searching the skies
i fail to find
a single cloud–cautious,
yet certain, that when night
falls we’ll see galaxies.

He should have joined in
with their circumstantial hellos
and uncircumcised halos
a circle of unwholesome crops
even hungry crows dare not
scavenge through their ripen tortuous minds

My highschool geography teacher,
with the emotional temperature of the antarctic,
the bareness of a desert,
an unrotating mind of exactly 2 seasons
(the first season raining abuse:physical and mental violence
the next season, creepy niceness punctuated with creepy smiles)
and a sens of self-worth bigger than all planets combined,
was a true psychopath,

the sort of psychopaths who roam the halls of catholic schools
intent on scarving students into mini jesuses,
on infusing into their minds the turn-the-other-cheek teaching
except that everyday is the Passion
they cannot sustain it
they are weak in faith and rooted in sin
they were not born out of virginal conception
Still they long for different verses,
compassion and salvation.

He should have sought the pig that would carry his demon
he should have kept still, for the trumpet has yet to sound.

love drew my wings into life
so that I may fly higher in the cage
yet,sadness moves heavy and fast
encroaching on my movements

let tears fall the sorrow out
let the day come out, and
bit the fog of its tail
so that I may brush up against the sun
and scatter through infinity

Stepping off the stage
is completely different
from coming down.