I still remember the day you were born,
the days before and the last moments we had. You’re gone.

They forgot what its like.
Or never knew.
None of their children sacraficed for the greater good.

We see every dollar slipping in your pockets made fat,
disregarding every soul that ever fought back.
Old men, death of just another child.
Congregating around the longest mile.

They don’t know what it’s like.

They’re not the last young minds to be crushed under foot,
bought and sold-out, stale amendments of truth.
Their inaliable right, in the face of those who lied,
trampling all those who stood up for those who died.
You’ll never know what it’s like.

I hope you don’t.

17 more lives, gone before their time.
Your sweet daughter struck down by nine bullets fired.
So many parents trapped amidst a torrent of sleepless nights.
One voice united to rise, from millions of restless minds.
Reborn to defy and fight for their lives.

They know what it’s like.



My identity seems to change with the scenery.
Graphics in moonlight, supple skin, no bystanders in plain sight.
Fingers on your waist, preparing for a taste


Sleep with me on this carpeted floor, and when you beg,
I’ll give and give until I’m used up. It’s what I’m here for.
No need to call me.

Satisified, I won’t be inside you any more.



When it seems we don’t have enough.
When the sky engulfs the horizon.
When loss only throws shadows on our past.

Where my feet touched ground.
Where the city streets broke innocence.
Where everyday was everything.

What looked so precious from afar trapped behind curtains, behind blinds.
Perpetuating a state of grace, forgiving until you leave it all behind.

I am you.

Wasted (no more)

You can’t have me anymore
and whatever you took before
is no longer yours.

Porcelain, stroking the bathroom floor, looking up to a god I couldn’t love, much easier to ignore,
less respect for me,
only fog, hazy thoughts drug through dead end streets…
As if it could get any worse.
That was my last time, no more bile, sweat and terror from shakes, anxious, that tonight will be the same, and no one to remind-
no one there to save me, a used up life. Hated.

You can’t take my soul, this last stroke of light
Spirits moving in and out of me, but no bottle in sight.
The chance to prove them all right,
Or one last desperate chance, claw up from the bottom,
breaking free of darkness– the endless nights.
Left the the way we found them.

You can’t have me anymore, I picked up what was left,
off the floor, one more shot at this–
and I forgive myself.
Existing inside a new life, second sight
and a chance to be reborn.
Wasted no more…