In the dark of night, in the middle of a storm
A dish falls, shatters
A shriek tears the relative silence
Pale pink blood blossoms in the water
While rich red blood wells up in the hand
Tears falling like a blinding waterfall
Stabs and throbs of aching stinging searing pain
Blood and pain and tears fill the mind
A flash of white tissue beneath the torrents of red
Panting sobs and hyperventilation
Panicking as victim is rushed to the ER
Mother tries to comfort daughter with story of healed,
Previously lacerated toes
Two words blurted between gasps of pain: NOT HELPING
Arrive to an empty lobby, excepting a nurse and receptionist
Focus on nothing, only the hand
The possible tendon torn, the skin shredded, the blood spilt
Dishtowel now soaking red irony fluid instead of clear soapy
The story repeated 6, 7, 8 times
A nurse asks if I smoke or drink
A radiologist asks if there is any chance for pregnancy
And for a moment I am shocked out of my pain into pondering
The corruption of the modern generations,
Such that I am asked these questions
Any friend of mine would quickly tell that
No, I'm not that kind of teenager... but how many are?
Then I am whisked from the x-ray room
Off for stitches, they say my tendon is cut
That I need stitches
The fingers no longer gush, but that triviality is soon remedied
A doctor probes the wound for shards
Nurse flushes it clean with chlorohexadine
Both renew the flow
Doctor returns, stitches both fingers and chats away
Grand tally of five stitches, a splint, blankets of guaze,
And a roll of medical tape
Prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics, both given
A scoffing glance, but instructions are followed
Forbidden from any activity with the right hand by my mother
I struggle even to write, simple chores soon a nuisance
First time the splint and stitches are gone,
Doctor number two declares my hand usable
First time the little finger bends, the half healed skin splits
So all for a plate, a hand was rendered more useless

I dont want my temporary happiness hanging from you, tugging at your lips
Felt beneath my hips, as I lie still under your kiss

Cause my happiness is like a vine
That no good ****, clinging on to bricks, splint with twine
Pretty in it's own way but poison when you touch

Pieces of it living in the crevices and cracks
Determined to come back, always to come back, to try just one more time.

I'm afraid my happiness will entangle you,
And dare I fall, will strangle you
Leaving you helpless as I drop

See, this feeling it is temporary,
Sadness blooms inside of me
No matter how many chemicals or pills I pop
Like an axe to the vine, gone with one chop, one feathered tick of the clock

Never meant to grow again, but nonetheless,
will never stop.

A daunting sky releases the moon's glow
on the shy lotus sprouting from
the cave's hollow splint.

The wind bullies her fragile frame
but she stands unbreakable.
She is unwavering and fearless.

The showering rain chills her spine,
but the lotus is numb to its touch.
It will not control her fore she has learned

to weather the storm.
So she smiled and danced in the rain
and the moon envied the lotus flower
of the night.

I'm A Suicide Bomb.
A Nuclear Explosion Of Unexplainable Inadequate Ambition.
A Hand Granade, Pull My Pin And  Watch Me Self Destruct.
A Land Mine Beneath Seven Inches Of Soil, Tensed Like Piano Wire, Ready To Sing Under Pressure. Ready To Scream.
Genocide Of My Own Veins. Pull Them One By One, Out Of Their Homes And Send Them Off To Interment Camps, Built To Hold The Blood Of A Body That Only Betrays Me.
I'm Holding Each Limb Hostage, Each Finger A Prisoner Of War, Every Fingertip A Monument Where Everyone I Have Ever Loved Will Mourn The Tragedy Of My Own Destruction.
Gas Masked And Gagging, They Will Always Ask Why I Did It.
A Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Diagnoses To Give Them Some Closure. I

Know They Didn't Understand The War I Was Waging Beneath My Ribs.

Waking Every Morning, Clawing My Way Through The Wreckage, With Knees And Palms Painted Filthy Black, Ears Ringing, Like The Sound Of A Thousand Dead Voices Vibrating,

I Have To Tell Myself It Must Be Happening For A Reason.
I've Been Wearing A Kevlar Vest Made Of Lies, White Ones, Stained Red.
A Purpose Born Inside Me, I Have To Ask How Much Longer Must I Keep Running?
I Have To Believe The God You Pray To, Prays To Someone Like Me, Because Who Else Would Declare War On This Kind Of Humanity.  

Every Day Is A Battle, Every Aching Moment Is A Last Attempt At Redemption,
Every Bone In This Body Is A Bayonet Aimed To Splint Apart My Skeleton.
This Isn't A War Anymore.
This Is Terrorism.
Terrorized My Paper Thin Skin,
Handed Me Black & Blue ink, and Told Me To Write Out My Surrender On My Skin, Like Bruises

Branded,
Wrapped In Kelodial Bandages.

I Am Damage.

I Am Destruction.

I Am Savage.

I Am. Terrified.

My Home Is A War Zone, Scabbed Over And Still Bleeding, No Where Is Safe, Not Even Inside My Own Skull.
I Am Eyelid Explosions And Neplam, Burning One Hundred Thousand Degrees Above My Own Boiling Point.

An Open Wound. Bullet Bomb Shell, Left With More Holes Than Whole.

Had Spent 6 Years On This Planet, 2,190 Days Too  Short To Understand What It Meant To Watch Twin Towers Fall.
They Said The Word Attack.
Lived Eleven More Years In This Body, In An Existence That Seems To Only Be Fighting Against It's Own Skin, Cutting It Into Pieces, Cutting Corners, Cutting Edges, Looking For Answers Beneath Whatever Remains Of Me.


How Can You Win A Battle When The Only One You Are Fighting Is Yourself?

I Think My Violet Eyes And Indigo Insides Believed In A Peace Treaty, But I Have Shrapnel Wedged So Deeply Inside Me, That It's Become Difficult To Understand Existing Without It.

How Do I Fight An Invisible Enemy, With Kerosene Lips And Matches For Fingertips?

I Am A Solider.
There Was A Draft And It Consisted Of A Single Six Digit Number That Matched My Birthday,
Like A Bad Joke,
I Can't Remember When It Began, All I Know Is That I Haven't Lived in A Time Without Bloodshed.

Mental Illness Runs In My Family,
A Weapon Of Mass Destruction,
Built Into This Blood,
O Positive,
Unsure,
Yet AB Negative
Of Where It Will Take Me,
Except To Live A Life Wondering If I'll Catch The Family Flu,
They Call This Biological Ware fare.

How Do We Wash The Blood Out Of Our Own Genes?

Us. The Sick Of Soul, The Diseases And Dying, The Psychosomatic, Sociopathic, Undiagnosed And Overmedicated,

Must Tell Ourselves

That Atleast Suicide Bombers..

Die For Something.

I filled your veins with water and wrote you down on white paper so I didn't have to read you back anymore. Girl's got a suicide pact across the pacific and all I can do is taste the dust.
2. There is a certainty in the way your body moves out time with itself when you think too much.
3. You told me you wanted to be a saint but you were too afraid of the sight of god. When you asked what belief tasted of they told you: fresh buttercream and a wasp's sting. We didn't see you for days.
4. There is a certain tension and it only exists between the bends of girl's legs and the concrete which holds them stronger than any arms could.
5. I want to run every cliche by you and watch you hold hands into the night with it instead of me.
6. Some people can be replicated entirely out of candle wax.
7. WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SO ******* SELF AWARE ALL THE TIME. You can't even watch yourself.
8. You know you're a halfway house of cells and who are you to say I can't keep up?
9. Say would you tell me if I was just a little off key?
9. Would you tell me the answers to the questions I never asked?
9. Would you play that evening differently if you could turn back the hands that bind you?
10. I burnt you a bridge and sent you the fire like we could ever fill a room with your god. I want to ask him what he thinks of our sins.
11. There is a fluidity in the way your words turn back on themselves.
11. There is a fluidity in the way you turn back on yourself.
11. There is a fluidity in the way people leave doors open for you.
12. I don't think I'd even know what to say to you if I saw you.
13. I only feel comfortable on even numbers.
13. I guess I made myself an odd number.
13. I don't know what we're left with.
13. This is not how we were supposed to end up.
14. I wish you could see the holes you left in the back of my throat.
15. Loving you was as easy as leaving the lights on.
16. And that walk to your parents house was a floodlit symphony like you capitalised every word of every passage I wrote about you with
17 reasons to stay.
And 18 to leave.

The first was the last time I shook like a guard rail and you were a concrete staircase, and I swear, I ain't never seen nothing like you yet.
The second: my fist on your name. But I am here now, like a lit splint bursting into flames, you won't ever find a ghost like me again babe.
The third. And you just want to **** everything. I said you just want to **** everything in your Berlin Wall house.
Your girl's got a bullet hole for a mouth and when it rains, it really does pour round here.

A sneaking suspicion of pompous protrution

A glimmering splint of carnivorous contempt

We bleed here for the city that eats us alive
kids with lost souls and fashion beneath which they hide

A souless confusion
puppet masters beyond this illusion

The tables have turned and the kids turn back.
Relying on pineal secretions or atleast drug induced apartheid to set them back on track

A concrete master ruled by rubber slaves so much evidence and yet so little dismay

**** the clock before it clocks you out
Your empty shallow lives only reflecting the smell of sweat your bodies do not wish to confide  
Alone in a plastic prison without a scent of discontent for the blood that stagnates inside

They would not defend it -
dangling over the gate, split nosed –
the fall I watched from inside,
so jealous.

They would not reason it;
splint in the accident
of the wasp pumped crimson
lip, nor my lopsided

forgiveness for smacking
the backs of their laughter
so. They would not look
away

from the wind that ripped
my threads of hair -oil
slick - the slate of
what became so readily

an excuse to cry. Their
eyes became the
grinds in my cheek;
a pummeled day

where fists would grace
and I mapped my desk
with what they wouldn’t
do; the lines of every taut

lesson  I held thick,
the thumb pounced athletic  
nib of my pen
crawling my arm

with schools of red fish;
itching arithmetic.
How could they know
which colours I use

to dot the I;
that spot
being so readily marked
with their X?

They say falling in love takes a while
But I knew the second you made me smile

When we said our goodbyes
I only wanted to close my eyes

The thing is that a broken heart almost heals
The shattered pieces goes back to the old feels

But my heart will always ache
Because there's a splint which didn't find its place

And I know when I try loving someone new
That splint will remember you

Even tough i in every place
Keeps seeing your face

I'll let the memories fade
Continue my live in a haze

I want you to know I wish we were soulmates
But i guess that just isn't our fates

1992, seldom electric fire
  Top tier tenement
grease paint balcony
White flack veranda, in cold
     Aircraft damage
diamond hill - screen run
  centipedes crawling from under carpets
  Three stacked wage
Lighters tossed in
click click click
            Shared alternate
          Wiping vandal on jeans
- aquatic codex
     Ran       G - Er
Cleaning ***** pipes to play
     Brushes
Pushing out bits of pigeon meat
             Nature
                   Takes back
                         Inner pink
walking through valley, 2 shops
   Butchers, newsagents, bag on back, 75p Irn Bru
     - niaroo, old folks
a Roman decoration
   Holding hands, woken camping
Damp - Sleep
             Dams
man-made, man-made
   shoes
Taken off
  tiptoeing in inch high slow decline
Straddling fallen tree rings
           Egyptian replicant
      Citerazine, bag full of frogs
       Tree swings
                  - rope burn
    Cap full of Night Nurse
And a newtonian lung full of phlegm
  Mattress protector, cold sweat, menthol
                      - Or
  Retailed Jelly Beans pushed through face
      Lactic acid
          food pylons
     change t-shirts on trains home
     Thawing moments
     In a misty aether
       - That we found
            While eating in the Rain
     Sidestep
         Sidestep
              sidestep
         Til' we ***** rocks on waxpaper
                                Quasi-negativity
overheard on the 57th chemical bus
           Imitated cough
  Flash point culture
Aching on
a woken bad comfort, 50 minutes
    Surfing on liquid Archipelagos
- Camping - On a swollen inner thigh
                 Cause the
                 (carriage)
                           Today
Several dead.
   Yet cosmos vanished lacquer
                              Manslaughter
boiled mouthwash
       in the future
- drole
        acryllic ****
Shoes taken off at doors
      A need to laugh, Not in bars
    Not in rigor, not in Lips
Blankets on open doors to Firs
         rings century heat fort
  eight days external
             licking
     The imaginary
                  (Wound)
Shameless St. John
  Bricks
  Smashed off 204th launch
          finger split.   Splint
      -Fibration
              g
               oo -
finding Love in Junipers
        enchanted, Vanilla pod
Apple fries, casual ***, loose horseshoes
    Draper
           &
             a cold Vermont
        Liberty, capitol savings/Planck
        Ever twisting Venetian control
           Executive seep
        - In Sunlight
          skies scraped Cosgrove, Skies
presents, present
maybe sunny side of Barstow
    Agony aunt Limericks
and - Deep thrombosis
Let's build pyramids          In our Dreams
the night time sky
here
Will         never     Win    any    Awards

If only I had heard the words themselves
expelled unmistakably in blades from
a swirling voice, prismatic in black,
and      simply      inescapable permanence
through me, saying
you are condemned, I would have nodded, nodded

Unmistakable, too, though, is my thought
and it lashes      simply      through me
more than a burden      on a via dolorosa
asking what sound the ground would make,
were my shoulder to dip, it to fall, were I, in bareness,
to run towards a break in the confluence

My shoulder throbs critically certain moments,
possibly, the way water when it mantles
under itself, when its skin just about
feels      itself      out
Though solitude, it could be made of wood
to splint or splinter and, further, throbbing is just

blood, in as would be out, so      quickly do my
bones straighten, wait for swirls to slow,
silence to recede back towards
sussurating laodicean voices, again, speaking
only to me, too      too clearly      a calloused truth,  
and for the confluence to nod, nod      then close the break.

Never have I been so sane to realize
I am so insane that I am the only one to see
That this insanity is what makes me sane
This person I have come to be.
I've unlocked the key to an x-ray machine
And I can see all these broken, cracked bones
I held this here picture to the blinding light
Society is what I was shown.
And I am insane because these powers I have
Are blessings and weights in disguise
Because I understand these broken up cracks
That people have hidden from our eyes.
And I am insane enough to think it will change
Some cement and maybe a crutch or two
That a cast can mend up such a sad little world
It can change because I have thought it through.
I am sane enough to come to terms
With this is a world that a splint cannot fix
We live in a place that is too far broken and gone
We're too far insane in this mix.
And I am sane enough to figure it out
That I am merely one singular soul
A singular, broken, and determined little girl
That's insane enough to make the world her goal.

The explosion lasted for 27 seconds
The fallout, a few years more.
I could comprehend the what where and why’s
-How the ceilings became the floors.
What was left was rebuilt, by
Who was left and had the will
I know, I’ve seen, I felt
-Splint delivered a demise unheard
Shrapnel was what I was dealt.

In fiscal time, there needs no restart
No physical wound, but shrapnel at heart
Sure we fought, and some still survive
We will all live with debris for the rest of our lives.

may i too see the exponential
splint ering of a tree
into branches with the foremost
awareness of the tetragrammaton
as keenly as i swore to recount
the stump made into duo
of alveoli made exampling
and thereby exponential to a gratifying
mystery of the unsolvable y (pin-point,
your self - and as many girls
in the green Ukraine as those absolving rites to
a marriage, beyond? then i too eager claimant
of a bachelor status! i too the stature of exampling
the bachelor status and hopes of polygamy
for the beggar women who can't be left
bereft of materialism of any kind
since the dog, since the dog, since the leash).

He was not beautiful.
Unlike the others, those spectacular animals
That grew exotic, wild
He was cultivated carefully
Handicaps tied to a splint
Hold him up and covered in burlap
--Milkfed--
Long ago, he had played his card for Unique
And got a handful of Subtle Wrongness
Poor thing, pitiful and susceptible to the hunt,
Described remotely in their ****** chant
A sign, a portent dropped
With ominous carelessness
It's inevitable--
Gross ineptitude, even without the physical weakness,
Is no match for Chaos
You know the end...
The Beast
Will feast

You can be

You can be the whim
The lucky guess I take that leads to the right path
You can be the drive
The force that pushes me to finish the task
You can be the will
The magnet in me that attracts to your needs
You can be the goodness
The flavor and taste of the sweets on which I feed
You can be the seed
The inception from which I sprout my dreams
You can bet he muse
The plume that moves and expresses my moods
You can be the splint
The brace that mends my concentrations break
You can be the shore
The wave of ****** that leaves me drowned in your wake
You can be the home
The Four walls and roof that shelter
You can be the fabric
The hemmed time that holds the space we share together
You can be the earth
The ground that is firms that steady my pace
You can be just you
The all of the above that took my breath away.

when i was a sophomore in highschool
it seemed like half of my class gave themselves stick and pokes,
homemade DIY tattoos out of india ink and mom’s sewing needles
etched dot by dot into their skin.
we were sixteen;
we all wanted to be something permanent.
but even the ink fades eventually
and all that’s left is discolored skin and scars.
everything fades eventually.
even we all decompose eventually,
but i’ve been trying not too hard to think in terms of a legacy
because words like that are so heavy.
i don’t want to work so hard to have something to leave behind
that i have nothing while i’m here.
everyday the number of our hours fluctuates
with every little decision we make,
everyday the length of our legacy is determined
by what we’re leaving behind in our wake.
i'm afraid i've been taught to plan for the future so thoroughly
that it has stolen my lust for the now.
i could tell you my five year plan
but i’m not sure if i could tell you why i want to get up out of bed tomorrow
or what makes me excited to be alive.
in planning i’m always looking down at my hands,
always looking ahead of me but never right in front of me.
i’ve been trying to build a monument
but i forgot to make it mean anything.
so wash me away like footprints in the beach,
i was never really here unless i was with you anyways.
i have an ink-stained love letter and camera roll full of memories
as a testament to what was, or better yet to what wasn’t.
and everybody told me not count hours, but you know i never listened.
none of us ever listened, cautionary tales like warning signs
and we ignored them all.
we were all sixteen, getting chipped down and broken up
for the first time and we all wanted to be whole again.
you can put back together fragments,
but you’ll still see where the cracks were.
you take your broken bones and you learn to splint them
until they heal up,
until you only remember when it’s raining and you’re aching
for something you thought you buried.
we just a bunch of fistfight kids getting out of love
with ****** knuckles and smirks like “you should see the other guy”
we were all each other’s punching bags
and i think we all liked bruises
because we thought if we pressed them than they’d scar,
then at least something would stay permanent.
but it was 4 AM, all the hours flew away and all my tattoos were stick on.
you were always right and i was always wrong.
so let’s pretend that all this empty street in front of us is really ours
and let’s get pulled over for noise disturbances
like we were always laughing too loud, scared shitless
and staring at each other’s faces
in the red and blue lights until everything looks purple.
let’s stay out until the sun starts to rise like we’ve got nowhere to be,
fumbling around with bottle openers and each other’s hearts.
let’s do things not just to collect experiences,
let’s do things not just to say we did.
let’s do things that will only be immortalized by stories
because i think that’s why we tell stories, or at least i know that’s why i do:
the need to be remembered staves off the fear of being forgotten.
and i am no exception,
i don’t care about the slowly expanding sun, i just… want to be someone.
you see it’s just that a lot people want to go out with bang,
but i ain’t trying to go out at all.
because i used to be terrified of being forgotten,
i used to be terrified of leaving this world without so much as a foot print.
i remember i wanted to be quoted,
i wanted my words to live forever even if i had no pulse.
i wanted to know about immortality.
and i’m not all talk, i’m all writer’s block;
unable the eloquently string myself together like poetry.
because i’ve learned words don’t make you permanent,
they just make you a little harder to wash away.
and photographs don’t keep things from fading,
they just make it hurt more to remember them.
i’ve learned words just prolong death, they don’t dispel it.
so let’s do this.
it’s the closest i’ll ever get to the fountain of youth,
to undeniable truth, to lasting.  
let’s do this, let’s tell stories, let’s talk tongued tied with poetry.
again and again, every night.
let’s get on stage and root around in our chest cavities,
try to find where we misplaced our hearts for a start
and then try to find all the truths hidden inside ourselves
we always swore were there.
because this is the only time i feel like the world can’t knock me down,
because this is the only time that i wouldn’t even care if it did.
because i always want to feel like this.
i want to feel like i matter for one fleeting, fleeting moment.  
because if i could capture this moment in my hands like a firefly
then it would still die.
it would still die even if you had to pry it out of my cold dead fingers.
so something is not good because it lasts.
something is good because it matters while it did.

I saw a falling star this morning.
It fell straight through the hole you're carving in my heart.
Right between Orion and Cariopea.
It looked just like you in the dawn.
It destroyed my face with a frown.
It killed a hope i had when i drowned in your bath water.
When my purpose gets lost in the bubbles.
Id help you all i could, could i help you at all.
Supporting your ribs like a diaphragm.
I can be the buttress to your breath.
Could, could i only help.
Bindings on a broken ankle to mend you to stand.
Splint a broken heart with a heat trail left by that meteor that is burning through.
The heats absence would take away my life.
The burn from pain would flatline me and i would not know life nor death.
Remain in an infinite torpor.
Stasis to mind and feeling.

I lay in a drunk stupor sober.
I writhe in a motionless pain.
I die in a spring of health.
And i Own in a body i don't claim.

you broke your arm last week because you
fell out of a tree, because
you are a ten year old boy. when the bone
cracked you cried and were loud as a howler monkey
when he can't find any fruit to eat. but now
you have your cast on, and you are dangerous and
cool. there is a fire of adventure kindled
in your eye, right? you will tell the story about
how you had to use magazines and rubber bands
to hold your arm in place, before you could get
to the doctor (don't tell them your dad set the makeshift
splint for you. don't tell them how you sobbed
through the entire car ride). you can do anything now,
daredevil. weren't they jealous when Christine cooed over how brave
you are, when you pointed out the branch that you fell from? (they
don't need to know you fell off the lowest branch)
she's your girlfriend now, because you are so brave, but
she will only kiss you on the cheek, because you are a boy.
you are hot **** (you learned to curse when your father
exclaimed a new vocabulary when he saw you fall). don't tell them
you fell out of the tree because you slipped on
some rotten bark, and if they find out? the worms wriggling
inside the dead wood attacked you like a more potent
hydra than the one you learned about in class.

A desire , a crave we look among it as if a dream and till this day I ask myself why?
What drives this desperation towards such an simple thing, what leads to the hunger and deficiency  to what it may bring .
What is this prodigious desire that even the rich cannot even admire.
What is this delectable delight, that makes the eyes of those who seek it shine like stars in the night ?
What is this mending enchantment, that cannot even be attained by the most powerful commandment?
I ask you now do you possess this heavenly thing? If you say no I will tell you it’s nothing but a broken string?
You desire but it is there , you crave it as you pull on your hair.
It is a small fire, a burning splint getting smaller it becomes a hidden glint.
You have the ability to make it shine, all you need is a little wine.
You have the ability to seek it through, with the love and kindness that comes from you .
Beneath the confusion outside, there goes on a battle between two wolves inside a seclusion of your brain but the inclusion of your heart.
Wolf evil, he is Anger, jealousy ,greed, resentment, lies and ego he feeds on your weakening fire like a weevil he feeds on your desire.
Wolf good, he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility and kindness . he is weak at times but he has the ability to create inside you a beautiful thoughts that ring like chimes.
Do you wonder which will be defeated and how this battle will sunder?
Like happiness it is simple. The one you feed is the one that grows.
So wonder, think, which wolf inside you do you feed the most.

the splint to mountains trollop
and ecstasy of luminous death
a sunging light is hurdy gurdy
and
            to behind
their rocky stiffened pose
it's a plunging ***** of deeply laughing violet

Bone mice and malice
Splint sores and callused
Morrow moths in chalice  
O dear friend Miss Alice

In a cave my shadow is broadcast on wall
A recollection of forms and participation for all
Smoke rings and incense for an instance of alone
“A hermit” I said aloud, in the place I call home

Crouching slick faced in the depths of the pines,
Drums are echoing in me like dead men.
The forest always knows how it will end,
The thick autumn painted crimson with blood.
The deer murmurs as I slowly take sight
And ran for miles after his mortal wound.

Through ravines and thorns I carefully wound:
His corpse was still beating among the pines.
Cone-needle bed is his funeral site.
Death has become the tooth-scarce grin of men.
My hands are on the shoulders of my blood:
A burden he must carry through the end.

Not long after this the deer filled the end
Of our truck and the ragged red-brown wound
Pained my eyes, hissing at me as the blood
Fled from it like a warrior who pines
For home. We cut him apart with old men
And the winter made our breath turn to sight.

Two months later my kin’s ribs are the sight
That tell me it is all about to end.
Where once stood muscle now lay paper men
Leaking memories, ready to be wound
In the splint’ring rigidity of pine
And finally make good their debt of blood

We are starving without the nature-blood
And the black smoke pollutes the holy site
Where killing became living in the pines.
Now there are machines living at the end
Of my fence, chewing on the trees, wounding
My mother with the oiled claws of un-men.

I meandered slowly towards the dead men
Now laid enshrouded deep within the blood
Of the forest. I am the living wound
Among the trees. Wooden markers show sights
Of a generation shortly ended.
There is no life among the wretched pines.

Now coming are the haunted men who pine
for the forest of their blood, but the end
has come and earth-wounds are their only sight.

An angel fell to the earth one day
And lay with a broken wing,
I saw her lying out on the path
And thought I was seeing things.
‘Are you really what I think you are?’
I said, but I saw she cried,
So picked her gently up in my arms,
‘I’d better get you inside.’

Her tears were staining her pale white cheeks,
And weeds were caught in her hair,
The wing was twisted and limp, I saw,
And I couldn’t help but stare.
‘I think I must look a fright,’ she said,
And dabbed away at her tears,
‘I flew straight into a plane, and still,
The engines ring in my ears.’

I laid her down on the couch inside
Stood back, was taking her in,
‘I thought you couldn’t be seen by men,
You’ve set me to wondering!’
Her dress was white, but was stained with mud
From the place she’d lain, by the gate,
And on the wing was a trace of blood
While feathers fell in the grate.

‘We’d best get that in a splint,’ I said,
And busied myself a while,
Tearing a sheet into long white strips
And setting the kettle to boil.
‘I’d take you down to the hospital
But the shock would be hard to gauge,
They’d probably call in the military,
And lock you up in a cage.’

‘I only came to escort you in,’
She said, ‘and now all this fuss.
You should have been walking the street by now,
And due to be hit by a bus!
They’re going to be mad when I get back home,
I’ve botched the eternal clock,
And you’ll live on past the danger zone,
While I’ll end up in the dock.’

An icy shiver ran down my spine
Like someone walked on my grave,
‘You say I was going to die today,
But you were late, so I’m saved!’
‘If you can see me you’re still not safe
Beware of all things on wheels,
They’ll have to revise your life spell now
If a few more years appeals.’

‘I’ll take whatever you’ve got,’ I said,
‘I’m not quite ready to go,
There’s too many books I haven’t read,
And women to, well, you know!’
They must have made a decision then
For the wind blew through in a gust,
Instead of an angel, sitting, there
Was a cloud of Angel Dust.

David Lewis Paget

She has beauty; for she is told. Her dark brown eyes shadow the unknown because her bangs conceal apart of her sight. Her long, dark hair hangs down by her waist with some splint ends. Her dark skin reveals her nationality of being an Italian. She is short and petite, and she smiles at almost anything. Her body expresses art. With a tattoo on the back of her neck of her zodiac sign and then one on her hip with her God child's name, connecting to a butterfly. The diamond on her left hand shows that she will soon be married; to a man who became her best friend.


            She is a Capricorn who is ambitious, mentally strong, but is not easily understood by others. Her wisdom makes her successful in her achievements. Leadership is a demand for her and she is often stubborn. She withholds her independence, along with pride and does not like to show weakness. She likes to learn and understand about other individual's emotions and needs. Her kind heart makes it hard to leave a person suffering.  She always tries to lend a helping hand, but often involves herself too much with other's personal life. But, even though she is kind she is often underestimated. Her fights sometimes come without a warning and when her anger shows she seems to be a different individual. So, she tries hard not to reveal the side of her that shows hatred.

            She is artistic. She enjoys drawing and writing by expressing her feelings. Her writing is her life story that she likes to look back and reflect on. Her poems are one of the most prized processions that she keeps. It helps her to realize and understand the person that she manifested to be. She has a strong love for animals. Always wanting to save and adopt every unwanted creature. She enjoys interacting with wild nature.

i'd like to say i'm sorry
to everyone i've inconvenienced with my identity.
i'm sorry that it's such a struggle for you to say "he"
i'm sorry i'm not a dog so you can actually feel guilty
about misgendering me.
i didn't know that who i am is such a problem
that i cause you so much trouble
and i should take responsibility.
it's okay to pause and correct yourself
and maybe talk to me afterwards
but when you blow it up and complain
you make me want to scream.
for some reason you treat pets better
and i understand, i know
but i deserve a little more respect than something owned.
i'm sorry i inconvenience you with the way i dress
that i don't look enough like a boy for you to even try
i'm sorry that i don't wear basketball shorts and nike shirts
to convince you i have a *****.
but guess what?
i dont.
i'm a boy who wears pink with
"female parts"
because you are too scared to say "******".
do you ask random people to pull down their pants so you can validate them?
if we stick to gender norms
would you tell a girl to take her pants off
because they're not "ladylike"?
meanwhile you tell boys that it's okay to take girls' clothes off without asking.
you say you acknowledge my identity
yet you still tell me to take off my clothing because it's too "girly".
and when i say
"what's wrong with that?"
you spit back
"nothing, then why aren't you a girl?"
I don't need to be a girl to respect a human being
but that's how it generally is.
i'm 15 and i know more than most 60-year-olds
we should know better by now to at least treat people like people
because i am not a pet
i do not have a leash
you cannot dress me or neuter me
i can have whatever genitals i want
because you don't own me.
i am not a slave you had centuries ago and still make jokes about
i shouldn't have to apologize for that.
i'm not a wound you can heal
you can't just apply burn cream and a band-aid and forget about me.
don't treat me like a broken bone
like i need a splint
though i'm not okay on my own,
i don't need you to tell me who i should be.

When i looked in your eyes you said you saw mine staring back at you. But that was a lie. You held me when I cried and I believed the sincerity in your sweet innocence and honesty. But that was also a lie. When you held me at night and told me everything was going to be fine and made my heart beat to sounds of your drum for once I believed you. And in future thoughts hoped to be with you. You have a charismatic aura that radiated kindness and I know you never meant to hurt this damaged heart and wanted to splint it up with your kind gestures and take me under your also broken wing but those eyes you
Claimed to see weren't mine. They were hers and that should have been fine. But this heartbreak seems to be a different kind. The kind that hits hard.  because hurt was never the intention but your heart beats for her and always will and that's something you failed to mention. I wanted to stay in those unfamiliar arms and believe that if I tried hard enough I could have you. But I guess when you wanted me to give everything up that was just a fantasy of getting your heart out of a limbonic routine. And when you said you might be able to love me that was a lie. But there was real truth when I said that you are a mental magician. Someone who's heart is really full of love just not for this person. So I am forced to forgive you for your heart that's too big for two. And I want you to know that I fully forgive you. I'm only cynical because I want someone to feel for me the way that you do. She's a beautiful lucky girl and she deserves what you give. And I want you to know your a person who helped me remain wanting to live. I have a love hate relationship now that our escapades have quit. But im also sorry your heart had to bear all this ****. Because all I needed was someone to understand me and you did. I thank you for teaching me many new things. But most importantly you made me believe I could be happy again.

A splint,
immobilising me yet keeping me in shape.
A yacht,
cruising me yet drowning me in waters.
A blanket,
warming me yet hiding me from the light.

A person,
reviving me yet feeding on me at the same time.

abdomen muscle
sores.

floating inconspicuous,
intermittent,
along our constant wavelength of nullified measurement.

swallowing pills that were made to be my mistress,
it's shattered glass that hasn't yet numbed this instant.

everything is just a leg waiting on a shin-splint.

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If I was the only reason for you to stay clean, what does that make me?

I feel like I was a rule you wanted to break. A chain for you to pull on.

I wish I could have been the difference I needed in you. But there's no reasonable way for me to hold myself responsible for your change.

Heaven and hell both know you would rather leave than be responsible for mine.

So in what fairness is it that I take charge of your life?

I cannot be the cure for your lifestyle. I cannot be held responsible for your sobriety and your relapse all wrapped up in one resentful package.

I wanted so badly for us to share our growth. But the expectation we both set for each other now seems like it was rooted in desperation and spite.

Wasted life like mine trying to be the splint you use to graft your life together and hold it fast while you grow, feels like a fence trying to stop a tree from expanding.
Stunting your growth and breaking me in the process, to no avail.

Bark engulfing my time-fragile frame of linked cage, hopelessly there to keep you safe. Your strong life breaking and bending my twisted metal body, determined to taste the poisoned stream on the other side of my weathered wire you see so clearly as prison bars. Awaiting my mistake as to justify a sip of the lethal spring so close to your roots.

I so desperately have tried to keep you safe from those toxic waters you are so dedicated to live by. I've tried, and I have failed, to be the source of your change.

My broken and mangled wire will lay to rust on the river bank, while I watch your roots soak up the volatile liquid you so desperately seek. Then shrivel up and rot while my brittle iron oxide body hopelessly decays and cries rust atop your dying trunk. Wishing something had been different.

You didn't choose to live so close to the water, but I chose to make one last stand surrounding your body like a prison of demands. It isn't your fault that your here, but it's my fault for thinking my life could stop you.

-RÆ

There can't be anything better,
than fresh baked banana bread
filling the air on a sunday,
bright red hair dye staining my arms,
only after it dripped off
my mothers head and made
a home in my pores.
There can't be anything much better,
than quality time with a pen,
scratching against paper
like a dog to a screen door,
that hasn't been opened for too long.

I'm just now learning
how to open my windows again,
after locking them tight,
to hide from fresh air
because who wanted that
when you weren't there?
Who wanted sunlight to
touch skin that you now refused to?
I'm just now realizing
that you were only a mere beginning.
You left because you'd
done what you were meant to,
you helped an injured sparrow to fly,
after putting a splint on it's
fractured wings, and nursing it
back to true liveliness.
You did what you could
to make an old soul smile,
even when you couldn't.

I'm just now learning what it means
to live on my own again,
live without worrying about
who is there to help me next,
because you made me realize
that somethings can only be
done by yourself, and to take
pride in not needing anyone's help.
Tonight I fly on my own,
and take pride in the fact,
that I don't need anyone to catch me.

I'm just now realizing the dangers
of entering someone else's home,
and then trying to call it your own.
Someday they'll want that privacy back,
and who are you, to tell them no?

This is my internal explosion. It's as if I slit a piece of art into every ***** and drained out everything that was taking up too much room, suffocating me. And everybody is wading in a pool of my insides without even noticing. I'm all torn apart far away from everyone and my pipe intestines are still leaking. Just put a rusty bucket beneath them. **** it. Let's wait for a mechanic that we don't even know to fix the leak and dump my organs into some random creek. I know I am weak, even though I act like a too cool for school freak, alienating me to nothing. Forgive me. You'll outlive me because I don't even feel alive anymore. I wish I was still a chore. I wish I didn't only exist on the outside of the door to your brain, unlike before. I wish I could still live in the insane with you. I wish I could be an amplifier for you. I wish I could still fly for you. I wish I could die with you. You hate it when I cry with you, so why do you always make me cry for you? Why do you force me to die for you all the time? I'm your zombie lover, standing for nothing except your brain.I wish I wanted to eat your brain but I only want to live inside of it. I'm your zombie lover trying and failing to haunt your memories. Why aren't you scared of me? You were never prepared for me. You never really cared for me or truly bared it all for me, until I was already buried. It's not like we were married or whatever. I just wish we could have carried the weight of our hearts together. But you never wanted my support or should I say weight, or should I say baggage, or should I say obnoxious and monotonous heavy heart?

You say you don't want to be with anybody right now. Does that make me just anybody? And don't kid me, please. I wish I wasn't so whiny and I wish your feelings weren't so tiny. I wish if I yelled, "Hide and seek!" you would actually try to find me. I wish you would be kind to me. I'm binded to my lonely splint of solitude. I wish people would quit asking about my mood as if they don't understand that I'm brooding my monotonous personal etude constantly. My etude's mood is a just a ******* boring dude at party.