I wanted to write a poem, but
you wrote one on my lips and
deciphered it with your moans.

-

keeping their score.
One, two, and three,
let's peep behind the tree.
One with the knife,
another striving for life.

Strangers at the door,
just asking for more.
One was thirsty,
another asking for a party.
Party with the deads,
with their hanging heads.

Strangers at the door,
but now the bloody
count gets to four.

-

but I could feel my lungs
expanding and contracting.
I felt no blood running in veins,
but I could feel my stomach
groaning and starving.
I could not feel the air around.
Instead, the smell of
wet soil choked me harder,
the wood suffocated me tougher.
Sooner did I realize,
the bones beside me,
whimpered softly, urging
my numb corpse to feel
everything but nothing.

-

Baa, baa, black sheep,
Have you any blood?
Yes sir, yes sir,
Three pouches from the brood.

One for the dead boy
And one for the dead dame
One for the little lad
who plays with the bloody crane.

Baa, baa, black sheep,
Will they have this blood?
Yes sir, Yes sir,
And will ask for more to flood.

-

the unnatural changes
that my body is gifting itself.
I'm not sorry about
the unusual transitions
that my soul is going through.

(Read the caption)

-

The most
beautiful eyes can
hide the most
terrible nightmares.

-

"I can't sleep", she whispered
crawling into the bed,
tickling my legs and arms.
I was in a deep sleep when
I felt her soft cold fingers
caricaturing my bare warm belly.

"Are you feeling cold?", I asked
tilting and twisting to her side,
trying to lay my limbs on her
but only could feel was
cold breeze whispering in my ears.

-

start shedding blood.
Love me deeper And I'll
love you back obsessively.
Hug me tighter And I'll
clutch you to not let you go.

-

Some love poems know
the smell of graves and
some phrases call her to
scream its silence.
She's the one, who adores
the red ink, for him to bleed.

-

to get rid of gloom around,
I can still sense the shadow
of my thoughts following
the flames of melting candle.
When I light candles
to get rid of filthiness around,
I can still sniff the dust
of my sins following
the heat of melting candle.
In spite of all the despair, here I am
lighting the aromatic candles,
for the little belief that
someday, probably I will
burn my thoughts like a wick &
scatter my aroma like a flame.

-