​She’s
cloaked in the color of darkness,
sultry little black dress of death
And with each threatening step,
each tantalizing breath,
she takes a little part of you.
And yet you
dance,
two-stepping on a tightrope,
lost in your intoxication,
a drunken moving meditation, 
dodging flames as the world burns,
she’s gotten a hold of you.
And still you
dance,
because you know 
she cannot touch you
can only have so much of you
no stranger to chaos, are you?
You love to play with fire so you
dance.
Dance until the storm becomes you.
Dance until the flames engulf you.
Dance until the waters drown you.
So then maybe you can be free.
You’re desperate to be free,
so you
dance a little quicker,
swallow down your liquor,
quickly quench your thirst,
and then, 
in your lusty rebirth,
she consumes you.
Are you tired yet? Too bad. 
There’s more fun to be had,
gird your loins and hold your stance,
best get comfortable in your trance,
there’s no escaping this game of chance,
so if you want to live, 
then you’ve got to
dance.

​two eyes
​gel-glossy globes, slit-thin and
crimson-rimmed and spider-webbed
from terpene-topped tokes of
sweet sensi smoke,
green grass grown gas -
inhale. now
feel the verve, now voluminous,
now vibrating in your veins
now buried in blood and bone
now settled atop soft skin
now, I understand
why I get lifted off your lips
why your finger tips
feel like a god
is making music through you
and I am muse
and melody
and microphone
all in one.
i thought it was the weed
but
it's your love that gets me high.

You treat love like a virus, airborne, carried on words whose sincerity you're unsure of. The "I love you"s and "your beautiful"s bare jagged teeth. Their untrustworthy brightness shoots pain through your eyes. Because hugs can be sharp and kisses can burn and evenings, drunk with laughter become frozen, hungover mornings, and unlucky for you your brain hangs on to every. piece. of. memory. from the night before. Except now it's grayer and you shudder at the sharp angles and dark shadows of the exoskeleton the moment has left behind. It is fear. It is fear and it is pain and it keeps you tucked under your quilted armor on Saturday nights while the rest of the city builds altars to Jack and Jose and Mary and Molly and you? You just can't be bothered to pretend like there's anything good out there for you anymore.