RoseAnge

Haunted Meandering thoughts carry me On a hammock over smooth, burning cobblestones Bathed in orange sherbet skies Melting as my eyes water I am thinking of you, my dear My moon. Many sleepless nights I look for you Until dawn’s pale, cold shoulder Brushes aside my hope. You have released me, your day Who lit your way across indigo seas Grapefruit skies pulsating with my light Caressing you somewhere in the horizon. I am carried by dreams of my moon A train wreck of thoughts Blood coughing through my veins My heart hiccups for you You kept borrowed breath that night I am drowning in sweet longing Dying evening light Waiting for yo

Genesis They say it’s better to burn out than fade away. Some of us have felt our stars ascend while young when we have knowledge of everything and can do anything. We grow bright and our size increases, pulls crowds of stars and dust into our orbits. They are paying attention to us, imitating us, while some are fueling us with envious praise or jealous hate. We continue to grow until we see our reflection around us. Once immortal, we see an end and wonder what the purpose in it all was. What an explosion this realization is. Some of us do fade away after this. They would rather be in obscurity and waste their lives desperately trying

below my balcony are rows of shrubs a bed of brittle leaves a blanket of razors sharpened by autumn they are vibrant inviting me to fall still gentler than winter which comes and all pass but me bleeding into concrete soil life is a series of deaths a tease like trick candles that cannot be snuffed out that multiply each day tiny tallow candles lining fallow earth cracked and weathered with unmet desire the wish for death has not undone many

she clings more tightly when she needs to be released twitches like a severed limb held by him who smothers her in a shadow of flesh a sheet of ice melts pours itself in his caress the sweet incubus who mistakes himself for a man her sigh is the black breath of wasted effort souls flicker when they need to be complete glaciers scraping hoping fusing igniting to fizzle out alone again.

You are nothing but your face, soulless without your eyes. A thousand faces conveyed by stars reside in the glossy cover of a phone, in glass frames, in razors, in the basin, in plastic, in enamel, in the bottle, in each bubble, in the champagne, in perfume, in pins, in the toilet, on the walls, in the screen; in the mirror and eyes, in what we believe. Each are we, none is me. Do not bother returning them.

the woman lay curled on the bed a snail beneath a shell of hair of indifferent expression a siren singing he has survived the cliff she has sung her song for free

As a young boy, I looked up. Up to this towering man that I wanted to be just like. With bulging muscles and an expansive vocabulary of macho-induced lingo such as: crescent wrench, car jack, oil filters, sinkers and bobbers, and Budlight. Keeping up was a fight. A fight to remember which a Phillips head was and which was the other. On more than one occasion, even bringing him an Allen wrench by mistake. I had to soak in the let down face of my father with every wrong tool that I brought. Each. And every.Damn. Time. I could not be taught. Was he taking this as a sign? My lack of interest in fishing and boxing. Eventually, to stop asking for

Relationships are not part-time jobs in run down cafes where you wear bad attitudes, reflecting: low wages bad hours rude patrons and knocks to your ego. Relationships are careers earned and worked for that grow and support you, providing: retirement plans sick days bonuses and a reminder that you're worth something. Your love gives back what you invest and I am not a part-time lover and refuse to accept a business partner aspiring for anything less because Love is beautiful and not a dead-end job.