isolated movement and
the blank static of silence.
i lie in wait
if waiting lacked purpose
if lying meant secrets.
stark white on tired eyes.
chiming down the witching hour.
i've done it all before,
blood runs thick with hoarded words.
i wonder if you have them too.
i know
i hope
you don't.
(liar)
the world is muffled here,
and mechanic whirring.
letter by letter by
misstep by misstep.
all i can think is
oh

if you could see me now.

poetry
is a certain kind of death
all in itself.

the sort that strings your heart out
on the line.

the sort that rattles your breath
against the bars of its cage.

the sort that numbs your hands
and toes
all extremities.

the sort that digs a graveyard
in the ruins of a mind.

i'm

high on something like drowning.

high on something like death.

half eaten
half ******
chewed on one edge
melted too quickly
with the summer sun
thongs and a beach towel
discarded, too sticky
for hands that can't love yet
bounce once
spin twice
flat on the concrete
reflect
in orange
the happy rays
as laughter walks by
shoeprints and toes
kicked once
slid twice
to rest in the gutter
waiting for rain
two seasons away
then down
down
down
now
somewhere that is not here.

I have trouble with existing,
as if I lack some proper requisite for insisting to persist.
I feel like just a composite of so many billion molecules.

I have a hard time defining truth.
So many contradictory influences tell me what to do.
I feel I'm better off sleeping straight through every single birthday.

I have never felt just simply okay.
Doubt hits me like a tidal wave.
It takes me away to far-off places,
and I can't say I mind it.

oh, if you knew
my love of you
the way i see the colour blue
my dandelion heart,
what would you do?

oh, if you saw
my gnashing jaws,
my visions of a million doors,
my labyrinthine head,
would you want more?

oh, if you took
the way i shook,
my thousands of unwritten books,
my young and shaky hands,
would you still look?

oh, if you heard
of all i've learned,
of things i've locked away and burned,
my intermittent joys,
what would your words?

oh, if i told
the world so old
and finally stood strong and bold,
my secrets made of steel,
would you stay cold,
oh
my dandelion soul?