Let me be “Your Tonight”

With my lips,
let me whisper my secrets
on your neck—
my hands interpreting
what your body is telling me.

I want you
to dominate me—
help me lose control
of myself
with you.

If only for tonight,
let us wake up
together with no regrets—
having said
what we never could say.

Under my pillow

It’s where I keep
my dreams and memories
when I try to sleep.
I don’t want to lay here in the dark
piecing together a broken heart
or facing how things turned out.
I’d really like to rest
but my mind detests the idea.
Yet, it helps me remember
how I’ve been so reckless
when it came to you.

A drip of reality

A Quaffer Shot Glass (Pinterest)

Chasing another shot
with a drip of reality
can make complicated conversations
more tolerable
when I console myself.

I don’t fear
confronting another memory.
It’s the sober aftertaste
at how wrong you were for me
that I can’t handle.

This bubbled quaffer,
my whiskey-stained hourglass,
is nothing but time in my hand.


Filament of memories,
dimming like eyes fighting sleep,
I exhaust myself
protecting him.
Whereas I was transparent,
evident to what he was to me,
he fluctuated every night—
pulsing inside me
within my fragile barrier.
Not too eager to replace it
anytime soon,
my heart and body beat to the flashes
waiting for it to eventually burn itself out.

More than a lifetime


Love can be easily described.
True love, however, will take a lifetime.

Romantics can write how they get butterflies—
it feels more like having drank starlight.
They use the most elegant of words—
all I can come up with is, “I’m yours.”
Even “Oh my Love’s” and “Thou art mine own breaths’”
can’t do it justice.
Maybe I’m just complicating it.

I never had a smile make me
give up on anything before.
When she glances at the boy in me,
I see the pony-tailed beauty in her.
We are with our faults,
the byproduct of experiences to being adults.

If and when she cries,
I feel the warmth of broken wishes
when I wipe them away.

If and when she’s upset,
I instead think of her more often—
knowing the real meaning behind “I’m sorry.”

If and when she’s silent,
my heart speaks for me rather than being right—
coming to an understanding without words.

True love can’t be described.
It’ll take more than a lifetime.

Bar Room Angel


Care for some company
We don’t have to get together.
How about we share some alone time
to get to know each other a little better.

Let me guess,
risking your heart for a little revenge?
Hold on…I’ll get the next round.
From the way it sounds,
you’ll just run your heart straight into the ground.

What am I doing here?
That’s a good question—let’s consider it destiny.
A bar filled with broken angels can be misleading.
No matter where you turn,
a bar room angel is still an angel, sweetie.

So, before you go finding yourself a
limp whiskey-dick Romeo,
consider the halo
around your finger
before you head out.

We all have enough sin to walk in.
So, don’t make it a habit
walking out with something you’ll regret.
What do you think heart-breaker?
Aren’t you glad we met?

Another Playlist

From Pinterest

I know our memories never made it to platinum or gold.
But I replay them like the day we made them.
Hearing the smiles and feeling the seasons never get old
when I’m taken back to the days of “I Love You’s” again.

Parts of the playlist can still be a little rough to listen to.
I still hear your voice instead of Mariah’s singing “Always be my baby
where we were in the kitchen of our old apartment—making love.
I can’t believe it’s been 18 years since you let go my hand and headed to heaven.

I know that time stands still where you are.
I still burn CDs to have you right here with me.
Hopefully, heaven lets your voice reach passed the stars
and straight to me to title another playlist of memories.

His Heart’s Song

My head on his chest,

I can hear his heart’s song.

It’s not a symphony

many claim it to be.

It sounds more like


Though broken in many ways,

he found the strength to piece them together

to have it play for me.

What I feel when I hear it—



and home,

are what make him

and his heart’s song

my own.

The morning after


Laying here—
lips too sore to tell her,
Stay with me

I watch her naked morning
search the floor
for the clothes she came in with.

With how she acted last night,
I knew he hurt her again.
Why can’t she let him go?

When he advises her to
“look more presentable“,
her clothes are ripped off in anger.

When he mumbles
how much he loves and cares for her,
my lips and shoulders are bitten in retaliation.

When he touches her,
his gentleness doesn’t excite her.
She prefers it rough—a release for her wild side.

When he asks her,
Why are you so clingy?”,
she and I have the most passionate night
like it’s our last time together.

Sitting at the end of the bed,
fully clothed and groomed for the day,
she tells me she’s leaving…again.

My eyes meet hers for a moment
before she looks away 
and walks out.

Laying here—
I pray for her happiness
even if it means I’ll see her later tonight.

Midn1t3 Thoughts (1)

Hello there and Thank you for reading this! I look forward to sharing my work with everyone in this blog world.

I could bullshit you and say something like “I write from my heart” or “I bare my soul when I write”, but I’ll save myself the trouble and embarrassment by boring you with the same pick-up lines.

What I will tell you is I break my heart for personal amusement and I keep myself entertained with it through poetry.

At the chime of midnight, I spread my wings and take flight.

Born from Love, meant for heartbreak

~ I am The Angel Midn1t3