#seagoat.

Oh, Home.

A long trip South, The unbearable  Suffocating heat.

The unquenchable  Yearn Of soul torn Rage.

Purple plum, It took so long But you called me Home.

Home. Home. Home. To feel like no one’s Son. The walls have Not enough poetry.

Oh, Home.

I want to go home

Where the thunderous water

Was indistinguishable

From the roaring in his chest

Where the scent of

Purple plum

Rose from tropical steam

I want to go home

Where exhales smelled like

Peppermint

And the heady scent

Of june

I want to go home

Where the dim lights

Dimmed lower

The sheet rustled

Against his coarse hair

I want to go home

Where his discarded clothes

Littered our floor

I want to go home

I want

I would love him from anywhere 

Nix to Phobos 

The killing thing

Empties half

And i think

Of you

Thinking of

Collecting songs

Even the roof of my mouth is cold, Darling; My teeth are aching, My gums, bleeding: Tongue, numb.

Every inch I move, Darling, My shirt rises at my back For such a lack of you, Holding me down.

I only write about how much the wounds Your spiraled horns gave me Ache

I write not about how that boyish grin Staring up at me beneath those jeweled eyes Gave me so many reasons to live

Someday I’ll be able to say this all beautifully I’ll write words that actually sound like poems Instead of this tragic, tiered list of grievances

But for now I have no beauty for you I have twisting, pulsating pain I have a throat on fire

I have swallowed screams that echo around the  Empty chamber of my chest They harmonize with the pleading horror my bathroom walls keep