Serpents occupy the garden

It wanders through both soil and vines that block the sun 

Becoming an ever-present threat, it remains 

Not too certain of prey, it remains 

Dormant in the shade, ever-present and curled underneath the foliage

All that exists outside the nature made barracks is a small boy 

Playing, laughing, and loving 

He doesn’t notice the slow but near danger 

He doesn't notice the air becoming tense 

He doesn’t even notice the scale bound rope that enclosed him 

It ends, but not quickly 

The prolonging scene last as long as the child kept playing

Dark Marble

One of the many embarrassing things I said in the dark 

Not by myself 

You and I, centering on a lustful thought 

Not together either 

Me placing an idea of beauty between motel sheets 

Not bad at their job

They covered us, blanketing the acts done to each other 

Not impulsive enough to be calculated

I would only see your silhouette with my dilated eyes 

Not a model or illustration  

You said pointing out my pretentiousness

Not a scar left 

Unexplored as we continued to mine each other past, through physicality 

No deeper appearances 

We sat in this figureless image, a mess of what was

No love 

You will tell me, only sensation 

Even the flies pray

In the night when I tuck him into bed, I see things 

Not small images or clips, but things

I see my old hair, not my gray hair, my old hair 

I see the curl pattern ruffle and reveals a small head 

It reminds me of other boys I would catch running 

Running from what, I don’t know

 only sound followed 

I heard shrieks of responsibility and chores coming from homes 

I heard giggling and laughter as they shrugged responsibility 

This caused an observation of mothers that perched on porches

Eyeing their children and taking flight after them, underneath the sun

I smell the food they leave in their homes with reckless abandon 

I smell the larger pieces meant for the fathers that’ll return 

Strangely this often a mixed bag of events 

If the father returns, all is normal, but if not, all is normal 

I feel the unity of family as well as the absence of it 

I feel the apathy for a turn of empathic events 

Between the coming tide of adulthood on shores of adolescence 

It’s a beach full of happiness and sinking sand   

I think I should cry for them in the time I have

I think they're happy, but I don’t know, they used to look like me 

Now they’re strangers to me as well as themselves, visitors -

To their own homes, they find the kitchen table inside 

I hope this gives them closure unlike me 

I hope they believe in the illusions once so present 

Don’t grow up so fast, pray to whoever they ask you to 

Stay away from the waters found in broken cups and homes 

I can’t believe I used to pray with fantasy 

I can’t believe now I pray for the fantasy to seem real 

I, a fly amongst it all, can’t believe it anymore

Please, don’t ever wake up

A happy home

I grew into a 1 story house built in a cul-de-sac that pooled 

Like the puddle found on the stairs in front of the face 

My home kept for appearances, till the owners outgrew its confines 

More rooms to keep secrets in, more walls to keep truths out 

I live in a two-story home on a hill, isolated from nearby neighbors

Their homes to be found on lush lawns in a wilderness 

Deer would flock together underneath the birds who fawned over fawns 

So much space to feel crowded by, so much difference to feel everything but the same 

I stay in my room which resides in the house I’ve lived in 

It's remodeled by those who never had to fit inside, those who have always lived 

I’ve never felt so out of place, an imposter in a happy home that I don’t deserve 

Little more than bellyaching from a full stomach, Little more than a room in a home

My houseguest, Beezlebub

To find the horde in my home, sleeping on my bed wasn’t a surprise 

From their restless cries that mimic the static of my phone 

Anyone would guess that not a singular in this group held will

Power over them was not needed, for the lethargy felt overcame them 

Nor an eye or ear pointed toward my presence, and it was not I couldn’t be seen 

The mind behind the many limbs, thoraxes, and wings did not find me engaging 

So why give me displeasure when you have neither happiness or glee from my pained singing 

Was it routine at this point, the constant feedback of something be it negative or positive 

You did not worry of reverb nor distortion, the past you left behind held so much quality 

I come home now to find you, not to a sense of misery, but numbness 

Have we both lost our spark, a dynamic that would give us both something 

Do we not have loathing, do we not have an escape to past comfort

The aching wounds you caused so many times in this room, mere marks I’ve forgotten 

What’s left are fragments of once a highflyer, a tormentor who presented agonizing solace

Should I rest with you, since we share so much alike

Figments of a sky bound memory, mocking us from this room

I do what I’ve done so many times before, lay within the crawling patterns 

Isolated now within my once great comforting antagonist, I finally understand 

Neither one of us had a chance, either it was splendor or misery 

we both choose the greediest option, to take both without care 

how I envy what we were, oh how I hate what we become