I want to tell you everything,
but lately I haven't been able to find the right words.
Upside-down vowels adhere to fractured consonants;
mismatched words snap into twisted phrases and unkind sentences.
Hesitation has been holding my wrists and drowning me
in rivers of regret and loneliness.
Waves of sorrow crippling my psyche with every drip
of the faucet.
What once was a controlled trickle
is now a raging flood.
Oxygen isn't common
in the box labeled reality.
"Take a hatchet to the walls,
and step into the sunlight!"
Curious knights ride upon steeds of
broken glass and rose petals,
with hopes to sew heartache back onto my
all of whom are poisoned by greed and
They don't know about the bridges
that've been incinerated inside my soul.
But we all need that person who will kiss our scars,
and read us seasick faerie tales of love and triumph.
When we find this victor of such an immortal task
we'll dive into the ocean of eternity,
and hope for the best.
Golden charms bleed the stories
From the chains around her neck
Shiny links link life's inventory
And leave her blouse stained
Red, it does become her
She paints her lips, her wrists, her nails
Bloody veins the chains do capture
And leave her blouse stained
Life is paved by skinned & bloodied knees
She tries to crawl out for survival
The chains they take one final squeeze
And leave her blouse stained
It's summer number twenty-one
and I am trying not to set the sheets on fire.
The two mirrors wait each morning in
patience, quietly demanding
disappointments and downward glances
My silences are douses of kerosene
over our heads, an acrid second baptism,
and now I wonder
at how one word can light me up
faster than the neon amber end of a shared blunt wrapped in January’s stark blues, but
I breathed all eighty-six of our transcontinental sighs
those words went to rot in the first week of June,
turned brown and sour inside
the red hamburger meat of my wrists.
This is slick truth seeping out through
the perfect Golden Ratio of my fingertips,
these small, nautilus spiral prints
that still trace the spot on my neck
you once traced.
How can I attempt to justify, as
the grandfather death-clock frowns in the corner
and the soft ticking of your beaten down
quarter-hearted protests resound in the dark?
I curled myself away
in little inches each night
wanting to paint your eyes a myriad of blues
as they wet the nape of my neck,
while I smoldered and sank, my eyes
crackling bloodshot for no one,
rose polish peeling and sizzling into the dark
as I braced myself for the
blaze of the match striking with a
hissing rasp until it caught and
I let it drop.
Our bones crackle to ash.
Anyone could read in them
the nights and songs not easily forgotten.
Hang your head in dissolution
We are victims of evolution.
Do you hide behind your lost ruminations?
Have you kept your heart delicately sanctioned?
Keep your words to a minimum
No ones really listening.
We are all lost in ad infinitum
With coal black souls, glistening.
Are the chains tight enough
On your scar tissue wrists?
Has the blade grown dull, the skin grown tough,
Have you lost yourself yet, to the autumn mists?
It gets cold around here
I suppose it's about that time of year
When the leaves fall, torn and halved
These winter winds could drive a man mad.
Keep watching for words
You never sought to hear
Eyes to the skies, envying the birds
For all the distance they're yet to clear.
To be free of this beast,
And his weight on my chest
To cut off these chains,
And their grip on my wrists
To let this hope dwindle,
And leave me with tears
I will do anything,
As long as I'm not here.
Seventh grade came in bad Polaroid shots
And stupid sayings.
It came with destroyed friendships
And eating alone in the bathroom.
It came with one sided love
Longing for his affection
And a broken heart.
It came bursting in with self hatred
Broken self esteem
And sliced skin around both wrists.
It was infected with hospital visits
Two week stays
And an I.V. drip in my left arm.
It cracked with poetry
Notebook pages covered in tears
And sad music to make it worse.
It slowed with a new friend
A place to belong
And unsure feelings.
It grew with Jesus
And a few adults I called my personal saviors.
It healed with a best friend
And seven boys I loved dearly.
It left with self confidence
And a whole new love.
Well you know that I sip on my sadness, my dear,
Filthy palms, filled to the brim.
And I know that you watch those trains passing by
Dizzy eyed, still drunk with sin.
Your teeth reek of reality lately,
You smile facts, figures and cracked calcium.
Now, once more with cupped hands leaking, shaking
Delirium up to your chin.
Well I know that I’ve missed the point, honey
I should get it tattooed on my wrists,
But you know that you talk like firecrackers
So flinching gets awful hard to resist.
I make believe that I’m right like craters
make moons believe.
So I’ll comment on comets and ignore truths
popping between parentheses.
You say, “It’s fiction we live in
You play in pastels
and fake hollywood rhythms
and I’m tired, staring up at your screen.
You're addicted to this diction
My voice is lost, screaming
these words you keep stealing
and twist for yourself what they mean."
Sometimes we sit soaked to the waist in nothing
Fringe Wolves snarl, drool and moan;
I’m afraid that this desert’s left them starving
They crave marrow within bone.
Dripping teeth, curled clawed toes and howling
I swear they feed every time that we breathe.
By cinderblock, flashfloods or whirlpools
Just drown us properly.
Well, one day we’ll resurface to find ghosts reborn
from hallowed shells of Fringe Wolves
Who waltz wicked and crooked a foxtrot to show
sometimes loss is beautiful.
And when I ask for your hand you’ll look tragic
like you never saw what I see
When you walk away, I’m toe-tapping
to some song you kept whispering.
You say, “It’s fiction we live in.
It’s intended for men like you,
but I've watched you drain out in my palm."
This clothing, from bedpost to box-spring,
It's all wax-coats and smoke screens,
live lit-candle lasting
When did skin begin to fit wrong?
So when they ask for me at the after party
With neon eyes and harlot tongues,
You can tell them I traded this stale air in
For forest fires and tornado lungs.
'Cause I’ve been reading up in matchbooks
how to ignite with star-gazer eyes.
So feel free to maintain your Truth
but pardon me while I burn up in Lie.
you left a somber sound below my brain
deep enough that whales have called back to me through the dark
you are the gravity that swings blood through the blue highways under my skin
and floods my speckled cheeks when i’m pulled into your arms
your hands have long since grazed my back
but your fingertips wrote love letters on the surface of my skin
which i admire every night after my head goes quiet
when my thoughts rest on your charming lips and hands
when they whip through your hair like the wind of my breath
and flood your eyes
as you guide my waist with the sway of the sea
I am the ghost
of a girl you once claimed to love;
my dead hands
for a piece of your soul
to wallow in forever.
There will come a time when you are sick
of trying to understand my mind
and my wrists.
I was never myself when I did this.
If I were part of the ocean
I would be the shallows;
the cold tide that people walk all over
to pull people in
but never getting close enough.
I was never myself when I did that.
help me live once again
as something new born and blind;
blind to the atrocities of humanity,
but all seeing to life and love.
the only thing that could ever constitute
a relentless, chemical energy
that turns you in to a fool in all the right ways.
A substance more intelligent
than any apparent genius.
Oh, how the love
to confine me,
and oh, sweet love;
how I let you fill my lungs.
I was never myself when I was with you.
I’ve held hands with pain,
kissed every frozen fingertip
and I found my worship in ethanol and ash
before I found it in between
your lips and mine.
You changed me in all the worst ways,
causing me to start a war with my skin,
causing me to see my own reflection
as something unrecognisable,
something I never wanted to be.
I was never myself.
I made the mistake of building a home
out of a human being
and he was so riddled with wanderlust;
a nomadic masterpiece who couldn’t stay,
but should’ve stayed.
I’ve never felt so homesick.
I’m tired of tearing away my skin
and revealing the heart inside me
to people that are incapable of loving anything
other than themselves
and their sadness.
I crave for someone
to look at me as though
they can see my soul
more than they can see my skin.
I crave for someone
what I wish to see.
More than anything,
I crave to see me:
I know I don't say this often
And I know that I should
So let me start by saying, Mom,
I'm sorry that I'm sloppy
I'm sorry I'm insane
I'm sorry that I stress you
I'm sorry I'm a pain
I'm sorry I'm not grateful
I'm sorry you're not proud
But I need you more than ever
To get me off this cloud
I never meant "I hate you"
I'm sorry for those words
But I really need your help, Mom
To take away the hurt
I'm bleeding from my wrists now
I don't know what to do
And this may not be the best way
To tell you, "I love you"
But I really have to go now
Don't forget me when I'm gone
Just please say you forgive me
For all the shit I've done.