Shoot the Messenger

I am clearly no match
For your obvious
Quasi intellectualism
Coffee shop posturing
The self high-fiving
The nothing you offer
But snobbery
A mind in a box
Sitting silver
You wasp!
I slap at you
Black and white
Black hate prancing
Eyeballs racing
I know it
No substance?
I am life
I breathe it
Live it, love it
Suffer through it
Surrender to it
Your flighty caresses
You are no one
I am the rain from clouds
The puddles you step in
I stretch and bend
Rip, rip, rip



Small Part of Me

I’ll never be slim
Never have perfect skin
Never be a ‘I love your hair’ girl
Can’t be taller than I am
Can’t get that summer tan
But my teeth are straight
And so is my back
Child bearing hips
My smiling, sexy lips
Big boned with an inner strength
And love at finger tip length.

Originally published in Eclecticism, Issue 14.

Blackmail Press

Chasing the Dragon

Amber tears are flowing
spilling up my veins.
Black sun shining
Burns the laquer off my teeth.
Fading life and paler skin.
Vision loosing sight
and that stupid will
I have to live.

Am I the one you should punish?
My weakness will be the death of me.
Strip your crying and your pity,
go to hell with your forgiveness
And leave me in this emptiness, stoned.

You’ve licked away at my redemption
ripped it hard from my chest
and stamped it into the ground.
Dry throat, dry wrenching
and always so thirsty, can’t quench it.
I’m overfed and always hungry
to be engulfed by you.

Living in numbness, living in echo
or not at all, you can make that happen.
There are no miracles, no truth, no words
Only this junk I’d die for.


My back is strong
And so are my broken bones.

Don’t mistake all these tears
For weakness, inside.

You’ll never know all the secrets
I’ve lied or the promises shed.

This blackness I bleed
From my pouted mouth
Doesn’t deny me your fist.

But your hands no longer grab.
Your whispers no longer
Crush me.
I have risen eagerly above
The smoke of your existence.

Reformed my presence to match
All my reasoning.
My strength, my solitude
No longer held, inside.

I embrace this new being
You can’t touch.

Originally published by Blackmail Press, Issue 2