Oh look – look at that!
It’s cloudy and the skies are leaking!

Has it always been like this?

I’m trying to remember something beautiful…

But these memories
                             keep getting
                                                 washed            
  
                                                                   aw­ay


I don’t notice how drenched I am those times when I think about your eyes – I’m focusing – squinting to see something between the raindrops. I do that because I’m trying to remember why those eyes held my gaze in the first place.

Am I to always be a duck quacking for breadcrumbs?
Scarfing them down – quickly as if to free up space for the more to come.

I know there have to be more. Because I of all people deserve more. I do. I swear I do. I tell myself more is coming when I start choking on the wetness.

It's the only way to keep going - you have to trick yourself

It'll be better the next time even! Yea… yea it’ll be better –you know? ...the next time?

Because I can give it back even better... I want to give it too. I still give away the little dryness I have as soon as I get it… and I don’t expect anything back… but I do need more. As much as I try to hide it - as much as I look like I’m enjoying dancing in the rain and splashing in the puddles- I'm not

I’m always wet and cold.
I hate it so much.
I cry too much and it won’t stop leaking just like the skies.

I feel it streaking down my cheeks like raindrops on windshields. I let it run down the length of body and get caught in a pool in my belly button.

And so I laugh because I hate being cold and wet and in the rain but I’m still standing here. And the puddle in my belly button slides out and joins my teardrops – which combined with the rain makes me look normal I guess…

But in reality I’m just nakedly standing there…and it's so lonely.
It’s my entire fault too – No, it is. I’m a sponge on the inside.
I soak up every bit of moisture and stay wet – while everyone else is dry.

I daydream about being dry. I look down at my reflection in the puddles at my feet and see what it would be like to be dry. Sometimes I squat down and look really closely. I’ve even gone so far as to stick my head in and open my eyes – and it feels normal.

My eyes are open and I see me … doing those special things with you – that special someone. The Nicholas Sparks’ kind of special someone. The special someone that I see myself looking back to when I’m old and wrinkly and saying, “when I was with him I didn’t even notice I was drenched...I believed I was dry”.

But then I start getting a tingling feeling in my nose when I realize “oh silly, dumb, stupid me – I know I can’t breathe underwater”. And it’s true. I can’t. But I’ll try again tomorrow. Just watch.

I could use a towel. I would love an umbrella. A hot cup of tea would soothe me nicely. But your hands… those special someone hands are who I need to receive them from. Because they are the nicest. And I deserve the nicest.

There's just one problem: I can’t reach them through the puddle…

Down in the Glen at the end of the day
when the night's on the move
are the pixies at play.
I have seen them
dancing when
they thought nobody saw
I have seen them
and the clothes that they wore
were so bright
against the onset of night and the Queen
I have seen her sweet and demure
I have seen her
of that I am sure.

When the grass lays still aside the base of the hill
and the chill in the air
has a certain cool charm
take my arm.
Let us not tarry
let us not slide
for we must away to hide
stay silent and bide with me
we will assuredly see
the procession of lights.

And the Pixies set seal
between the true and unreal
and appeared as the Sun hid away
I watched as they ate
until the evening was late and the magic was high.
When you've got to ask why
because you don't really know
if what you see isn't part of some elaborate show
and you think it's a hoax
the joke's on you.
Pixies are true to belief
and believe it or not
Pixies have got their own world that very few see.

I have seen them
when down in the glen
when the day's slipped away
and often I pray that I'll see them again.
But silently see, that the Pixies will be
timid and shy.
I don't know how
don't know why
but this understanding that stands under his sky
is my joy.

I am right, I am crazy. I just want it to stop it from ruining my life. Its just stuck with me forever, there is nothing I can do about it. I fake a smile, a laugh, a moment of true happiness.
    
         There is no true light. Clouds of denial, I don’t remember how to smile a real smile. I just share a blank stare forever. Forever hungry for a way out, but I never find it. It manages to slips through my fingers like crystal sand falling through MY own hands.

I just scowl away from everyone, the people who are my friends are fading. Why cant I stop. Why cant I stop myself and as well as time, so I can just catch up with everyone so I am not crazy anymore, and take back all of what I lost. I want my life back. I will do anything for anyone I just wanna wake up with a real smile and share a few real laughs. If maybe manage a happy ever after.

Whats the point if it anyway. I know I screw up all the time. Well at anytime.
My dearest friend is dying and somehow I feel like its my fault. Like everything is my fault. I feel like a beat down being who just gives up all the time, because not ONE thing will give a chance at what I'm good at.

          I cut at my wrist to see that I am still insane. I want help but I fail at it. Just a young woman wanting just a little sanity. I lost everyone. I want everyone back. I lost my loved one, he was everything to me. The way he laughed and smiled made me smile all the time, laugh all the time. He made me happy. He kept my insanity in its cage, when he left, it broke free.


I don’t wanna be crazy anymore.
          It is destroying every last bit of me,
    and of my lonesome heart.

I've been writing for what seems like forever about you.
In different ways I've been severed angry.
In manic ways I've been crazy for you.
I've cried over you, I've cried for you, I've cried beneath you.
I've been the weight under your thumb and the force that guides your arms.
I've held you and I've written about that in a thousand different ways.
When you've been too heavy and when you wouldn't let me
put my arms around you long enough for you to realize
that I'm here and I'm tired of saying it-
I've already written it down.  
It's been six years but it feels like forever.
It feels like I've said all I can say, but I'm not done speaking.
I'm not done yelling and I'm not done writing.

But there's only so many poetic ways to call you an asshole.
There's only so many more nights
that I have you around close enough to feel you
and that's what I like to write about.
How I feel you.

You'll be gone soon and I haven't decided how to deal with that yet.
I just write about it because in some twisted fucking way I think that will fix it.
You're going away, but I won't tell you I miss you.
I'm not going to tell you that even if you beg me to say it.
Because that will make me weak and I need to learn
to be strong without you.

So when you get on your plane I won't be crying in the terminal.
I won't even make it to the airport actually,
because you don't want me there and I don't want to see you hate me
as the last sight of you before you go.
I'll be at home and when the clock strikes 6:45 I'll know you're leaving.
I know you'll be gone.
Then I'll crack open a bottle of red wine even though it's too early in the morning.
I'll sit on my couch and watch the sun come up without your existence,
pull out a pen and paper and write through you.
Write right black through you until the day has ended
which will feel like forever.
Forever, I'll write again.

Now a flowing air wise signs on waters streaming,
pouring forth from the pitcher of wisdom anew,
ever full undrunk,instinctive of human absolutes all.
Gods,men,minds all uranian battling calm,futile
knowing,caring, grasping,fathoming, conquering
tidings evil of powered souls unholy,knowing,uncaring.
Searing lightning flashes of intellects just,truly intuitive
burning stiff coffined conventions,dry dead rules of yore
melting old cold solid knowledge cruel of Draco obsolete
to humane rivers gently righteous, of merciful hearts
ripping away ways human sordid and corroded deep
repaving with light golden love those roads to hearts.
is it enough I wonder, have we become naturalized?

My bare feet touch every dampened board
as I walk along the sand-dusted pier.
Seagulls cry softly in the background
as salt coats my skin.

A shadow dashes by muttering
angrily. I follow and his pace quickens
faster and faster until we are running.

The waves grow taller the further we run
until we reach the pier’s end.
The man stops and turns toward me.  He grips the railing.
His mouth opens to speak, but the swell breaks.

I find myself back on the beach watching
the waves drift in and out, eating away
at the land. Yet nothing changes.

I don't know
If what I do
If what I see
If what I feel,

I don't know
If any of that
Is true anymore.

I don't know
If I am
Me.

I don't know
That little boy
I see through the windows
Of my car
Of my eyes,

He
Doesn't
Exist.

I know that,
I'm sure of that.
Then why

Why does he
Keep
Popping
Up?

Who is he?
What does he want?

Your life
He whispers,
As the car
Drives away
Leaving him
In the rain
Again.

Your happiness
He reminds
As I stay in my room
Thinking
Thinking about life
About death,
About all that's happening.

He's there to remind me
Always
That I can never be
Who I
Used
To be.

I don't know
Who I am anymore,
What I'm doing,
What I'm here for.

All I know
Is that I wish
For a car,
A car
And a man.

Is that really why
My name
Is called
What it is?

To save the man
From the car.
If I do that

Will the boy disappear?