Sleeping Ugly

There is lust in the footprints of an old heart.
You disappear softly in the ease of a storm.
Of all the words, tangled in anger, left out in the rain.
Of all the poems, I wrote in the dark.
I could not see the color of your mood ring.



My Underground


The nothing sun, when you cannot feel it.
And your warmth is like the coldest hands on skin.

I don’t want to eat sins like yesterday.
I have too many confessions on my plate.

Dried skin, in the amidst of violet flowers.
There is no sky but only birds in cages.


Pale Moon Muse

Like a pale moon,
Gracefully haunting yield sunsets.

Like skin for water.
I’m so thirsty, but I never swallow.

Like everything else,
I’m nowhere in-between the else.


Of All The Things I Found and Lost

The clouds slipped away beneath the spaces of your fingers.
I use to be the desire that overflowed from the mouth of madness.

We define calm like a tooth being pulled out.
Soothing as liquid metal down your throat.

I feel so reckless and strange,
Words of things often misspelled and unsaid.


We Are Darker

In your little heart,
A little piece of drag always cuts me open.

The deepness is like ultra.
A lipstick blade, a mouthful I bled….

I could hear a flower grow in the middle of a concrete road.
Pull me out of the womb, pull me out of this sun.



There is a motion of lint under the imprint of your disguise.
It seems like thought and control is beyond clockwise.

Let me flow down like a river.
Beneath the rocks and sunken boats.

Let me flow down softly against the region of your body.
Let my lips kiss every pore on the landscape of your skin.

There is a colorless image, underground and rare.
Her smile, slightly beyond despair.


Feet in Pond

In your deepest pond, I drown in feathers.
Sometimes I can’t say the words I want to say.
Instead I’ll paint the sky blue.
And give you the sun.

In the fabric of sun rays that shines deep in the basement of my soul.
There is a clutter of words I often trip on.
But I don’t think you mind at all.
I’m just a writer after all.



When all the love I have sinks deep into the discoloration of sunsets.
The desolate of poetry dresses in a fabric of black wool.

Let’s burn, burn our hands from the scrutiny of warmth.

Am I falling or floating?
Or maybe I am just a rock you can pick up with one arm.
I can already sink my teeth in steel.
Like the softest wings I can easily tear apart.

This is the part I like most.
When the blanket scorns the flesh of wounds.
and all the pretty noises sink out of holes of my soul.


Kiss the Bones

Kiss the bones in color.
Because I can’t explain who is really color blind.

Kiss the bones in chaos.
Because chaos is a close friend of mine.

Kiss the bones in lovely wild fires.
When your breath is the water that aspires.



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Lonely the whore.
Of sunsets and classic folklore.
Because I’m dying here with laughter.
And this joke is just another chapter.

Lonely the madness.
Clutch against the mattress.
Because all these stars never shine in this mist of mine.