Key Verse

Art, a song bird,
with pain and ink stained feathers,
that each tells a story.
A caged bird set free
by the audience’s interpretation key.
A piece does not end
when someone puts down
the brush, mic, or pen,
instead it takes flight
in the skies of the observer’s mind
to places the artist did not intend.
Taking rest in different parts
of the red trees
of the observer’s heart
and nesting in holes
in the observer’s soul,
making the observer whole.
Your art is just the start,
don’t pretend it’s the end.

Shattered Union

I was broken,
you were broken,
fragments,
broken hearts,
broken souls,
broken lives,
broken people.
We made a kaleidoscope together,
mixing all of our broken parts.
Something beautiful and magical
from our shattered pieces.
We didn’t make each other complete.
Our beauty was in our brokenness.

Howl

Owls
flying
in the white night skies
of my bones.

Wolves
rampaging in the red forest
of my blood.

Rising
tides of desire
washing over my rocky soul
and leaving their salt
on my lips.

Night time.
Black curtains.
Dark room.
Alone with you.
How pleasant it is when
you are are my full moon.

The Creatives

We are bonded by our creative spirits.
Blood is thicker than water,
and spirit is thicker than blood.
Our souls convene
in the hallways of our pages,
the writing is on the walls they say.
We get drunk
in the colorful burlesque clubs
of our canvases.
We entertain each other
in the homes built within our songs,
protected by lyrical walls.
We live
together
in the small town of our creations.

Sweet Insomnia

At night you come
rustling my brain,
that broken tree,
causing memories to fall
from lobe branches,
sweet reminiscent fruits
that splatter everywhere.
My soul leans on the tree trunk
taking bites of the fallen fruit,
sweet memories dripping
all over my soul’s hands and face.

I need to sleep.
I need to forget you.
Time has passed,
but these sweet memories
won’t spoil.

Ink Monsters

No matter how happy you make me,
you will never take away
my treasure chest of pain.
I open it every night
and let the monsters out,
they dance on these pages,
leaving words as footprints.

I follow their footsteps
and get lost in their madness.

I love you,
but know your place.