I see roses and wreaths and ribbons every few blocks

tied to the poles of street signs

new life born on the metal where a kid

once got his head smashed in

by a car or a bike or God forbid another man

But God doesn’t forbid he allows

I’ve always wondered if I would get a wreath

tied around the rope I decorated my ceiling with

like a mistletoe on a cold October morning

An unpleasant surprise for the mother I left behind

God doesn’t forbid he allows

and if they put roses and wreaths on every spot 

where a man unjustly forfeited his life 

this concrete forest would be a colorful jungle

full of real life and beauty not unlike

what we destroyed inside us to get here.

He put the gun to my head and

told me in a voice that could cut glass

to transfer everything of value

from my pockets into his bag.

I looked at him—

it was on that one rainy afternoon

last month, when you said

you no longer loved me—and told him

in a voice that could be hushed by the wind

that the only way 

to take from me what I held valuable

was by shooting me in the heart

and running off with my head.

She found a gun under her bed,

whispered something about it being mine

and decided to put fate, as they called it,

into her own capable hands.

I found her crumpled on the floor like an unwanted doll.

She looked up at me as I wiped the gunpowder

from her reddened cheek, 

embarrassed that she had even a blemish. 

I picked her up, what was left of her

with what was left of me

and I took her to meet the world anew.

We stumbled down the steps,

the sun cutting more holes in us

than the bullet wounds.

I looked down at her with my eye,

the one still intact and told her

how beautiful she was,

untouched by the pollution of life,

disconnected from the pangs of reality,

a vibrant variable in the visage of logic.

I stroked her hair as we both finally let go

not of each other but of mortality. 

We're alone, twisting down

a hallway with no walls.

I don't know who we are...

we had found out yesterday,

but today is a new day; 

today we find out again.

Take my hand... 

Do we have hands?

yes

so take my hand--

this hallway is too constricting. 

I see stairs at the end of our life, 

I wonder where they lead--

walk with me.

Don't be sad that it's the end;

be happy that the stairs wind upwards.

Be happy that we can hold hands today;

be happy that tomorrow,

everything will be new again.

Everything will be new,

I wish I knew what love was;

I wish I had the money to love,

the time to love,

the beauty 

to love.

But here I am—bare—nothing more

than a beating heart

looking for you, the one reason 

I dare survive.

You extinguished the flames 

that lit the path of my life;

now with every clockwork sound 

I hear in the dark

I blindly and obediently

follow your glowing figure.

I wish I knew what love was,

but even if I never find out

I will always be yours.

The Moon, riddled with stagefright, prayed he didn't mess up with all those people watching him. Why didn't they just let him do his job in peace?

I wanted to speak to the false laws

that concealed the divinity of your presence

from my dull, mortal eyes; to peal away the skin

and find the energy that so strongly drew me to you.

I wanted to write about the contours of your skin

and your hair and your fingers and the way the letter "p"

plucked itself softly from your lips. And when I told you this

you smiled, truly smiled, at the magnitude of my conviction.

You looked at me with your eclectic eyes, 

eyes that reflected everything I ever wanted,

eyes that gave me everything pure and true

that a man could take from this world.

We hid in the folds of existence; the four walls 

masked our intentions, but the skies reverberated 

with the emotion behind them. I held your hand, 

not with mine but with the proclamations I found 

for you, hidden deep inside of me. 

Whispered words that tore apart the truths 

of the world, barely more than breaths,

turned to cries of lust and pain, good pain,

the pain of me fighting to make room in your heart,

to clear away the worthless things left behind

by every other man that had tried and failed 

to make for himself a home there.

I knew your heart, and so I sought to have it,

and in return, I would give you the only thing I had:

myself.

This time you laughed and rolled over

to the other side of the bed, 

wondering what it would be like to trade

the thing that had caused you so much pain

with the chance to live forever.