Ted Cruz is a little boy.
He keeps trying to be coy.
But we all see his ploy.
He always steals my joy.
America is just his toy.
Ted Cruz is a little boy.
Ted Cruz is a little boy.
He keeps trying to be coy.
But we all see his ploy.
He always steals my joy.
America is just his toy.
Ted Cruz is a little boy.
Waves of expression wash across your face the wind brushes your hair the mist glosses your smile and the backdrop seascape competes for the casual cinematographer of my gaze and yet I neither propose marriage nor a toast or in a seductive inflection test your boundaries with an indiscreet suggestion instead I seize this stolen […]
Me and the Mrs.
This is my tribute.
This is my soul.
I rise just to die.
I fall just to lie.
My open love,
Is met with a shove.
Rejected.
Dejected.
Ejected.
I rise just to die.
I fall just to lie.
This is my tribute.
This is my soul.
I mask my alarm.
Pain eats away within me.
Blood drips down my arm.
Was that better than the last one? I’m really enjoying this Haiku thing.
I left you with nothing but blisters on your split tongue As you spat letters soaked in my name upon the dirt. You laced your cutting saliva with acid, And draped it in bubbly strands on the bending blades of grass — Hoping my ankles might graze your dripping spite — When I left you […]
Snake Spit
I am the dark.
I wish I could be honest with myself.
But I am the dark.
I wish I could be free of myself.
But I am the dark.
I wish I could survive myself.
But I am the dark.
I wish I could see the Sun for myself.
But I am the dark.
I am the dark.
The dark.
The dark.
The dark.
I am the dark.
I won an award.
I do not know why or how.
Still, it’s my sword.
My first attempt at a haiku. Did I do it right?
Drops of sunshine dew.
Cling to the nighttime comfort.
Day is pain anew.
I am the soul of the wounded.
I am the darkness of night.
I am the silence of pain.
I am the torture of suffering.
I am the lost.
The dead.
The alone.
I am hopeless.