Year of the Minotaur

A vampire’s rage
was throwing a party
amidst my insides,
and light seemed to
wreak a ferocious havoc
on my brain cells,
just as much as the dark,
in the year of the

A huge sigh
of fucking relief
hit her chest
when the hungry haunted
fed forced her poison,
oh to finally
end this freak’s
grabbing her
by the teeth,
and dragging her,
sputtering blood
and tinsel,
Jack the Ripper’s
streets of
grisly London.

She sat on the frostbite floor and
to no one in particular,
bled oil and ink,
drank far too much
so that the room spun
like a pinwheel,
tried to throw up
the emotions so intense
they overcame her sight,
she shook
from the venom,
stapled her mouth
as to not
wake the neighborhood
with her screeching howls.

I met her doing
balancing acts
down abandoned
railroad tracks on
the outskirts of
Flint, Michigan.
She was humming
a somewhat familiar tune
which took my
sensory glands
back to the night
a few months after
my dad was dead and burned,
and I cut all
my hair off,
at 4 in the morning,
with a pair of old rusty scissors,
in the upstairs bathroom,
with the lights off,
and the panic of
being human
quelled for a brief moment,
and I went back to sleep,
dreaming of sex and angels.


Thrashing your bones
back and forth
like tidal waves,
I confronted the
space between us
with a growl through
clenched teeth,
and gave my secrets
to the delicate horizons
behind your eyelids.
I'm gonna make
your veins pulse
electric chatter,
sex and fire
bellowing out of my mouth,
down your throat.
And every time you burn yourself
on kitchen stovetops,
in steaming showers,
or dripping candle wax
down your fingertips,
you will smirk 
and sizzle. 

Buried Anthem

these broken down
could hold me a little longer,
for I have been up since
what they call
man’s dawn
and I am so very weary.
Doctors and,
giving us
frowns upon tears
as they walk into bleached bellied
hospital rooms
with puppies and rainbows
painted on the ceiling:
you may not get a chance
to witness tomorrow
so say your goodbyes my dear.
Cancer wasn’t only
taking its time
to sneak in and out
of the brain cells in
my brother,
slow pain,
taking him away from me,
cancer fancied 
killing me too,
as collateral damage,
though strange
no one seemed to see
my soul
drained from me
as I watched untold horror
and then laugh at my
silent sobs in the shower.

And friends came,
two by two,
speaking tired odes of
too busy to bother,
scared of their own mortality,
I suppose,
thus rushing away
like the rain to the gutters
after a storm.
my dear kind poem,
I write you out,
blessing your pain
and despair,
clutch me tight
in the everlasting night
until some sort of light
shines within me.