Waking Up Next to You

this is rough, and might not make complete sense because it just popped into my head and i wrote it in about 5 minutes. anyway, enjoy.





my head hurts from thinking of reasons not to kill you in my sleep
it gets so bad i've resorted to counting sheep
every night the reasons diminish a bit more
until all i'm left with is:
because I love you

sometimes i wish i could wake up alone
to a cold and empty bed
just to see what all the fuss is about

it doesn't seem such a bad thing
after countless mornings waking up to your morning breath
it's enough to wilt the flowers
but not enough to put me out of my misery
unfortunately

i've tried sticking my head in the oven with the breakfasts scones
i've attempted to stick my tooth brush down my throat as far as it goes

it's a shame i haven't drowned in the litres of drool you leave on the pillow
it's too bad i haven't been strangled to death by your limbs wrapped around me

i ask my self
when my eyes open,
another sleepless night gone by,
why it's you i have to wake up to
but every day it's still the same

because i love you

...Always

I cannot tell a lie,

I did not chop down the tree.

So believe me when I say to you,

There's no end to your beauty.

A Hera among shallow Aphrodites,

Sweeter than night's first star.

The most difficult riddle,

How I wonder what you are.

I aim to be your eyes,

And guide you through darker days.

No matter the circumstance,

In my heart, gold you will stay.

Senses of Home

Senses of Home

carmine roses

sniffling noses

teardrops falling

home’s calling

earthy bed

soil fed

bugles sound

underground

farewells said

mourners fled

all alone

turn to bone

Fire Free

Fire Free

spark is to born

as ash is to bone

fire destroys but beholds

a brighter flame rises

from ended embers

resurrected from binding timbers

purple-red like the setting sun

but dawning in

more brilliant colors

the purple one

bears a crown of thorns

wears it proudly

as it is reborn

burns the innocent virgin flame

but holds a

thousand years’ pain

son of the father

yet father it is

reduce to dust

then return a new sun

babe hidden in death

revealed only

after the smoke clears

the beautiful cry is

of  newborn and

 corpse combined

cinnamon and smoke

cue its exit,

is inhaled upon

the first breath of birth

stoic king,

prince,

immortal

among purples and golds

live within frankincense and myrrh

bred in carnage,

dies in flames of color

and spice and gem

beauty in a blood red pyre

desire in an eternal fire