A.R. Brixton

to be in the unlit bedroom,
and watch the gleaming world outside,
is the closest one can get,
to understanding despair;
...

I have but to lament the slaughter
Of my deep dearest feelings.
I could not, I dared not,
Avoid such a death,
...

The poet widows in front of my eyes,
And his are lost,
I blame the cruel world
...

I try, I, and I, we, always Try.
For I, have not a soul,
That yearns for the sky,
Mine, urges for fire.
...

With poisonous smoke,
She exhales, fire from a mouth –
That kissed, has been
Kissed, and through madness
...

I dug a hole on the floor,
Just to find that there
Was nothing underneath the
Ground I stepped on.
...

open the gate
of wisdom and sorrow
for all those things you never tought about fate
and it's real,
...

The poet, pathetically
Attempting to retrieve the words
He spilled onto our minds.
...

If I write, then I write
And the words
Small letters, alone meaningless
...

And so it remains, silent
Graveyard quite like
Indescribable as they say
So intense and overwhelming
...

Chords of the most beautiful song,
With my eyes, tracing the prominent
Vein that followed the course of his arm,
Round and round, over and once again,
...