You always seem so lucky

You and your personality

Your looks and your charisma

Seem to always pull the crowd in

You’re a siren luring sailors to you

And your eyes are the coldest of blue

But I guess that’s why you think im the lucky one

Because while I draw close you push away

But I guess that’s the problem here

You’re living in your worst fear

Of insecurity

So I guess that makes me

Pretty lucky.


ABC Alliteration of Us

As I stare at this arrogant array

Of boisterous bottles

I can’t help but compulsively comfort

A dismount of disappointed feelings

That made an erasable error


Things never seem to fall freely on me

Oh, I hope for good gospel

Because heartlessly I hear

The sound of iridescent idiosyncrasies

That belong to a jarring jury,

Watching my kaleidoscopic kills

Of the largely lamented

As I mistakenly miss you


Yet, I’ve never needed nicotine

To drown our obvious obituary,

Or poignant poisons

To eradicate the queer quality

Of the resilient relationship

We tried to sustain sufficiently.


I’ve always had trials and tribulations

That undermine my unnatural personality,

And violent acts of vulgar dishonesty

That i watch with wary woes,

But I always drown with xerothermic xylol

hopelessly, I try to burn up the yearning youth

That always seems to zealously zag inside me

All because of you.


Crossed out Thoughts

Whatever happened to us



Once the skies were gray



Now its just two chairs



No idea where to breathe





I remember my mother

would press a kiss atop my head

to signal the authors in my mind

to come alive and make me dream

she would always leave

a light on for me

that seemingly

only fairies could make

and I felt content

but now the kisses

surrendered to bruises

authors retired to illustrators

that only painted in red

and that fairy light

turned to Midas’ color of regret

and the reflection of realization.

Miscellaneous Remembrance


Remember the dandelion kisses

we blew when we were young

and the nursery rhymes we always read

and sung

The roses always pricked us

but we played with them anyway,

for blood was easy to replace

but the memories would fade to gray


the puddles aways splashed in our faces

and the thunder lulled us to sleep

for the stories our mothers told us

brought dreams we would forever keep

in our pockets


the miscellaneous times

were always a favorite of mine

the idiosyncrasies

that i keep within my mind

i can see though

you don’t think of these things

i just wish you thought

that i was worth remembering.


Little Boy


Little Boy

I don’t know how to feel Little Boy

How it feels to have your hands up in defeat

I don’t know how to see, Little Boy

To see through Your eyes

The bombed concrete

and the corpses upon corpses you’ve walked by

I don’t know how to feel, Little Boy

to hear the gunshots and screams

of children women and men

I don’t know how it smells Little Boy

the smell of death and ashes making

grey snow upon the ground

I don’t know how it tastes Little Boy

the taste of bread and soup

or nothing at all

or the taste of blood as they beat you,

making you feel so small

I don’t know you, Little Boy

I wasn’t in your place

as you saw the massacre of the Jewish race

I can’t say I know how you feel

But I’ll always remember that




so I raise my glass to you, Little Boy

who just looks so lost

and to the children who lost their lives

in the Holocaust.