a waxing crescent for every beam

only to be seen in the darkest hours.

but with strands of hair that gleams,

he bloomed among the sunflowers.

how are you my very own dreams,

my teardrops from the rain shower,

and the sweetness of my cream?

it muddles me as i am devoured

by every thought that scream.


i am, of the bitter and the sour,

but my cries are stronger than any stream

flowing around my ivory tower.

will you save me from the extreme?

or leave me like a perished flower,

still waiting to be redeemed?


Know Where All the Bodies Are Buried

she has plucked eyes from a young child.

naive, but the imagination is growing wild.

she has stolen the mind of an old man.

slowly withering, but wisdom is her friend.

she has a mimicked mouth of a public speaker.

talks more, and the words meant something deeper.

she has duplicated ears of a private listener.

talks less, puts down the mirror, and it wouldn’t be her.

she has chopped off hands from an artist.

creative, but putting the emotions at risk.

she has the decapitated head of a writer.

put it in the clouds, it will make her mightier.

she has the misplaced heart of a soldier.

vulnerable, and no, not a past holder.