86 proof

we stopped at the intersection
the vivisection of emotion,
experimentation,
deliberate denial,
and somewhere along the way
i lost my bearings,
(followed red herrings to the point
of not knowing you when i saw your face),
but i did not fall.

strange that such empathy
(see? now i know what you mean)
should take place in the foreign den,
where i melted into a couch
and wondered why
i wasn't more robotic,
in the good way.

and all these things,
they burn my heart.
they course through my lungs
like air,
like fire on my tongue.
it burns, it really does.

like 86 proof.
(and i'm not sure if that's
the good way).

you might be late

i lived within my swaying, weighing mind
for two nights
(one at home, and one alone)
imagining the grime of guilt washed away,
the seashore calling me again.
but these things are here to stay.
people ruined other people
("hell is other people,"
need i remind you)
and yet i managed to hold her hand,
sit by her side and stay.

but you might be late.

minute man

when i finally touched the ground,
everything was gone.
and the black horizon stretched from
sea to sea, but the oceans were empty.
so i asked, "why?"
and i was told that the deep abyss
was righteous,
beautiful,
and i tried to cry but i could only see logic,
numbers swimming before my eyes.

when i finally touched the ground,
the city was dead.
buildings flew up around me, monuments
to a race long-gone,
spattered with the last propaganda
we could afford.
the world was cold,
and i was so small.

the nicest person

falling amidst allegations,
allegories,
stale revelations on the shelf
next to unused organs,
glands,
emotions.
you've set those aside, too.
so what am i?

life support.

and for all the honest pleading,
(i felt like my eyes were bleeding, for a moment),
all the times i tried to explain -
well, it's always better in my head.

deeper.
i would go deeper into myself.
regress, remember, regret.
i would curl up
with all my failings like a great big quilt,
heavy on my heart,
and i would lie here for decades.

but i won't.

i never do.
i can't leave bad enough alone.

IX o'clock (night owl)

you still haven't convinced me
that the filth and muck
and war
is all a joke. go on,
try me.
rise me.
lift me up into that smoldering city
because it's been so long since i had dreams,
real dreams,
and i ache to feel blood
pumping through my veins
dripping down my face.
the urge to fight
might just overcome
the urge to overcome.

who watches

see what you will.
nihilism rules our thoughts
our actions,
our jokes.
what does that say about you?

we see filth and lies,
bile spit up on the streets because
it had nowhere else to go.
quell the masses, we say,
there is no solution
but to cut off the head of the beast.

but who will return the favor?

quell the masses.
it's a joke. some of us see it.
live it up today, son,
because tomorrow it's all up in smoke.

well, they're just as bad.

my face is a goddamn
ink-blot test.
see what you will.
i've never bothered to look in a mirror.

a shot in the dark

the tower of babylon reached sky high
before the men and the women
realized that they could never hope to touch
god's pinky toe with their stones,
their pickaxes,
their mortar.
if they had just asked the children,
they wouldn't even have started the damn thing.

there was god on a rock two months ago,
and names in the sand.
the ocean sprawling sideways, upwards,
downwards,
and nothing was clearer than
one single name.

and i guess i like it better when you're happy.
you think better that way, too.
i don't mean that there's no message,
but you're not always meant to see it.
not now, maybe not ever.
so you might as well let it come through.

if high school diplomas were all we needed

today i gave
i gave my heart away
and came out with motor oil on my hands,
listlessly grasping for words that my
frozen extremities refuse to close in on.

i tried honesty,
but you countered it with a mirror,
two years back and a thousand words stronger,
sunken eyes and that jaded smile.
you'll turn yourself blind in just a few winks.

and all the emotions i felt -
one for each day of the year -
weren't worth it to hear your generalize, legitimize
pretend that this gelatinous state we live in
is enough to keep on going.
i felt all this within the parameters
of a heartbeat.

but mostly i felt hope.
someday you'll realize that
you, too, can feel.

i just hope that you live to see the day.

chocolate coins

that makes thirteen
in the interim
between life and consciousness,
laze and work and vocabulary and home.
and i don't particularly mind if this is
all i get for my work. because i like to
work.
sweet regrets, as they say.

hello, ado

wide eyes gripping
lilies in the the pond
we walked for miles but the water
was all gone.
so we set up our picnic in this desert
and we drank our imagination dry,
so that when i broke the ice off the door,
you were waiting.
and i couldn't pretend to smile
or care for a moment,
because, hell, i was barely thawed.

yellow.
imagine if we painted it yellow,
on a whim,
because we want to escape this dreary
northern town (and everything that we associate it with).
well, it would still be snowing outside.

don't blame me.
you just haven't learned
the laws of
conservation of mind,
soul,
dreams.
i'd only paint it yellow if that's what i wanted it to be.

until further notice

scones
i was going to make scones, today
and let myself be snowed in
with nothing but my heart and my hearth and
scones.
who wants to shovel themselves out
when it is so much better
so much cozier to leave the world untouched?
like my
scones.

and then the cavalry charged in

it was a simple prance
a jesting dance
and they clapped, they clapped,
they fell to their knees.
they laughed and laughed
at the rabble in arms
they laughed 'til they couldn't see.

the joke is on you, old chap
the fire is real
and they ran, they ran,
they fell to their knees.
the fires burned bright
for the rabble in arms -
"freedom, let freedom ring!"

cottleston pie

while i was wandering from place to place,
i forgot to live today today.
i walked and talked on all the times
i loved and cried and spoke in rhymes
but i missed out on something new,
like Clever Plans make me do.

shades of blues / different hews / intentional misspellings

i don't feel like lying right now.
which is strange,
because i've proved myself a liar
by walking through fire
(rhyming in an annoying meter, too).
i've singed my feet
walking to the wrong beat
and now i feel dirty.
but not in the way we'd laugh about.

still, if subtle distraction is my art
i guess i'm a pro.
action, reaction, knowing when too know
is just a sea of deadpan, neutral faces
that i can't begin to navigate.

lets play pretend.
imagine that you're a kid.
toys on the ground. no one around.
what would you do?

i'd fall into another world, too.
guess that means we're not so different,
me and you.

mock trial

would it be better
if i was
um,
totally badass?

doo-wop

do you remember when
headaches lasted ten minutes
and nobody really cared about writing
except for us, of course
and rainy days were sleepy and warm
(except when we would go outside and play in the mud)

(speaking of mud,)
how long has it been since happy was happy
and sad was sad?
that's a bad question. we always lived in shades.
the difference is that before, it was
blues and greens and oranges
and sometimes reds.
not so much grey.

(today was grey, but i kept on seeing white).
i feel like tonight
is the start of tomorrow,
and so on.
and i feel like the worlds i went to years ago
are swinging round again,
for a moment at least.
how long has it been since we've visited,
you and me?

(back then, we didn't care about grammar, either).

frost on the windshield

imagine me wandering
through purple frost, deep velvet cold,
dragging my feet in shadowy ice
(the kind that is like a cloudless night),
and frozen to the melting ground like a
statue, tree, autumn leaf.

and the quiet is absolute,
darker than blue,
a satin night with
not even a cricket lingering
not even a light but the stars above
and the ice below.

imagine the lake frozen over
melting all at once into steam,
purple screams as it crackles away
to unveil what remains.

i've heard this call before.
only the night was less dark
and the nails were less hard,
the ice was softer
and the crickets stayed to keep me company.

empty seat

the biggest overblown
point
is that out of deep blue sweaters and
rosy cheeks,
nine out of ten agreed. yourself
included.
and would i be playing up old fears
if i mentioned that i can hear wolves howl
and romantics dream
when you bring up the fact that
some people like some people better than me?
i'm glad someone understands,
because nine out of ten grains of sand
fall into line late at night when i count them
in my mind.

you, of course, are the tenth.

that is the point
with which i have punched myself;
KO.
i feel like i'm on the floor
doing the dances of three years before.

white tree (just believe)

opening wide
to a white, windy world
yellow lines through the grey,
like a racetrack waiting
for blood on the roadside,
freedom's on hold,
child,
no time to play.

but didn't we dream of following dreams?
isn't that where i am going?
shouldn't we laugh and celebrate the fact
that for once this year, it's snowing?

wipe off that scoff,
son,
it's wrong and it's right
it's age and wisdom and regrets
and all that.
we might as well drop it now,
if it's a source of anger,
we all know that ovens turn off
when we're not watching.

regrets.
you're familiar with those.
maybe that's why you're not smiling
despite the snow.
old facts
like blood on the road,
yellow through grey,
no one knows where it goes.

pierce (ing, president, brosnan)

a strange combination of
couldn't move your hand,
smiles and dog's chew toys littering
your pristine playpen,
peacoats that suggest something
quite a bit more than
the slick cars that you're buying
with your slick phone
and your slick voice,
and christmas cheer,
of course.

prisoners of war hold their phones
a certain way.
those who have been tortured
hold it another.

and me, in my stupor of naivete,
i hold myself like a
servant to the unknown,
a game of charades in a sea of blindness.
looks like -
sounds like -

oh.

while my guitar gently sleeps

it's late.
i wish i could say that
slick roads and ruby eyes kept me up
beyond your bedtime.

but it was just me.

and i've felt so close long enough
to know that this isn't it,
that somethings missing,
twinkling eyes,
something's just not right.

wrong hat (circumspect)

we've hit our
twelfth hour,
the milk will go sour
in twelve or so more.
no matter how you dice it,
drawn and quartered,
the horses still bray and the eggs
are in order,
off to the food-mart to go
get a life,
into the oven at the edge of a knife.
that's not what i mean.
i mean you're going away
whether i like it or not,
petty fights will fade or else rot,
and what's left?
a digital echo,
in a digital sea.
i'm left with your musical legacy
your faded words
your song
your scent
your family
your books (our book, too),
your promises.
so turn, friend, turn.
in one short year,
what can i learn?

domestic carcass, dogs barking, etc.

i call this one giving thanks.
for friends, for books,
for losing my grace
in the empty pages of your confession,
in the low-light murmurs of my obsession,
twelve a.m. and spirits guide me
onward, homeward,
back to you, friend,
back to you.

it's unspoken but it's true.
our eyes, our smiles,
our stricken sound
among the the forests of writhing bodies,
among the downtrodden and with the shoddy,
ten at night and you drive me home,
backwards, forwards,
to sanity, friend,
to sanity.

they're one and the same,
if you know what i mean.
i wish i could give thanks for everything.

please come home

hardtop sunset streams my way,
when will i see tomorrow?
and the pavement's so hot,
burning memories away.
oh daddy don't you know,
you turned your back on me.

i took my money with honest mind,
but bloodstains on this dollar
take me home
through colorado snow,
cooling off my pistol,
i never knew where to begin.

it's true that i'm happy,
driving through my dreams.
but my broken times are hard,
and i want you to sing to me.
i'll be driving for forever,
so i won't hear your pleas,
but bloodstains on this dollar
bring me homeward.
it's really not that far.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ (hangman)

scratch out my eyes,
i keep on getting it wrong.
assumptions like great nooses
around my brain,
squeeze it until it's drained,
why don't you?
there goes my foot.
i'll hobble around to see your
pearly whites in the dead of night
just so i can say that i tried.
it's hard, though, because
i've guessed away one side,
and the other doesn't see the point
in pointing fingers.
it doesn't change a thing,
i'm still strangling.

oops

so if i wanted extracurricular
fun and games with faces and names
(we call that a friend),
it would have gone something
not like that.
it's like i'm caught in sleepless revelry,
apart from those few times
when i beat the steering wheel
because i am too nice to beat myself
and wonder if i will ever learn how to talk
(but it's only to you, really).

about each other

you can explain the vagaries
that crush me,
each one blushing slowly
as the other calls me lowly in
subtler terms.
it's a slow burn,
but it's bright like night,
dark like a sunset
and the palm of my hand,
or so says the fortune-teller who told me your fortune.
i guess i'm fortunate to know a siamese twin
whose heart is conjoined with the trees
and the wind.
though, i'll admit,
i sometimes wish
i could make it a triplet.
(or hack it apart, so i could see the interior
of your heart).

to borrow words (a dream deferred)

no
is the lowliest word
that pokes at my gut like -
well, you, for one. entitlement
shrouded in a shimmering gun
in your hand
on your leg
barely peeking through
until you smile and it's like -
well,
there's nothing to describe it.

no
leads me to examine the
inverse proportionality of your love
to his.
(or maybe it's my outlook).
how mild apathy can stream from your eyes
but that's his emotion,
and he's being wise.

no
is a distraction from facts,
like a bird with a worm.
i'm thinking,
"look!
no,
look away!" it will happen
some other day.

but it won't.
because of -
well,
no.

perfect autumn

three leaves reminded me
that you care.
and this cold helped me remember
that it's passed me by,
the leaves,
the trees,
the sighs.

i dream of cold beers on the hood of a car,
memories of road trips,
destinations near and far.
or free love
for a day or two,
while i let down my guard,
and see what i do.

sinking feelings of blistering numbness
fall into place
behind my ear.
i know that it's never.
not now,
not tomorrow,
not in a year.

5 (well, six)

1
pulling restless sheets
right over me, above my gasping mouth
like breathing inside out
losing me, tripping into waves
crash outwards, onwards,
upwards.

2
mercy calls us -
succumb, give in, swallow water.
struggling children can never live
if they wash up angry,
or silently swim.

air traffic control

what wouldn't we do? oh
to be you!
staring into the sun wondering when
clouds will sigh into our sight
but they never drop down
dreams full of bows and screams
and bows and screams full of dreams...
dear control,
i feel you watching me watching you watching me
forever and over
could this letter be an expression of love?
or a wistful memory of that time that didn't happen
blissfully flying through
what...
what to do?
scratch our chins and sigh,
pretend we're not all asking,
"why?"

to you, unsuspecting

i like the way you smile

and the metal glints off your lip like

mischievous light shows that you control,

a god when the drums are stuck in your ears

and pounding and pounding like

joyful screaming at the top of their lungs

guitars and bars and

when they leave, it's all you again,

and playful grins

with that metal in your lip.

key-ring fantasies hang

from your jeans like ruffled hair and

it's joyfully mean

but you like it, don't you?

being a friend. it's as good as the lights,

and it never ends. 

still, life

it couldn't be perfect,
and so i left it behind. much of it
was critical to my health,
my eyes now pounding at the front of my
play-dough mind,
dry and wry and hurting.

and we couldn't be too happy,
so i put on a grim and look down. mostly
i was glad that you were there,
a magic ensemble sitting in the corner of my
still-life mind,
smiles and eyes all down my spine.

smiling not seeing

what is it -
days since we last met eyes
or at least, saw eye-to-eye,
nose to nose,
smiling sighing and falling into harmony
every time you squirm away
i fall back and think
rushing streams where moss meets
rocks and mud,
twinkling stars and fantastical charms
and other worlds and people and
jackets so deep i could turn myself into someone
new,
elegantly,
romantically
new.
but where are you?

ptsd

whispers in the sun
tell us to shirk our duties and
roll on out, friend,
roll on out.
i couldn't raise my hands above my head today
but i've never shot a gun
or gotten my fingers splintered with
sleep, acid-washed jeans
and a bomber jacket that gives me memories
that i can't recall.
i once ate dinner in this hall,
but it was a while ago and honestly
if i can still hear the bombshells
then maybe i'm not here at all.
i want to be an actor
but respectable
and artful
and warmer inside.
i think that's a paradox but
i'm willing to commit to knives in my hand,
heart in my eyes,
and never living up to promises, just so i have
another
way to call myself strange.

sugar plum president

blistered fingers
awaiting a new world order
of blacks and whites and purples,
reds and blues
and it's all for you, honey,
it's all true!
same aches, troubles, groans and sighs
but maybe this time we'll catch the flies
that are buzzing 'round
and 'round
swirling down and down.
fling me up and push me back
to the time when i was a kid and life was so
big
because that's what it feels like now.

tweedle dum

candles in a cupcake
like a landmine
make a wish if you're not distracted
by the teeth and the noise
and the lights
singing songs late at night
is it bad that i wished
for a song?

key word

here's something:
i'm an insolent child
and a vagabond mind and i want to
find
something really worth living for.
and all those times i scribbled
down words that i didn't mean
i was being mean,
yeah,
but it seems so easy to go unseen
so hard to know
so hard to say
those few lucky words that will make you,
what?
love me more?
i once called you a whore, actually.
in writing, i scratched it down when i hated you
and i regretted it when i didn't
but it felt so real back then, you know?
it feels real now, too.
so will i look back on it like that?
who cares?
who knows?

falling forward

he'll fall down a well if we're not careful.
spotless kitchens there are to clean,
and he toils away, listlessly losing
out on you
because his eyes are tugging
every which way.
and he sits and stares and remembers a day
when the sun was bright and your eyes were high
and he pushes it back
because he's falling forward.

they say it's just friction
or a mental disease that's making him scream,
but somewhere he knows that you
are what he means.
when he tries to speak,
you are the words that come out
only less crude and perhaps
more dashingly,
destroyingly,
real.

theaters and presidential assassinations

spring from your mouth
comforting words of derision
while i pick at my toes with an old penknife.
they're sweet but salty and they go down easy
like an accusation that i know is true
or one that i have pinned on myself.
careless is what i am,
while you toil away at self-discovery.
just turn the mirror at a different angle
you'll see something growing there
and it's not just hair,
glistening as you like it.
i think hair is part of the bigger picture, though,
something you have noticed -
not in the literal sense, i mean,
but there is something about that glimmer
of hope
screen of smoke
(please don't choke?)
that can either show the world that you are someone who cares
or who wants it to think that you care.
or, both.
so
out with the braids and in with the scissors
and criticisms and brash realizations
and poetry that makes me blush a little.
but nod a lot.
you wouldn't have cried when lincoln was shot
but it wouldn't have mattered in the least
(whether you did or not, i mean)
because your eyes
your eyes
there is something in your eye.
a fly?
or a tear,
or a single raindrop that you saved from that one
day.
you're the strangest kind of pack-rat.
i mean,
who but you looks bad on bad memories
for the sake of good ones?
maybe i am the only one that mourns the braids,
but that's only because i love to see you
grow.

on why i am not reading the scarlet letter

your perception of my brilliance falls short.
the look you gave me that time when you sighed
destroyed my ability to think on my own,
and your eyes move at a million miles and hour
and one day i will run away just to see what it's like.
so in my dreams i set fire to the house that i live in.
so what?
so i guess that means something.
yeah, that maybe i am a lazy, half-assed rebel
or it's just that i don't know how to be
your perception of my brilliance,
the smile on that stupid crest ad,
all white and smart and a little bit fake
but just enough to make everyone love me
(that's a lie, everyone does love me.
i'm the last one to get on that train.)
or hug me
(but that's a lie too, because if i need one,
you'll give it.)
but i can't quite subscribe to the notion
that love is as deep as an ocean,
though of course it tastes just as gross
when you drink it through a hose.
where was i?
purple prose.
this is like trying to vent myself in a million directions
losing control or perhaps this perception
that i actually have to care about stuff
like you do
or i did
well, do, just not the right things.
and that is why i am not doing school work.

cardboard polyphonic

don't know if i was
high
or just jumpy
but the clouds felt like bricks
and the car's engine made sounds
like a siren,
beautiful woman and terrified scream
and for a moment, i thought you were a
turntable,
so raw against my sandpaper mind
your beat so pronounced
there wasn't an ounce of your open mouth
that didn't make me want to die,
for a moment.
but it's just so i can see the other side,
you know?
to know if i was right
about that mirror.

tuxedo man

sometimes i get nods on the street
from people i don't know
and smiles from girls and
i really don't know if it's romantic
or friendly but
i appreciate it anyway.
but sometimes
sometimes there are words, too,
success is relative but it will happen to you,
it
will
happen.
and you will have no trouble finding the one you
love
and you will go far, kid,
so reach for the stars.

next year

i want to break my hand
mourning your loss
i want to fall off a cliff,
because that's what you cost.
can't you see there's no use without you?
the way we are going, there's no turning back,
but doing it twice?
there's energy i lack
even now,
even when your smile is bright
even when we lay outside and you show me the stars
and the moon
in the dead of night,
i'm feeding off you, like a friendly old tick,
holding on tight
as you charge off that cliff.
do i have to let go?
why does everyone tell me to try?
i don't care,

I DON'T CARE.

about anything,
next year.

i want to see empty walls

if there is truth within these walls,
i want it to burn with the rest,
the horsehair melody of my first music
up in flames,
the particles of truth that hover
between your eyes
gone.
just a little match,
a new beginning.
see those flames?
we've won the inning.

it's a thought, at least.
when you rise in the east,
i want you to shine on empty walls and
know
it is better this way, yelena would say,
and shruggingly
we'll all agree.
but when i look in the mirror,
i just can't
see.

because i want to give you all of me.

warm fall night

windy nights and hazy days,
we can't regret 'cause we never pay,
but we spend,
we spent it on the roof of the four door van.
it's hard to fall when i'm sitting on the ground,
looking up and feeling down.

it's like a lie that you scream at night
to make yourself feel better
to know that love is the stars above
and road is eternal thunder,
you can drive away
just float away,
love tomorrow while you live today.

good god good will

at the pawnshop
are tools and videos and guitars
that call to us, sing to us,
play for us.
on a grey fall day,
it's warmer than normal
but the leaves are swirling so it feels okay.
and we'll buy a guitar and call it
"dent"
though i thought of harvey at first,
i'll admit.
and i'll think,
"what if i were like that-
him,
the one whom i dream of,
the athlete and actor and romantic lead?
what if my dreams
weren't on the screen,
but realities and road trips and
the things in between?"

who is john galt?

john galt is softcore porn
beneath colin powell's endorsement
and a voice of reason
in a world of treason that i can't quite comprehend.
capitalism, socialism, narcissism
abounds,
and who am i to ask "who is he?"

john galt is long white limbs
covered in fur coats, or yellow linen
and windy skirts
in a forest of crescents and stars and crosses with bars
and tack him up to corkboard
today,
he'll die for your sins, anyway.

and john galt has crossed our minds
as a mystery name on a starry day
and apoplectic prophets
in a sea of filth and buildings and city lights.
think, drink, soak it up, know
yourself,
before you ask "who is he?"

free-fall

it's hard to be fair,
when all your noise is white noise
or her noise
and you say things like
"i don't know what i would do
without you"
to something that doesn't even understand.
and it's hard to see that i'm on a pulley
and a pulley doesn't change a thing,
i'm walking
but i'll never know which way is up
or down
or x.

good dog tired

here are some things about you
that i might not have said before,
when the iron glinted off your fillings
and your smile reminded me of falling, running into
traffic:

you eat better than him.
quietly,
happily.
you want to feel the warmth,
even if you don't know how
or when to ask the right questions
or how to say the right things
or realize that almost everybody wants you gone
in some way,
but not that way.

if you could choose one emotion,
it would not be self pity.
(unlike him).
and i'm betting that if you could choose
servitude or save my life
you'd do the latter or you'd take up knife.

and at least you're not a walking corpse
who sighs into his hands and rubs his eyes
like there is no tomorrow,
like he's going to die.
like you're the reason,
and i'm a part.
a part
apart
apart.
maybe one day.

eulogy to sadness

there is a reason why light refuses to reflect
on some people,
why they are the ones that are almost hit by cars,
but not.
it's just a hairline fracture,
so let it set.

somehow, i thought this would be longer.
i guess beauty lies in simplicity.

emo - by julian. sort of.

the sky

may be bright

but my heart cries for darkness

the stars don't shine when i see

your tears.

my soul has eyes

that you can stare into,

and stab with your lies.

this pain is never ending

this bleeding won't stop

the end is coming

and the world is

a change in heartbeat,

a flutter of wings

the angel of death,

doom,

dying things.

i can't believe i just wrote something so hilariously horrifying and stupid.

enigma sandwich

i wish you'd stop.
really, when your heart throbs like a
headache, toothache,
supernova first-rate
liar,
do you feel better?
maybe pain's your novocaine.
it's like we got to know you too well,
too happy, too satisfied,
so you gave us doubt instead.

consider this an intervention.
you are no coked up fiend
or addicted genius,
just a simple child,
a friend,
and this wondering, this doubt,
this human cloaked in enigma?
not you, my friend,
not you.

noctilucent

linger in the ether, dear,
so i can see your light.
hold tight my silver lining,
hold me, hold me tight.
watch the sun rise, love,
and gleam as it sets.
dance together in the night,
dancing, dancing nets
of glowing
flowing
rowing boats,
fog that shines and this
sweet little light of mine.

on a road trip

what's family?
what's love?
what's redemption,
and does it come from above?
is this dusty, dirty, ragtag war
something we can trust to end our sorrow?
is the end going to be like the beginning,
with knuckles, and fists, and
no one really winning?

what are friends?

are they all of the above?
can they dream for me, think for me,
see for me, fill the gap?
isn't clear that i'm still a sap?
dreaming and steaming, fuming and
stomping my feet.
i'm just so close,
so close.

things worthwhile

cars
stars
creatures that go bump in the night.
it's not like i'm afraid of the dark
but sometimes i prefer the light.
and sometimes
i prefer to be afraid.
rock music deludes me
and bomber jackets keep me warm
but dreams keep me alive
like some damn alcoholic,
some egotist on a powertrip,
and it makes me wonder
if i can really
do it.

i hear you traveled

let me fall into a four door monster
and live, for a moment.
let the moon peeking through the orange leaves
be unobstructed by lights
and power-lines
and dreams.

i hear you traveled once, professor.
i hear you were restless like me,
only more impulsive
more caring
you couldn't let it be.

what's happening to me?

when did i give up my dreams?
when was i content to whisper away my longings
while i stared at this screen and pretended
not to care
or think
or realizing that time is finite and the world is so big,
and there are power lines that run between us
from the mountains to the plains to
cities
streams
rivers
oceans that have names that make you think,
"peaceful is so relative."

and how did you end up here,
when there are mountains calling?
i know that people have struggled,
and won.
and there's no real reason why,
except that they couldn't find their power lines.

so give me that four door monster
she's waiting, dead for now.
show me the moon on a clear, lonely night
and let me fall into
wherever
wherever
land.

and leftover friends

strap on that bruise
go rhapsodize in blue
and sweep me away before my
rough edges
and transparent brain
slide underfoot and puncture you, too.
it's like a wound
only abstract, colorful, filled with
noise like tv static or angel's voices
or
other things that make my ears bleed
and my throat tighten
my limbs weak
my face whiten like alabaster statues
all gilded with mold
leftover bread and cheese and hypodermic needles
from that time when i considered
thinking about
doing something drastic.
my problems,
my problems,
elastic,
plastic,
kind of confused and i'm not sure that you
really understand how much i don't want to be
anyone but me
falling gracefully into a grave
full of pillows and sand and

hold my hand?

sleepless

to let go
to fall into something that's truly
your own, and did he care?
did he care that all he owned was rage
and a house, and two cars,
and a gun?
well, the tape marks his house
and sets it apart
for the cameras and the tabloids and
insomniacs
who just can't speak in foreign languages
when there's so much more learn in their own.

leftover party hats

from where you stand,
the fool on the hill is a little bit wiser
than the fools on the ground,
below sea level,
below caring about grade point averages
and complicated schedules and
true love.
it's really easy if you dance through it
do it to it
and jump out in the road if you
have the voice and the verve,
like you do, apparently,
up on that hill.

if i were to have a bruise,
it would be the colors of your wizard's gown,
blue and orange and green and purple
and brown.
and it would have leopard-print spots
where you hurled your words
and a party hat where you looked at me,
piteously,
and turned your crystalline eyes to the horizon,
because it's so much better to look into the future
than at this bruise.

and my bruise?
i got it from you,
when you rolled down the hill
and brought me with you.

monsieur

how could it be that i could not remember?
my girl, my world, how could it be?
it's the difference i think, between you and me.

that maybe your words are for you
and for you alone
while mine are for you, too, my girl.
seeking the hard road beneath my feet,
groping for answers in braille of pins and needles,
i don't care if i bleed for you.

that's not true, mange tout.

french for snow pea, or eat it all
(or maybe, we all eat?)
but i prefer the first.
i'd bleed for you, and probably do worse.
but i'd care.
i'd always care.

today

today,
a man said "yo" to me on the street,
a car almost hit me as i passed
by his driveway,
i hummed along and i read from a book
that i'm not sure i even believe in
in front of a hundred people.
and i let them tell me
how
good
i was.

today,
i rebuked religion and embraced my god,
i blasphemed in ever way
in my mind at least.
i decided to write this poem
and to eat a cookie
and to forget that life is more confusing than i'm making it
seem.

and it's only eleven-thirty in the morning.

well, screw that

someone tell her she's a fool -
that she's gotten herself worked up
and the marble floor is really fine,
but the scratches and the dents
look so worn.

worn (adj): wearied; exhausted.

well, that's what she is. and she knows it, too.
she knows that you can't really go on
loving and living if there's nothing to love.
like a leather coat that's past it's day,
it was good once.
but it's so much easier to throw it away.
isn't it?

though maybe she's just a dream,
and he's putting thoughts in her head.
remnants of a ride that made him just a little queasy.
but it doesn't matter -
they'll do what's easy.

digging my own.

he thinks it's easier to take just one more,
to live on the side beside the ride
and never really pay.
but it's payback or pay up and neither can afford
to lose what has been lost
ten thousand times before.
right?
he takes a light
and the smoke it's so damn beautiful,
bruised vision and night-light eyes.
he wants to fall into the orange glow
he wants to grow.
it's so easy to take just one more.
the fire's burning,
he remembers s'mores.
things from years ago.
it seems like ages but he knows that he has
never really
grown.

mwc

what have we given
that we haven't taken back?
and what have we asked for
that we'd really want to get?
what am i doing on this side of the tracks?
i don't know
i don't know
but i thinks that's where i ask,

fall,
can you see you're fallen,
living on lies and broken ties
and a little bit of glass?
fall,
can't you see you've fallen,
so far at times that the ground is ice
when you finally get back?

i used to think that words and games
were pieces of our lives,
a little trip through the minefield time
of runaway children and runaway wives
but now i know we're on the out
and the stress is falling in,
we're got to scream,
we've got to shout,
we're all so goddamn

fall
can't you see you're falling?
it hurts sometimes but i know those lines
and i know you're gonna ask,
fall
can't you see you've fallen?
we're losing steam, take one for the team
but it's
just
so

worthless, or something.

we are alone sometimes

love is a lying puddle on the roof
where you laid me bare and lifted me high
and we sat alone and talked some more
of course, inside your mind

across the ocean and in the sky
you'll search for meaning and you'll ask me why
but we're so damn set on the sun
and it's all inside your mind.

fling me open and tear me apart,
because the storm is raining but it's just too dry
i'll be a bowl and i'll speak my fill
but it's all inside your mind.

find it

we jump, we shout,
screaming names and lies and fame
is pulsing through the dark-filled air.
a simple game
to remind us how far we'll fall together
we're living forever
and dying every day,
lonely hearts and great big charts
to remind us how to say,

"it's not easy but it's right,"
it's the whistle in the wind at night,
and when we're hurting it's the birds in the trees
eyes on you, oh eyes on me.
come on, just live a little.

this isn't normal.

i'm going to depart from my normal program for a moment. bear with me. i'm writing to you all (if there are any of you) to let you know that i've heard your voice. this is your voice. this stupid, ridiculous webpage that we spill our souls onto, as if it's some diary. would we really want people we don't care about seeing these things? maybe we would. so why do we do it?

and it struck me, i've written about love. and lust. i've written about wanting to have sex and i've written about my family troubles, and my ambitions, and my frustrations, and anyone who wanted to spend the time could put what i've written here into a coherent image. and the scary thing is, that image isn't me. do you see what i'm saying? i've traversed styles and imagery trying to establish who i am on this little blog, and it's so incomplete.

hell, i don't see what i'm saying. i guess i mean that i would like to know everyone who reads this. i would like to see what they think of me, and i would like to smile and them and know that we share this little link. i know some of you already, and chances are i like you a lot.

then again, maybe this was pointless.

life's ambition

it's so hard to capture you in a word
a song
a play that travels 'round and awes
the crowd because it's
so
damn
beautiful expressions of joy and love
cascading down to the ground above lust
and lethargy
a little lazy lover on top of a stone-cold bench
come off you're perch, handsome
we'll sit and talk and fall about
we'll dream and scream until we've found childhood
ambitions
crossed by single streams that we can't reach over
and sturdy bridges with no bottom
no top
no single element of fear or survival or a smile in the dark
and it's clear that you don't know the love you elicit
or the circles you walk in
or the park benches you've sat at, and that they are
crumbling, faulty, buckling things like your father
your mother
the horse you rode on.
so i hope you find joy and love your new toy


strikestrikestrikestrikestrike
perhaps i spoke prematurely,
a whim on the wind,
can i say what my emotions determine?
do i care?
well, there's something there.

thessaloniki

welcome to
here we go,
a brand new name for the words
"go away"
a shout out to the gods,
remember the odds against us when we won?
it's nice to know we're
flying kites and
dying indefinitely, watching amber wings
and amber things all flying, falling, soaring
to the trees.
smiles you made it,
frowns you're there,
a brand new name for word,
"anywhere."

you wrote me

lodged away in hedges and night skies,
moons and baubles, in bangles and friends,
down the hall and across the room
i could hear you for years,
decades,
and i could smell the salt and taste the sea,
you keeping you from me.
is that why we're so far apart?
in distance and in minds,
in philosophy and now i find
lord knows how many things to have seen
and said to make it good,
but we're alone,
now,
and the years have passed for show and tell
and hear and smell
or listen and i'll talk for a while.
just think of all the nerves we could have saved,
or the understanding,
nurturing,
living we could have lived.

i guess that's it, then -
i'll keep me for me and you keep you for you.

insomniac

it's alright,
it will come back.
your eyes will graze over pastoral plains
and the strokes will follow
the rag-tag, scattered
grain that you've found
in a heap, maybe,
i don't know where.
i've seen you take my eyes and
like amber, trap in them every puddle of emotion
and scratch them
into paper
for me to read and regret,
admitting and falling sleeplessly upon a pillow of jealousy.

it's okay.
be who you are,
and forget that you're forgetting
the sweeping stones
that once we frolicked through
(as best we could),
knowing only that we conceived
on a rock a baby of sorts made of words
and smiles.
we'll learn from each other yet,
or else build our fences higher, good neighbors,
allies against a world of
eyes we've never met
and mouths we've never kissed,
thoughts
we don't dare to
think

because we're convinced that we've lost them.

candor.

what, can't i be earnest anymore?
right now i am falling so hard that
i don't even know that i'm falling.
i'm whispering secrets to a hole in the wall
and i can only hope that it hears.
this must be a record amount
of shitty poetry in one fucking night
and it's really hard to bottle me up
once you've got me going,
it's one of my vices, didn't you know?

worth it

it's easy to leave the crumpled body
all strewn about and sleepless but gone.
and to think that i've thought
that we could do better,
it's useless right now to believe in your eyes.
and some of my drivel is better than others
but it's all just drivel when the
sparrow retires and goes to its perch,
and the people return to their pillowy beds.
so what if you hated it?
it's over and gone, and shouldn't i
sleep on a job well done?

it's useless, i know, to believe in your eyes,
a lie i've been humming to the tune of your voice.

no no yes no yes no

my beautiful mockery of my own youth,
my growing and writhing and losing
and living and hurting and healing
is nil
to the frantic, shuttering
lifeless old screen
but i read to my friends the words of rejection
and know that for once,
i'm worse than the rest.

strange.

you once told me
fire at my feet
and i told you back
and water in my toes
that closeness is a virtue
i am feeling the smoke
and so we embraced
and i am breathing the rain.
if catharsis is cleansing,
you smiled a bit
why do i feel wronged
this strange, fleeting world
by nothing, by something
is at your toes.
is, at the most, a dream.

so if this is a dream,
i can singe the sun,
and collapse in a heap
and dream of you and dream of me.
or dream of you dreaming of me.

you hug well.

goodbye.
it was good, tonight, to know you as a friend
and i've set up a rhyme but i can't use "end."
that seems too harsh, too real to be true,
but now i feel like i know you, i really do.
maybe it was the beer,
but i hope that you know that i hope you do well,
i hope you succeed and i hope you will smile
to know that i look up and see you every once in a while.

i also hope that you forgive me, this poem is lame.

i have a history of taking off my shirt

at age four i wanted to play violin
and you said, "honey, you don't know how,"
but i do now.
maybe i left it for better things,
for flying kites or having a social life
(well, trying).
i guess what matters is that the hollow body is cracked
and the bow unused, a still life,
and i do not remember how. so i'm back to
square one.

one day i picked up a bat and began to swing
and you saw your life and you thought,
"my boy, disappointment is at your feet."
you were right
and i cried too often and i lost too much,
so i left that, too. and then you knew
that i was destined to leave and never come back,
to have dreams unrealized
every moment of my life.

so you must have sighed when i bought those jazz shoes,
and began to dance
and began to tap
and began to drive you out of your mind
with the life that you wanted to correct,
to live vicariously through me -
it's a burden, you know. but i think i've thrown you off.
well, the shoes stayed with me longer than
the bow,
or the bat,
or your sighs.
but i guess i've given that up, too. in search of what?
(a social life?)

and i've given up the terminals and lines of code,
the computers full of promise
the camera that i once used (and paid for)
some of my friends and some of my life
my sexual identity
my relationship with you.

and in the end there are things i still do
only you don't see them
because you know they have no future
but heartbreak and abandonment.

but who will abandon who?

so when i tell you where i want to go,
i know you laugh and sigh,
and think that i have an unrealized life.
well, if you'd open your ears
you'd hear
that i am not the child you think i am.

and honestly?
shut up, please.

perseid

the clouds conceal your flying flames,
the archers are ready, they take their aim,
and heaven is angry, shouts and screams,
silver bullets through comets unseen.
o valiant night, swallow the light,
roil the beasts and hear the song,
life is short but lightning long,
so sleep with the owls
and listen to frogs.

happy birthday (this isn't about you)

so i stood by the lightning wind and rose
and the gulls picked me up
while the doves all sang songs
with their olive branches tucked in their beaks
we made small talk and watched as the lightning struck.
give me up to the lions
to feed their young
for the howling is growing, it's laughter and fun
and the moment is coming you're going away
you're leaving
and i never knew you,
and yet you laughed and you sighed and you smiled a lot.
i wish we'd done this earlier.

eighteen

far off.
boys are dancing and girls are laughing
down on the river
boats flying in twirls and swirls of
streamer and a dragon's whisker
and you're giving me a view of
tomorrow and the next day
and a year from now i will be saying that i am
almost eighteen.
but the best days are yet to come
unless
in the sky
birds diving upwards onwards backwards
towards the endless abyss and sometimes they miss
while they look for the phoenix and hope.
thinking sometimes muddles the mind
and one day i will be saying that i am
almost eighteen.

charlton heston

so the world's a mess and what?
your fatalist views and futile nature can change it?
i'm calling bull and you're just washed up,
bitter that a world didn't heed your call.
well, you didn't call out loud enough.
you have the time, you can find the money,
you can do what you want,
but it's just -
what, too damn hard?

so everything you say will make me stronger
and i will bathe in your sighs
and refute your lies
until this goddamn world realizes that
well, yes we can.

but maybe you can't.

with the moon in your mouth

i think it's clear now that you are much older
in years and in mind,
and we will never be together
because the world is so large and you've seen so much,
and i must look so silly and god, so young.
i'm glad you let me make my choices,
stayed with me through blinking lights,
let me be so young and so stupid
without putting up a fight.
i think it's about respect,
but i have no clue where to find it.
it's just that you are so true,
and i am so young
and life is so very confused.

so i guess this means you're my hopeless muse

we'll dance along the parapets
and let our bodies fall into the night
and the moon will be our guide,
while the peasants below chant
"Merry, my friends,
the world is ending,
O! this is the end."

and we'll fly into the cirrus clouds
and tumble into sheets of white
and the sun will steal our lives,
while the cities below scream
"what, damned fiends,
the ice is melting,
we're drowning again!"

so the moon is our guide
and the sun steals our lives,
the clouds are a bed
and the castle our clothes

the cities are screaming
and the peasants all shout,
"come out, you liar,
come out."

i'll let it go to "next"

there was a boy,
and he was smiling,
but he did not know at what,
so he smiled for the world
and drowned in his own image.

there was another,
and he was smiling,
he was smiling for a reason,
because he had love in his vest
and air coursed through his lungs.

one day they met,
and there was a change,
and smiling gave way to chance,
and music played loud,
and one of them was convinced that the other was real.

rupture

i heard that you took yourself away,
and you thought it would be better,
far away and safely sleeping,
a clean white sheet for a revolutionary
to wrap around his body and cry to the gods...

and then i let my life slide so gently from my pocket,
so that i could tell myself that you were alive,
but the pale white light fell away,
and suddenly the world was falling into a chorus,
and it was only a moment in time
that saw it rent in two.

placeholder III

even if they don't love you, i do.

brick walls

my hair is shorter -
finally.
and my eyes are wider
once again.
my face is shorter but my thoughts are longer
and the world is turning faster and faster.
so if the days don't last
and the summer falls,
winter springs,
and the world stalls,
i'll live these days like they're my last -
fully,
funly,
frantically,
fast.

a placeholder II

good luck, dovey.

hello

it seems like ages since we last locked eyes,
like months or years or more.
but i guess that's how it goes, you know,
and it doesn't really make me mad.

i've read a thousand books of lore
since the day i saw you go,
and now you're back i'm sort of sad,
because you wouldn't say hello.

while i wait

what does one do
when it can't be returned?
when the cymbals crash and the fires burn,
there's a hushed little scream
that is boiling up fast,
the feeling is over but the emotion lasts...
and it can't be returned,
it can't be returned.

on the varying temperatures of life and love

what's the forecast, weatherman?
will you tell of storms and rain and hail and snow?
will you give me the news on how the wind blows?
i've been waiting so long just to see how it goes,
weatherman, weatherman, let me know.

and though i'm standing still,
i don't know if i've been blown off course,
i don't know whether your can feel my remorse,
with no rhyme, no reason, there's no source,
weatherman, weatherman, it's a matter of force.

why am i always wrong, weatherman?
where is the road to friends and smiles and love and life?
where is the counter to the hardhearted knife?
i've been trying so hard just to end this strife,
that i almost missed the song-

"weatherman, weatherman, prove me wrong."

if i didn't feel so removed

i love you all and i love you too
only i don't know if i love you true,
because you talk to me as if i'm the second choice
or maybe you just need to hear a voice
but i love you regardless...
i'll go on and on.

a placeholder

goodnight, my someone, i hope you are loved.

i will never write

I played. I played when you told me to stop, and I played because you told me to stop. The keys were my salvation and your damnation, and for that I love them all the more. I will continue to play out your heart and into mine, like some infernal leech that just won’t go away. Imagine that, my source – out of your very body you bore your undoing. I will play on in the darkness and in the light, and I will love it as the creatures love the night. I will make music that hurts your head, and I will be happy in the end. I’m your own little changeling, meant to kill, your own precious baby, the source of your will. And I’m the one that will kill you, if words can kill, because I hate you, and I always will.

tomorrow

it's here.
i can feel it, can't you?
this sweltering heat isn't a wave,
it's a warning
and we're the ones who shove it aside,
we're killing ourselves slowly,
and poisoning the land,
it's apocalypse, my friends.
it's apocalypse.

jericho.

since you're gone,
all of you,
i've never felt okay.
and i guess it's hard to admit,
but i can never feel this way.
i guess poetry's catharsis,
but it's nothing to your voice,
please come back.
please?
and i know that you are coming
as fast as the wheels will take,
but i'm crumbling,
quickly,
and every word without you here
feels like a blast from joshua's horn-
and me, i'm jericho.

i've never felt this one before

i want to throw you off a building,
and cover up your face,
i want to make an honest living,
and see you in disgrace.
this is bigger than jealousy,
and worse than all your cares,
this is a monster that's inside of me,
and i'm sort of glad it's there.
i want to be the bigger person,
and pick a lot of fights,
i want to scream up to the heavens,
i don't want to be alone at night.

i think no one really does

the children sleep tonight,
and their slumber goes unstirred
but for a light in the mirror and the hearts in their hands,
and they'll sleep for forever,
they'll keep what they can.

is love so long ago?
and the lighthouse is gleaming
with the hopes and the memories of a thousand graves,
so the children have enemies,
is there another way?

their beds have been covered,
and the world's alight
with the shards of the mirrors and the spirit of fight.
but the children sleep on,
their time is long gone.
the children are sleeping.

the thief and the girl

i tore away from all the petty lies,
a cutthroat fiend with no throats left to cut,
but now i find i'm lost in my disguise,
a wrenching stabs and eats around my gut.

for all your wealth you gave your worth away,
betraying love and taking to the night,
succumbed to fears that i cannot allay,
i would i were the man to make it right.

the gods have made it plain, a thief can't be
the winsome lover of a lovely girl,
for now i've shown you all there is to see
and you have left to fall into the world

though we were young you were a girl of fire,
and i again a thief and more, a liar.

passing glance

does it ever occur to you that i'm just a passing glance,
an appetizer to your main entree just a backwards glance
and someone that you maybe kinda like,
but not one that you care to see as much as you'd have me believe?

and all the "i love you" goes a long way for a bit,
and it takes me a while to realize you're full of shit,
because friendship is more that "i love you" and hugs
and sometimes i wonder if it's me that left you or if you are really this...

it's twenty to ten on a friday evening and i'm sitting at a desk,
it's summer and i don't care if i'm even really dressed,
because who's gonna see me, except my own pathetic self?
who's going to call me up and ask me out and prove me wrong?

it's a strange life to live because i always feel in limbo,
and i'm looking up (which isn't healthy) or looking down (less so),
but there's nowhere else to go,
so cry me to sleep or sing me a song, or give me a call,
prove me wrong?

put this to a tune

in a time of calling we have found our youth,
we have found our reason and we'll sail away,

in a time of reason we will endlessly parade,
we will fill our tankards as we spill out truth.

this time i've got the better of the downtown blues,
and i'll sing a song to me and i'll sing a song and say

"there is nothing better than a dark cold alleyway
where a mutt can be a man and i can speak to you

and there's no more reason as to why we should feel new
than the reason i feel endlessly regret-less in the way i fell for you."

it's over, now stop

so long to a year full of your troubles and mine;
i guess it was good but i'll leave it behind.
there are better things,
they wait in the clouds,
they're waiting, waiting.
will they ever be found?

doting on tremors that have taken deep seed,
you'll shout and jump and dump it on me.
i know there are troubles,
i've heard they are there.
they linger, linger.
should i feel sort of scared?

but we'll go it together,
through rain and through snow,
you'll be there beside me
and i won't let you go.
hello to a time full of troubles and regret,
i'm sure this one will be the best yet.

perhaps

byzantine rooftops and labyrinthine minds,
skating and floating on invisible ice,
it's not a place it's a state of mind,
the natural flow and the beautiful grind.
we're always looking for what we cannot find.

a poem for flock

well the years have changed me
but not in your eyes,
it's a roundabout world
and we've no sense of size,
so we'll travel the world
and go wherever we want,
so we're back where we started,
but that what i want.

you're voice is whiny but your heart is good

the boys at home are content to rattle
and the pretty landscapes just keep on rolling by
while the director-types do their director thing
unaware of the staring eyes,
staring up at the stars praying, "let me in."

but it's a prayer that keeps on waiting,
and they can wait for their lives to pass and things
will just go on and on and on and people will love
but their ears will ring
with the silence the stars made from above.

the soldiers are coming home happy
and the cars are rattling by with a final note
so they make the best of their lives
'cause the future holds hope,
yeah, night is alive and the future holds hope.

the reason i want to be you (and not me)

well if there was an ounce of the freedom and an ounce of the love
i would give everything i owned just to be in your shoes
and i know it's no news but i want to be you so badly that
sometimes it hurts worse than it's worth.
when i'm turning every corner and hoping that i see
things that i've been told are impossible, unbelievable,
the longing i feel is nothing to the disappointment
when the world proves them right.

and why can't i be the one on the road who knows where he's going
the one who redeems himself at every turn who's got
guns and knives and yet he's the greatest man alive,
i would kill to be a killer as beautiful as this
or sacrifice the ones who don't deserve it -
but that's what makes you you...
not that it doesn't make you me...
it's just - there is no way to express everything.

i'll speak to you

the old man's car looks angry
whether he likes it or not,
and my old thing (her name is sadie)
sits, disheveled and hot.

while classic ballads blast my ears
i smile and sing along,
and the angry cars have known those years,
they smile and say i'm wrong.

i'll save you, sadie,
and fix you up,
you'll be a lady,
and lift me up.

i didn't know he had a station

i'd take your deal and make it double,
know full well the devil means trouble,
no guitar could make me stop
and no car would catch the cop,
just let me in. just let me in!

i'll sew my stitches and take the pain,
shoot myself before i'm slain,
just let cross the world like you,
see mountains, join the crew,
i want to live a life like you!

old music/habits, picking toenails, cool breezes, windup toys

so now i see him winding down
from the epiphany and the ecstasy
and it's too much of a blur, but i think he
hit something, or someone, and i know
it just felt so good.

see, that's a problem with poetry -
it's not as hard hitting or rambunctious
as her, or him, or the marionettes
that give you your joy because they're
so. damn. easy.

hobo

i see you're sitting on the side of the road,
and i wish i could tell all that i know,
but you'd tell me what you thought of how i live,
all the things i do wrong and the love that i give.
it's not quite enough just to sit down and scream,
you've got to do something, anything, anywhere.
there are too many tracks for one to make me care.

but i guess i'll say thank you for all you've said,
you're a good one and a bad one,
and maybe a friend.

another one gone

buried under flesh and blood and a mask,
he sighs and sleeps and tries to break through.
and i don't mind the struggle if it means
i can know him at all,
and maybe,
well,
make him feel a little bit better.

but why can't the other just stop and ask,
even though they've never known just what to do,
it's on blood and milk and sorrow they've been weaned,
and they're gonna full,
and baby,
hell,
they've gotta look at you.

public humiliation

it's inevitable, right?
responding to myself,
the echoes of strange, fleeting fancies,
confirming my fears and it feels so good to rot away,
only i know that tomorrow will be okay.

so if it's forgettable i'll forget it,
and let it take me away,
let that syllable come and enslave my senses,
while i'm moaning and groaning and
dreaming of jumping fences

well, it's a nice notion, anyway,
a little dream on a cold summer day
when the rain is pouring while the sun shines through
and it reminds of me,
but also of you.

here's to you, bpi

if i could hold this energy and turn into poetry
the doors would fly open and the heads would turn,
but it's finite, you bitch,
'cause you made me this way -
i wasn't built for endurance but you tell me to stay.

so i witness the animals as they come out to play
knowing full well that i'm losing my touch,
and i'm thinking,
just let me stay this way -
but i wasn't built for endurance, i was built for today.

it is something

so bottoms up and we're out of this town,
if i smoked i'd be so goddamn high
my problems would look like a fly in the sky
and i'd listen to the children who pretend to drown.

well, it is always something but i'm not sure what,
so i drown in these puddles
until my meanings are muddled
because i can't bear to admit that i've become corrupt.

i guess it's something, but it's really not much.

fucker

do you even now feel victimized
when you've caught the fire in everyone's eyes
and the earth is humming in tune with you
and the world is rushing to catch your fall,
can you really regret all the things you feel
when there are other ones,
silent ones?

your worse half

now i've locked you in the basement
and i hope you rot to death
there's a thousand things you've said to me
but you've wasted all that breath

because there's truth where i am going
i didn't choose a door,
when i padlocked your intentions,
i opened a thousand more.

this song is true

i heard there was a place
where we could run a way
and all our lies would turn to truth
and our faults would melt away

we're running out of time
and apathy won't rhyme
when there lies kings and queens alike
we've crushed their marriage and their lives

we're not the victims, we're the cause
and if you look at all our flaws
they all add up to the same old lines:
this dirty rebellion doesn't work
and the same old song is the same old shit
'cause we're out luck and the frying pan...
let me- let me- let me out of the fire

i heard there was a song
that righted all our wrongs
and mom and dad would see me again
and the others would agree

i've gotten better, gotten strong
and if you could read my palm
all the lines would let you know:
this dirty rebellion doesn't work
and the same old song is the same old shit,
so we're out of this pan and into the-
let me- let me- let me out of the fire.

as things pass / not 111

so the girl smiled as she pulled back her bangs,
and she had no idea where she was going.
her friends had all given her words of advice
but in the end, all she could think of was home.
and she knew in her heart it was the farthest away
that she'd ever be from peace,
it was the problem in her perfect life
and her parents were a blight on her soul.
but still,
it was home?

but these days are passing and the girl is too big
for her notions of peace and belief.
she's gotten older, wiser, stronger, larger, sadder,
but most of all she's found a reason never to trust.
because the people she comforted cry in the dust
where their sounds have no soul-finding voice,
she knows there's no redemption
for those who are caught, only
she wishes she could cry.

it's two days 'til summer, but who really counts?
and while the sun is creeping over my shoulder,
i haven't felt colder in so, so long.
these songs i am hearing have no verse,
though some are happy and others not,
i watch the girl and i watch her friends,
and i know that -

well, in the end -

i'm not one of them.

still, i wish i could tell her that as things pass,
this moment will help her along,
our friendship was nothing but long as she lasts,
she'll find peace,
she'll find peace,
i'll find home.

counselor

your wings cast too much of a shadow.
i'd reach out to touch but you fly too high,
my pathetic attempts at flying have landed me
down here,
and so now i must be content to watch.

i guess i'll watch until my time comes due,
and the wind catches me just the right way,
but why do i have to take this every day
alone?
no, i'll never be alone so long as the earth is here.

just, lonely now and then.
i'll sing a song about myself
and people will shout and sing,
and even though your wings are longer,
i'll gladly wear your ring.

re-imbursed

there's a difference between homesick and home sick,
and i can never really tell which i'd rather be,
though sometimes the willows try and tell me
that there are aspects i'll never really see.

there's a wind beneath my troubles and my pain,
that i've never figured out how to hold,
though sometimes i can breath it underwater,
i'll never really know it 'til i'm old.

and somehow i'm fine with all these troubles,
if it means that i'll be better in the end,
for now adventures wait to happen,
for now the the rules are breaking if not bent.

earlier times

i wonder
sometimes,
if i've changed enough
for you,
or them,
or whoever is looking
back at me,
through the stars
and the moon
and the sun,
and
time,

and then i realize
that all i'll ever need is right here. no breaks, no quakes, no forced emotion. the pain is real but the joy is alive. the gain is real and the ploy is a lie. so let's lie here forever.

this throat of mine is cleansed

i'll laugh and dislodge
all the scum and gunk
that's crawled its way to the top,
i'll claw it out
and watch it shout,
no pity for this body.

only cleansing,
only health,
the rest is fine
but laughs are wealth
and i can't laugh
unless you get the hell away from me.

i don't want you in my life no more

he wrenches the door open
and your head snaps too,
this house is your coffin
elsinore is your womb,
else we four are a tomb.

your blood it smells sweet
to the carrion birds,
the boy knows this and waits,
his patience is great, though
relations are fate.

but the clock ticks incessant
and the little boy's bored,
his mother is eaten
time has taken his life,
rhymes have shaken this knife.

the weight of words (oh gods, what have i done?)

we're all waiting for affirmation,
redemption's there, we just need to find it,
and the earth is hurting while we scour the land,
searching for our crosses and standing hand in hand

keys are falling like rain on glass,
and the dukes are dancing with their pretty wives,
but redemption waits for those who'll find it,
we can't spend eternity crying.

and the smiles aren't always fake,
love is a reason and words have weight,
but the ships are beached and the cars have sunk,
redemption's a word,
and i'm trying to lift it.

no, i want you to lift weights

be my guy,
can't you see it's late?
the birds are singing,
but we're full of hate,
and we'd throttle friends just to put end
just to put end to the way we work

be my guy,
take me out to the woods,
get me high,
give me life,
and we'd smoke ourselves silly to forget out lives
to forget our lives and our stupid wives

be my guy,
challenge me to a fight,
swing a fist,
break my wrist,
pull me out of this life and into the night
and maybe i'd feel things if you'd be my guy.

dedicated to people like judas or lw / addressed to You

i can't fathom what to say
to make these feelings disperse,
i want to fall into mental homicide
and take out my rage on something that can feel.
i don't care if it's you, or her,
just simplify these complexes with a razor-knife.

now's the part where i apologize
for the feelings of worthlessness i've revealed,
where i take back my remorse and appreciate you
for you.
where do i learn to do that?
where do i learn to live without regret?
i feel myself failing expectations
and falling away from friends
and flailing
and flying
and never forgiving
and losing trust in everything.

and then there's You.
will i ever speak to you again?
not in song, or notes, or poetry,
or any other stupid wall to hide behind -
are you truly my friend?
go on, make me not care that you are
better.

LISTEN; i'm talking to you.
just for once forget the chaos
forget the idea that you can't choose -
pick whoever or whatever you want,
just choose... please.
or i'm a ghost that's left to haunt.

post-script

i am a failure to the utmost degree,
this is not the issue.
simply show me how to live with this,
i don't need your secondhand tissues.

product

a boy didn't recognize himself in the mirror today.
instead he saw a man,
and should he have rejoiced?
even though the man was haggard and lost and caught in a haze,
he was still a man.

center for.

god must really be looking out for me,
knew i'd need you right about now,
fate must have smiled to numb the pain,
you were here somehow.

let's hope the prize wasn't behind this door.

lyrics on my speaker

maybe it isn't what i wanted,
too rough, too childish.
the grain got in my way.
and yet-
it says what i wanted to say.

as long as i can hear your serenade,
i'm fine, i'll breathe.
the music's running in my veins.
so play-
i'll never throw your serenade away.

you're coursing through my thoughts,
i fight, i hate.
this music will never be mine to take.
and yet -
i hear you smile and see you sing, and know that i'm okay.

honesty

you are my poetry.
your heart beats as mine,
running, running, out of time.
anonymity has quenched our mediocrity.
and now we drown in blood and tears of joy.

i am a toy.
you've stolen my alacrity,
stabbing, stabbing, crying out rhymes.
and now i feel we've crossed the line,
the lullabies we sing are drowning in the sea.

so thank you.
it's time i broke a verse
to break this curse.
let me nevermore be burned by this rope.

apparently god thinks i'm you

the afternoon sun is warm,
but i still have chills.
my body is draped across a chair,
yet i am still tense.
this cynicism makes no sense.

you want this utopia,
so you can be the exception.
you want to be sad,
just to be able to strive for love.
i want to meet the earth, and the stars, and maybe even the god above.

f ii

i'm still falling,
i won't ever get up.
i'm a self-destructive son of a bitch
and that's the way it'll always be.

i should be loving life,
living it, for fuck's sake.
but i'm a son of a gun with no sense of fun,
and that's the way it'll always be.

life sucks when you're dealing with infinity.

yes they do.

and so do i.

you're not alone, friend.
this is not the end.
how many times have you laid down and died?
you could have tried,
you could have
tried.

smile tomorrow;
for real this time,
and forget your anxiety for just one day.
it's not really that way.

get me out please get me out please get me out please....

i know because i know because i know because
i'm really not ready to trust
oh why is the ceiling blue when it could be green?
why is the water boiling, the fire's unseen.
where is it? where is the flame?
i need someone to blame, but you don't understand,
your perfect world is perfect but all the same
it's broken, shattered, destroyed like mine and yet
it's perfect? why is your poverty more romantic than mine?

i know because i know because i know because
you write and think and know your way
even though you get lost sometimes,
but when i get lost i'm lost and that's it,
there's no redemption, no silver lining,
it's probably my brain,
it's a fucking work of moder art,
you just can't figure it out, but neither can i,
so maybe it'd be better if i could ever get high
but i can't i can't i can't
because it just wouldn't work out right anyway.

fractals

the love of my life
drove me off of a wall,
but my body was broken
ere i began to fall.
so here stands a shard
of the person who was,
will you take my hand and pull me above?

in my fall from grace,
i stumbled a bit,
and looked down this path
but couldn't see shit.
so now i am walking
into the night,
will you stay with me always, though my head isn't right?

(i keep on using the word "shit." hmm...)

i could hear it through the ventilation.

maybe i was crying too hard,
i couldn't hear your yells,
maybe you were drowning, brother,
maybe i'm full of shit.
i was listening echoes gone,
your voice a silent, broken song,

if i play until my fingers bleed
and the notes sound strong,
will your voice sound sweet?
because i'm an echo too, my brother,
there's no other,
but you and me.

though i should add,
the other echoes made me sad.

frustrations, sexual and not.

we're dancing on the edge of a knife,
pirouettes upon a razor,
numb to the pain and in our minds
we're following an enchanter's fife.

we're walking though we're blind,
unaware of what we can do,
mice with mangled tails,
we have no idea, no fucking clue.

we're running out of time
to fling our souls askew,
broken bodies with broken wings,
treading on restless strings.

spectacular spectacular.

give me something, i need something,
let me feel, oh let me bleed.
burning reeds and stringing reels
is no way to live.

we are running, watch us running,
make us smile, and make us scream,
busting seams and drunken miles
are getting old.

this love thing is getting old, so old,
when there's no one to make you make things right
or smile at night.
i don't want these years to leave me cold, so cold.

we dream

what am i becoming,
and what have i done?
am i a
clone a clone a clone a clone a clone a clone a
figment of imagination that has ripped itself shreds,
only to find that there is not heart behind the skin?
but i think i'm more akin to a fish who ripped its fin
because he thought he could walk.

a
clone a clone a clone a clone a clone a clone.
i think i've won.
let me dream.

but you, my brother in arms...

on a fair fall day,
i watched you die,
i watched you fall,
now here i lie.

take peace dear friend,
that we are gone,
though we were faceless,
we were strong.

fog

the mist is rolling in,
heavy on hearts,
and darkening days,
the mist is rolling in.

like in no man's land,
it's falling down,
a lingering veil,
in no man's land.

from over the river,
a cry of regret,
a day smothered,
from over the river.

the mist is rolling in,
the sun is blotted out,
the fears are boiling up,
rolling in.

what fools are we.

it's been a while.
the hair on my head is a bit longer,
and my body has no doubt grown.
but i am still the same, friend.

if we could be stronger,
we'd make it to the end,
reap what we've sown,
but independence is out of style.

[edit: my goddamn spelling]

big lonely world

how is it that i could speak to your heart
with such little effort so short a time ago?
the snow would fall with icy clarity,
and the sun would rise on a world of newness,
and you would be there, and so would i.

well i've found out that things change,
and your soliloquies would fall on deaf ears,
the rain would drench our coats,
and the moon would wane to nothing,
and you wouldn't be there, and neither would i.

so let's run together,
through fields and memories and countrysides and dreams,
because the time we have left is precious,
and i love you.
let's run together,
feel the wind,
run, run, run into the sunset,
forgetting for a moment that i'm not okay,
because i like it better this way,
and i love you.

please

forgive me if i can't make bold statements
and stand for what is obviously right.
if i seem silent,
know that it is because the world is so confusing,
and we, we are so few.

the few of us that devote time to our morals,
we are the ones who sigh upon a sinking stone,
following,
while the chains of down around our feet relinquish
their hold once more.

all i'm asking for is redemption
when i amble down the path that i didn't choose,
thinking it is the star that i aimed for.
forgive me when you see me years from now,
and those bold statements i could never make
have come back to gnarl my skin and gouge my eyes.
what is sacred is what we hold inside,
only, i do not know what is sacred
to me.

homework

what i could be doing
is nothing compared to what i'm not.

'son of a bitch,'
thought the shepherd's dog.

whoever wrote this so-called poem
should be flogged.

oh, wait.

grifter

this family has been poisoned.
we'll writhe until we blind ourselves,
our epileptic fits will grow until
our precious skulls are cracked upon these wood floors,
and our thoughts spill out until reticence gives way to
peace.

the depths will drag us ever lower.
i'm beginning to realize that blame has no use,
my psychotic obsession will fade until
my redemption becomes naught but a romantic notion,
and my eyes will open and as the light reaches me and i
believe.

(but perhaps i'm overreacting. all i can do is wait a scant two years longer.)

coop (or maybe coup)

(a little bit of disturbing roleplay for you people. don't worry, this isn't me).

let me stand a while longer
in the company of fools and a ghosts,
before i watch you walk right down the isle
and the bridesmaid starts her toast...
because i've got to think about what i'm doing,
and the knife beneath my suit,
the blood on my hands is good and soothing
'til i take this gun and shoot.

i think i'll use the word "fuck"

because the world revolves a little bit faster
when you decide to live a little bit faster
and your lies go away just a little bit faster
you forget to hate, you betray your master
when the world revolves a little bit faster.

if i'm hyped up on the things i love
does it matter if i get no response from above?
if i punch a wall when i get real mad
does it mean i'm delinquent does it mean i'm sad?

because the earth is screaming to go faster
don't you hear its pleas just a little bit faster,
and the father's screaming a little bit faster,
and his child is running a little bit faster,
when the world revolves a little bit faster.

and the boy is thinking
"get me the fuck away from here,"

gone

i want a fast car,
i want a cigar,
to break the rules
is to say, "i'm not a fool!"

i'll never be
a revolutionary
but until you see me standing there,
flag in hand,

i'll be trying to find
some rule to break
that will leave me happy,
helpful,
hurting no more.

... like home.

and i want to be far away.

i want you to smile at me.
i don't care how close you -
or anyone -
gets.
i just want a smile,
a word. no, many words. assurance that it's all okay.
because i don't even know which fraction of my body is suffering,
and which is whole.
whose fault is that?

research

do what you love?
yeah. it's as easy as that.
romanticism only works when you're alone.
and then reality knocks,
and you're stuck picking locks,
trying to get out of the cage that you've built.

i.e., fuck this.

chorus

if you can get it right,
get it right!
then do it wrong just to show him it's fine.

jump the fence
cross the line
do the stuff that makes you fly!
who cares about love?
all you need is life!

viewpoints

sculpted in glass and foil and god knows what,
i take off my spectacles and, mouth shut,
raise my eyes to stare back again,
see the glimmer change, and you know what?

it's the outlook, friends, not the man,
it's a jacket that through mem'ry ran.
i can take this mirror and take this cut,
and the one will heal the other like melting sand.

avec moi. a song?

down the road lives a butcher,
he's given all he's got.
so now he's sitting crying,
and now he's feeling lost.

but his wife is fair and pretty,
his children smart and strong.
and this wife, she can't figure
why her husband's face is long.

please don't ever sigh,
you wretch,
please don't ever cry.
i'll be all you wanted,
if all you want is a lie.
'cause all you'll get is a sigh,
my wretch,
searching for the meaning you'll never find.

the hippy in the courtyard
is smoking his old joint,
he used to be proactive,
but now he's lost the point.

and his van is old and faded,
in younger years he'd paint.
but now he's sad and lost,
and the world now seems faint.

please don't ever cry,
you jokester,
please don't ever lie,
and tell yourself it's over
unless you want another sigh.
'cause all you'll get is a cry,
jokester,
searching for things we cannot find.

not your average rut.

how do you hold a friend?
how do you find yourself
in the mess that is adolescence?

HOW?

because i've been searching for sixteen years,
and i can't make this sticker
stick.

scorpio

"someone you least expect will withhold information."

but i don't know who it could be,
when the only person who can make me happy
is me.

welcome to spring,
i think,
as a baby bird fails its first flight.

i'll show you mine...

well, i would,
but i've got nothing to show.
sometimes i blame you for my wearing
my insides on my sleeves.
but really, it's just me.

i'll seize the day
another way.

awkward turtle

lately
the dew-drops aren't so sweet
and the melodies tend to
linger
just a moment too long.
have i grown stale?

and don't be afraid. i'm better than ever.
i've changed.
only, i don't know if i can watch another winter
take it all away.

rock music.

sometimes
(screw it, most of the time)
i wish i were you.

here comes the ___

i don't really know what to write,
besides "thank god."
suddenly there is a vigor in this world
that has been gone for too long.

regret

i don't hate you.
i never hate you.
bear with me,
okay?

sometimes you're rather aggravating.
time to man up, i guess.

i've been doing a lot of guesswork lately.

molting

i am ashen;
dry,
a corpse-like complexion crawls
across my skin,
flakes.

and then i pick,
pick away,
another bad habit,
i'll fix it another day.

my body is a scab,
don't you see?
a scar,
a few years down the road.
is this the price of,
what?
i've made no deal.

and yet it peels away,
and though i expect blood
i am treated to a new
layer of skin,
raw,
soon i am enveloped by a new beginning.

but the tenderest skin
is the hardest to maintain.
and in a few days
my failure is apparent - scars, slashes, scabs,
all my own.

again i will molt.
but i am living the same day over
and over
and over.

and over.

1. an attempt to vent something vague that will not offend.

guess who?

is life so confusing that apathy's your only choice?
is the world so revolting you can't use your voice?
because it all sounds the same:
perfect,
planned - to a tee, no less -
and i'm left wondering why emotion can't escape
from these walls like iron grates.
i guess i'm not bubbly,
just a little insane.
but that's nothing.
you,
you're inane.

go ahead:

revel in your confusion and reap the gain,
love your facade of unwanted fame.
it's gotten you...
well,
more than i'll ever give.
because now you're the lover and i'm alone
and i'm trapped in stone.
i guess that's life,
you're better
than me.
confusion,
surprise,
planned to a tee.

i swear

the more i dream the less i live.
i am opposite of what i wish,
and only beyond that door right there am i safe,
away from your comfortable,
unknowing glare.

why am i like this?
suddenly my fingers have gone numb,
numb like they wish to write these words
no matter what.
"what?" and my mouth responds,
i am running in automatic.

i hate most of you for reasons none of us can even
begin to understand.
i hate myself for reasons that, well, i pretend to understand too well.
you probably understand them better.
because you're better.

and i love you all -
don't get me wrong.
just-
no-
it all falls apart.

why am i like this?

lunar eclipse

it's the only shadow i've ever seen
that has made me gasp in awe.

it's the only time i've ever been
the ant looking into the maw.

it's the only life i've ever lived,
and i'll be damned if my heart is never
that big.

a personal study

this stanza does not have four lines,
but only because i thought about it.
who wouldn't?
i couldn't write something original unless
you were there by my side,
reminding me that i should have ideals.

and this one will rhyme,
because i finally have the time,
to think things out and i'm not sore...
but look - this one has four.

time for some
line breaks.
i guess nothing
can be
totally original,
unless you're totally deluded.
but that's fine.

would you know that i was happy from the ending
of the last stanza of each poem?
i guess so.
you could sniff out a failure from a million miles away.

II: dad

well, here we are again.
only this time i'm rounding corners
and taking back
what i never knew i had.

i go past the rows of mourners,
and i rake the sand,
but how can i be sad?
i'll just back to the motel and pack.

i've left my eternal brand -
but i'm never the foreigner,
'cause i'm finally on track,
thinking this were never really this bad.

mom

gas, brake, clutch.
let's put this baby into reverse
and then many we'll break the curse -
travel 'cross the country, learning and such.

drive, park, first.
i've reached for the dreams
but nothing's ever as it seems,
and as for me, i'm prepared for the worst.

it wouldn't do any good to say i wish i were far away,
would it?

how we gonna pay...?

welcome to america,
where the howling goes through dawn
until the wolves all stop and the homeless start
and we wonder where we've gone.

ridden with disease,
my conscious fights to find a spark
to ignite the raw and dangerous feel that
comforts us in the dark.

but now and then
something shoots this way
and pierces through the shield,
singing,
sighing,
crying,
dying,
let's hear what we have to say.

and the smoke clears....

ashes, ashes
we
all
fall
down.

a final marriage of dreams and imagery before i start another day.

snow lined streets -
parapets of powder soft beneath my feet.
if it weren't for the cold,
i'd forget that i was living
and i'd walk off into nowhere
and finally start giving.

me and my planar

the piano pulses,
guitar twangs,
the world around me lets itself
become enveloped in the music of eras ago.

my heart races,
mind sings,
i think about the life head and
know that three years from now i'll be born anew.

what lies beyond?
cliché inquiries are just so right,
because all i can come up with is
the archetypal wistfulness of sixteen years of dreaming.

and you know
what?
it's alright.

inspired by something vague

i dreamt last night
i was over the edge,
drowning in heather and
crying out sand.

then i woke up sweaty
and looked at my hands,
saw the blood of the innocent,
and knew i was right.

frequency

another overcast day,
purgatory in the skies.
i'm wishing right now (as always) for it to change.
and what will it be?
a storm?
snow?

will the lightning crash down,
and will the thunder roll 'round
while i let myself down lightly amidst
the might of
nature.

or will peace come with morning,
in freezing angels pouring down,
that they might blot out the darkness
and remind me how wonderful
silence really is.

or maybe it will be sun.
i hope i'm not setting myself up for disappointment.

string arrangement

i could be working right now, you know that?
but an epiphany has suddenly emerged
from the cacophony in my head,
an ironic little laugh bubbles to a shout.

i think it's time we called a time out.
believe, me it's nothing that you've said.
only the invitations retracted seem to surge
to the forefront of the storm that i'm staring at.

and i can't honestly tell if i've been wronged,
so thorough is your devotion to pleasing the throng.

better than worse

slowly slipping into dissonant serenading,
i entertain the thought of hermitage,
because maybe my preconceptions were always wrong,
and idealistic behavior gets you nowhere in the end.
you really know how to put me in the mood - you know which.

attend the sail.

he could open his windows,
and maybe he should.
take off the blindfolds and shout in joy,
take in the sun!
it hasn't been so bright in so long.

he once played among the willows,
where others sat he stood.
he's a renegade and a knight playing coy,
see him run!
it hasn't been so bright in so long.

spies

the world around you is falling apart -
and by that i mean you are the eye of the storm.
and i'm sorry. but i dream too, you know.
and i know what it is to want more, feel it just out of grasp.

it's a dull throbbing and bobbing and in and out
until you know; even the evil is drawing you in.
am i right? i'd give my left eye to meet you in hell
and to battle it out with the forces that be,

and to forget what we know and let the music blare.
because it's so, so much better when it's written down.

dissonance

today was just like any other day.

right? that statement was too true to be true.
it feels as if i'm grasping for reasons that are not there,
running in circles when i should be happy just to see you.

because i need some motive to shout with joy,
afraid that i'll spend my days just pulling out my hair,
wondering whether or not i've made myself your latest toy.

cradle me until i've stopped picking at this skin,
'til my hair is long and my nails are smooth and i know you care.
this ice i'm skating on feels so nice right now, but it's so, so thin.

sestina of doom?

i open my eyes and search for love,
knowing contentedly that i am alone,
for it would seem that at my best i
can never open my eyes to take yours in,
and it is so peaceful and dark
that i know you will never really see me like this.

the moon likes nights like this,
when foolish bards attempt to love.
and the words are only lost in the dark,
so happy to be caught alone,
that no one but the stars may listen in,
and no on is speaking but i.

no one must suffer now that i
have admitted my part in this,
now that i am thoroughly outside-in.
now that i have admitted to admitting love,
i am finally content to lie alone,
smiling sleeplessly in the dark.

but as in everything, the darkness colors dreams dark.
in every possible way i
have committed myself once more to being alone,
inadvertently and sadly you are this:
nameless, faceless, eyeless, mouth-less, my love.
do you hear me? i find your eyes and look in.

i cannot look in without falling in.
blissfully discouraged, i myself am dark,
misunderstood, lost in the complications of love.
led to wander too far from myself i
finally resign myself to thinking this,
that i may learn to change in one day when i am with you and you alone:

alone
in
this
dark,
i
love.

for now i am truly alone, left to leave myself to the dark.
emotions may dive in, but i will always remain - well, "i."
i leave you, my love, with this: be true, my love, to love.