The Watcher and the Lions


Still and absent of light.

A solitary watcher observing the heart of night.

The whispering song of the wind and leaves, now silent.

No rustling or crying to be heard beneath it’s dark sheets.

The business of night done right.

This was good.

Undisturbed, a word of peace for the Watcher,

Knowing the outcome of things heard or seen.

In those dark hours when the light is sleeping,

those things which are creeping, often far from serene.

The watcher did witness, such surreptitious fiends

in an evening when they emerged from the quiet to be seen.

Carrying their parcels, precious cargo they had stolen,

absent of light, youthful souls from their homes.

So the cries in the night, those of hunger and pain,

In the stillness and quiet, echo loudly unrestrained.

And the Watcher always watching, watched revolted and chilled

from the tearing and screaming and blood that was spilled.

From then until now, where there’s a silence disturbed

it reminds us of nights when those sounds could be heard.

So the stillness and quiet in the night is of peace,

and the Watcher feels calmer while light is asleep.



All of this to say,… / beyond the capacity to influence.

Discomfort, and memories of events that I wish had never occurred.

Mistakes, or missteps or circumstances that were beyond my capacity to influence.

Allow me to start over,…

A naïve sensitive boy meets a girl far more sensitive but far less naïve.

She knows things about pain, rape, heartbreak, and the general things that the least lucky women come to know.

She’s a masochist by natural selection, in that she was selected by events beyond her capacity to influence.

He was a sadist in the same way, not dangerous, but perfectly willing to scratch her wherever she itched, if so desired.

All of this to say,…

They fell in love, heavily, in the worst kind of way too cliché to describe with a straight face.

The way in which more experienced lovers might scoff or turn away from, sickeningly.

Stupid love, in which both parties imagine that the other was tailor made for their needs.

Where every mental or emotional quirk was not only satisfied, but celebrated as what makes them special and unique.

They were smitten, and when they fucked it was passionate enough for them to cry about.

Melting into each others pores, sweating and savoring every precious moment of it.

The way she would say, “Please, put your cigarette out on my back baby, please!”

And the way he would hesitate, and say, “I can’t find a place you haven’t already burned yourself.”

And the way she’d say, “Do it anyway.”

All of this to say,…

It ended in the worst possible way, dramatically, traumatically, it ended with a rape.

The way in which a stray wolf confuses masochism with someone willing to be used in any kind of way.

While he, the boy, the naïve and sensitive boyfriend was beyond the capacity to influence it in any way.

Where he and she were both beyond the capacity to influence the event that destroyed their naïve and innocent cliché.

The wolf however, did pay. You understand, as a sadist himself the boy knew exactly how that wolf felt.

The sick and selfish ways in which he enjoyed the girl’s humiliation and pain.

Which is why his switchblade cut the wolf across his face, and may have killed him if he hadn’t been restrained.

Anyway, those two lovers are now estranged. She’s married and he’s still walking around somewhere looking dazed.

All of this to say,…

If you see a young man reading a poem about erotic bloodlust and heartbreak, he probably know what the fuck he’s talking about. Thanks.


Better to seek suffering –

Pulse pounding erotic bloodlust,

Simulated sadism sustaining vicarious power

Heart sick, hollow, sexual submission

Combustion, stamen, pistol and flower.

Body and blood tasting,

Seductive sad smiles that stimulate

Rational animals seeking suffering

Suffer me slowly, so I may pollinate.

Shall I be the stamen or pistol?

Should I say what I’m trying to say?

Should separations, so separate us?

Shall I pretend that I’m only playing?

Will you give me, give up everything?

Will you make me, take me all away?

Can I hold you, hurt you in my arms?

Can I thrust you, trust you all the same?

Desperate tears for our garden,

Tender kisses for our wounds,

Knives for our fresh lacerations,

Sleep for our comfort, entombed.

Do you see what I’m trying to say?

How much this, is really me?

Are you enjoying my display?

Is this how it’s better to be?

Baby Brain

Reflections, and imaginary conversations

Close fitting clothes and coffee in a warm place

Daydreams unending, continuing over days

Alone in my head, talking to you.

Confessing my feelings, my thoughts and desires

Living out my fantasies and my fears

Opening up to you and to myself

Without even needing you to be here.

So vivid sometimes I can’t sleep,

So potent sometimes I can’t think,

When it’s you and me and no one else

And it’s really only just me.

It’s a need and an addiction

A substitute for intimacy

A safe-space for my emotions

Where only I could really hurt me.

My sensitivities are brought to surface

My fragile ego realizes it’s pains

My weaknesses and repressions, illuminate

And I see through my baby-brain.

It’s me and you at you-know-where

We’re playing freely without care

We’re pretending, so we can feel

Like Disney-land is really real.


Lust and Loathing

Lust and Loathing

Mellow-dramatic pouting inside of my room, lonely

Teen-angst phase never outgrown, but still growing

Manic depressive, self obsessed and self abhorring

Wallow in contemplation and satanic children’s stories


It’s not as if I want to be like this

I’m honestly sick of writing this kind of shit

I don’t like it, I’m bored with it, but it just always seems to fit


Words like “Lament” and “Depression” come so freely to my lips

Without effort, without thought, and mostly without context

My subconscious expects them to be useful I guess

I guess,

I still have issues left, unresolved

Things that I’ve repressed

Holding back my progress

Because, I’m trying to tell a better story.

It’s not that I’m upset, I’m just tired,

and bored.




Hold me,…


Poison, Pain, and Punishment

He didn’t like the taste.

Both bitter sweet and acrid.

His tongue and throat incensed with displeasure

With a disposition towards inducing vomit.

He swallowed and held in the bile.

It was painful but necessary.

There was no avoiding that poison,

and the sooner it was finished the better.

Ahh, true apothecary.

He could feel it settling in his stomach.

Very soon it would pass into the bloodstream

setting his nerves afire punishingly.

But he knew he would not die.

Pain beyond pain, agony, torture,

but he would not die.

This was not a death sentence.

It was a pain to last a lifetime.

To be remembered, never truly fading,

unless one was miserable enough to become numb to it.

“Fuck you Eve,” he said to himself.

It wasn’t fair, but that was how he felt.

He knew he was getting what he deserved.

But that didn’t stop the anger, or the resentment.

The poison dissolved quickly. He could feel it now.

“God damn you Eve!” He shouted. “God damn! Fuck me!”

Tears fell. Profanities were spat. The worst was soon over.

But the pain was always there beneath the surface.


Non-existent Without Notice

My friends know where to find me when they need me

When they need a friend they find me as I am

Static, waiting, nonexistent without notice

Ready to be seen and heard, seeing and hearing them

In how many ways can I say that I am lonely?

Count them, there are many, too many to decide

It matters little how I choose to express it

I’ll say  it. If you know it, you might feel it besides

Seven billion minus one is what we are

Negatives who standing out are figured out alone

However many it must take to make us human

Many more than all the people I have known

Friends I need to see and hear me, standing by

Static, nonexistent, waiting until they’re needed

Within that time waiting to be heard I will not mind,

the loneliness and static, waiting to be completed