjoy every bite.

Margaret Atwood lurks around in my psyche

the pill is jagged

She tastes like thunder.

veiled in pulpits and lace and rain.

They live in you.

Even with a stethoscope, you wouldn't be able to find her trust anymore.

Penis envy

This moment blinks into eternity.

whose leaves, with love, she burns.

Psychology major Alma Caldwell was fascinated by the human mind and its frightening capability of turning nightmares into reality. That is, until a demon turned her reality into a nightmare.

and the remnants of morality must now flail in the Mongolian dust.

First of May and the boat rest. "He says they are already married though they are not."

She lights a candle in homage of Saint Petronilla, invoked against fever.

The unapologetic winter, tire flat on this side of paradise.

A diplomat for peace somehow manages to make stubbornness melt honesty in the mouth first and not in the hand where it can easily be wiped away when the tears of those who decline to listen are near.

unfortunately

"...so i guess it's no surprise that simple minds said it best when i paraphrased them in my polite request for you to try not to forget about me..." - this is about a long past relationship and i feel like ive put more of myself into it than id like

I need it from everybody. Even you, are not enough alone.

emerged from the library of babel

"She's a hazard to herself and no one else" A collection.

because ladies like you don't smoke / or drink or fight or read communist manuscripts.

My head is full of cyclones, and debris.

You still keep me in awe when I discover your tiny miracles.

i faked it.

Fear is naught but a bog to pass through on the journey to freedom.

My toes have danced in the sunlight, and they bring news of rapture.

Pillow book

and then teamwork.

I just want to hold your hysterical fingers in my hand.

the streetlights, the dragons, the whisky-stains.

This piece was inspired by Emily Dickinson's "Bring me the sunset in a cup" I got the prompt from a writing website, so if you would like the link for the site, send me a PM and I'll send it to you. Enjoy.

I've gone too far.

- could not resist myself from you, tainting my words with some sort of remembrance i struggle to cling onto

"I don't feel like I can be close to you."

Inspired my my thesaurus which I rarely use, I have plucked seven words from the thesaurus and put it in my poem. Anyway, I dedicate this to my Macquaries Budget Thesaurus. :

I miss your lazy kisses.

But for all your deceit, you are still my lovely love. The cage of your ribs is no prison.

That is how I think of myself.

Or, How to Find Meaning.

Like thin minds.

what he looks like

and maybe it still is. /collection-fp pennames/

you want,

At first, it was the things no one would miss, like HIV and cancer and that little opera house in North Minneapolis.

your pen and skin are no match for concrete and chemicals.

it's a slippery slope.

Am Ende

I know this girl, and she doesn't know she's beautiful.

darling, we are all adrenaline and paper cuts and raw electricity shudder-craving solar eclipses. stand here on the precipice of insanity and fall with me.

you leap out from my words, no longer monosyllabic; and i have never been more glad to have been shown up in a show-down. poetry and prose.

Your and my reductionisms, in five-line sets.

St. Augustine knows these things.

It's always first.

It's a funny thing, this love story.

once, she kissed the serpent.

there are not enough words.

dreams never die, but dreamers tend to become martyrs.

down

Pinched straight from the clutch of a twofingered man.

my hands are betraying me.

Of all things: English haiku.

eightyfour trespasses through nirvana, but she still can’t figure out if fate tastes like sugar-lemon-tea (or all). DRINK ME: (there are too many things)

i will outline every piece of you until you are nothing but simple language. [experiment in pure description]

james blunt & i hate watching you

and she's groundless.

"Maybe all the blood..."