Soundless Fights In The Middle Of The Night

You say: say what you have to say!

But those words echo in my mind because you
are not ready for the deafening tone of the
words that are spilling out of my eyes and you

do not understand what I mean by your eyes
make me want to skinny dip in the ocean and you
don’t speak the language that my body speaks
when it finds itself in enough proximity of yours.

So I sigh.

But you have plenty to say, you insist.

And I do. I want to speak but I can’t seem to get
my spoken words right, I try not to mind that
my mind and heart are in a constant knife fight.

But I can’t pretend around you it’s so intense,
you make them drop their blades and open fucking
gun fire. The bullets they ricochet off my brain to
the left side of my ribcage leaving the contents
of my broken heart splattered across my face.

So I say nothing.

That Poetry High

That Poetry High

Yesterday I smoked poetry, I
rolled metaphors into a blunt
and got high on the first stanza.

Then I got the munchies
so I ate poetry, and wrote
a verse with its crumbs.

I drank every drop of poetry
until the only thing left in
the bottle was a cheap cliche.

Like a long walk on the beach
under a blood orange sunset and
skinny dipping in open poetry.

We fucked for hours, like two
similies in love and I snuck
out when she fell asleep.

I need my own bed to recover
from this, from the spinning
kaleidoscopes of poetry.