savage poems


In an out-of-the-way cafe
Along an out-of-the-way road
Two travels meet

One a practicing superhero
Down on his luck
Stuck in a truck
Moving along through
No will of his own

The other a star
Fallen from space
Traveling this world
Sun shining grace

They talk about life
Struggles and strife,
A chance meeting
No repeating
Though fleeting,
Happiness occurs


a superficial man, an egocentric woman
they say you’re the most balanced of the signs,
but whispers behind your back call you
indecisive, pitiful, dependent 
you self-sacrifice until there isn’t a speck left
you are the one they rely too much on 

So take the weight off your shoulders
tip the scales of harmony and peace
fuck up the courthouse, release your aggression
riot, rage, lead the way of your one-man army
it’s your turn to watch them crawl on hands and knees
watch them crucify their shallow minds for a touch of your hands,
the curve of your lips 

You can be a rebel
you can be wild, you can be crazy 
you are not anyone’s teacher
you don’t have to hold onto burdens  
Libra, you are allowed to be free
and you can watch from afar how your chaos
can carry so much light

—  a Libra’s homily // hnl 2017

So many people don’t like to wait for anything anymore;

Immediate satisfaction seems to be the scourge of us all.

Patience seems to be a virtue long forgotten,

Lost to the world who use to wait but now rushes instead.

Have we forgotten that sometimes the best things require waiting?

Have we grown so fickle that anything that requires waiting we will dismiss?

I will wait for your love to be given.

I will wait for your kiss on my cheek.

I will wait for you to write me letters that tell me how much you miss me.

I will wait for your presence like the night waits for the dawn.

I will wait because you are worth every second of my time.


all I want for you is a healthy mind

dear Ollie,

I’m afraid I will be the cause
of every problem you’ll have
I wish you could’ve seen
the way your mother smiled
before she met me

sadness is different
when you’re sad
you can tell yourself
tomorrow will be okay
then wake up
depression is a demon
when you’re depressed
you can tell yourself
tomorrow will be better
then wake up
to your demon baking
burnt biscuits

happiness is different
when you’re happy
you can tell yourself
today will be awesome
then enjoy yourself
mania is an angel
when you’re manic
you can tell yourself
today will be awesome
then enjoy yourself
until your angel
loses her grip

the best days
are the worst days
the worst days
are the best days
when you can’t tell
if you’re slightly manic
slightly depressed
so you just call
the days you don’t know

until you cycle above
or you are buried
below hell

son, I think
too much
for my own good
I stay inside
much longer
than I should
my mind is the worst
place I can think of
my mind is an ocean
in the sky without
water with trees
for clouds
my poetry
comes from
men in nooses
gasping their
last breaths
as stanzas
they all have
my face

there is a ten
to twenty five
percent chance
that one day
you will read
these words
know exactly
what it feels like
to eat burnt biscuits
fly with angels

I stopped praying
a long time ago
but when I forget
what the sunlight
looks like, I pray
for you

I pray that I won’t
cause you any more
trouble than I already
I pray one day
your mom finds the smile
she showed me
because when I saw it

I never had to question
if I was happy


Poe um

What is it.
What do I do.
From here on out
What can I possibly pursue?
Possibilities are endless
Opportunity stupendous
But belief in myself,
How do I put this?


Invite Me In

I’ll make sure that the moonlight
Hits me just right
So it reflects off the cold of my eyes
I’ll flash her a grin
That conceals lifetimes of sin
She’ll be sure to believe in my lies

I arrive at your place
Gently tap on the door
Every moment that passes
I’m craving you more

It’s cold out here
Can’t you see that I’ve cried
I just want to talk
Won’t you invite me inside?

Beautiful in her simplicity
I feel the electricity
As I wipe my boots on the mat
Her form draped in silk
Flowing down her like milk
Convinced that I just want to chat

My mind filled with lust
I do what I must
To quench my undying thirst
These moments her last
Will come silent and fast
I joy in the fact that I’m cursed

In the flowing nightgown she wore
She lies on the floor
And I wipe the blood from my lips
I put on my coat
And leave while her throat
Cold from my kiss slowly drips

a heart arguing with the next beat

anyone can write
down syllables about
not everyone can feel
their words

when I write I miss you
I mean I’m a bird
without a morning
when I write I love you
I mean I’m the new school kid
you’re summer
when I write you are inside me
I mean I’m the sea
you’re the salt

I’m a verse without a chorus
I long for your lips on my strings
I’m a vacation without friends
I need your smile to hold my fingers
I’m moon crashing rip tides
I long for your stain on my teeth

I’m a marigold without spring
I’m a sun without a park
I’m a fish without a class
I miss you
I love you
you complete me

anyone can write down feelings
not everyone can actually

swallow them


In the midst of my depressive state
I’m gifted with a little break
Where the anxiety dissipates
As the indifference fades,
The sadness breaks
And joy rears its lovely face,
I come to believe that life’s okay

A feeling not entirely unknown
Feeling like it’s not entirely my own
Warm, peaceful type feeling
Feeling makes me feel like


What is the direction of my heart?
i am looking for something that could possibly build into a wonderful story that unfolds all the chapters through and through. i will read the pain and kiss the wounds but it won’t choke me or rip out my chest because it is inked into a healing cycle. the painted stars in between the pages will remind me of the endless possibilities that the universe is willing to negotiate with me amongst all the uphill and downward spirals that sometimes my existence throws at me at a ferocious speed.

So how much time do i have?
the question itself doesn’t guarantee anything and the answer only dissipates and vaporises in a fantasy that hardly matches the reality as time in itself is not definite. i am not limited, i am merely in a state of being with all that i am in a single moment that continuously repeats itself in fractions to all that is.

What can be done?
i will cultivate a garden of all that the universe has to offer, to build onto who i am. an eye witness to all the aspects that built into who i am. intimate. a boundless friend unraveling the mysteries and imagine how a joyous state that will be.

this, my heart in
willowed movements,
now – us as one,

like a vast and open atrium
our time shrouds me
(on the scale of Earth)

invoking incantations
like a periphery of life
as I let it pass

extant and severe;
all of this is you, like
mapping the aftercrush

at the edge of summer
your voice calls to me in these
woodlands of lake and marsh

becomes the sunder of
my onyx devotion
an open realm, a ridge

of beige that longs for the
russet quiet of these merewinds
as corners of doubt

and trust are vanished
in the virgin merge
of aspen, elm and moss -

the night has gathered us
collecting our dreams


Thespian Drummer / At the Edge of Summer

i’ve never known absence and i’ve never tasted agony
and i’ve never known emptiness to feel so full and encompassing
so utterly prominent and misleading of its definition
much like the silence
for i’ve never known silence to be so deafening
so loud
so resounding
so vile
where it echoes and ricochets and i am deafened
and there is no peace
no calm and no stillness and this isn’t quiet
this is misery
for i’ve never felt air so heavy
so suffocating
so vicious
where i gasp and heave and i cannot breathe
i cannot breathe
i cannot breathe.
—  home is a strip of earth buried six feet under and no longer accessible.
City Streets

I’m from New York now
I walk with a swagger
With razor sharp thoughts
Words like a dagger

I’m from New York now
I’m always in a hurry
Always pissed off
Without a care or a worry

I’m from New York now
Don’t test me mother fucker
I curse like a sailor
With a mouth like a trucker


there, opposite the horizon
a light house
it is beckoning, calling out
‘come home, come home’
do not go to it
the rocks there are sharp
the knives
that is not a home anymore
just a hope,
and there are far brighter ones
to be found in the rising sun
—  In The Mornings There Is Only One Star To Navigate By | © Nella von Stahl 2017