porcelain, like a Doll ghosting in her shell

I built a prison, after the smoke escaped,

around your cannabis tongue

detaining your passion to an impassion

amidst wires barbed and fences

consumed by rhythms, electric …

I am muerto with no poems to give you

instead I`m dodging bullets in my closet

the residue of powders burnt

silence the rage trudging through my pulses

impulse`d by the treachery

that remains stained in places I`ve wept …

war of hate is being fought by a terrorism

you`ve inflicted upon me … you`ve taken

my love, my loyalist to you, hostage

 How can I ever repay you?

a glass of communal chablis has lost its savor,

my nipples know of no value only that

of a strawberry dipped in the synthetic river styx,

that my heart had been ripped systematically from me ~

too much haze to blaze upon this theological glory

but there`s a story there, you know, of us

of orchestrated lovers maneuvering in the dark

and catastrophic roaches oaring on the mayflower

and on the abril`s sea of seasons

where the sunflowers and blood adorn

like you`ve never mourned for me ~

but as these tearless tears gas upon a gussied face,

porcelain like a doll ghosting in her shell,

you opened my robe and slipped me a note :

`True, I started a joke that got your whole world crying’

I poured hot tea into your tiny cold cup

and spun it `round to the girl crouched over on knees

with floral needles bleeding her hands please

and then there`s a man who doesn`t understand

that I`m not your bonsai tree

I could say …

`Look what you`ve done to me`

but sadly it will only be a shame

`cause I no longer have love [for you] on my brain