You are my bookshelf.
From tree trunk to my room;
with nightstand and couches for neighbors.
In some catalogue you might
be ordered and tidy, with turquoise
bindings and untouched papers.
But you age with me,
we wither and decay.
If I wanted you to stay flawless
I would need to do the same.
The tomes that burden you
are portals to your heart.
Without them, what would you be?
When I wipe the dust off, I wheeze -
Yet I wouldn't open your books
If I didn't care enough to see.
For with every new novel,
every remarkable misadventure,
Your shelves creak and strain,
but my passion for you grows tender.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
It's just so unhealthy.
bad for my grades
bad for my appetite
bad for my slumber
Just handcuff my cortex -
I can't keep pretending
like this isn't all I think about
I can hear the sirens coming
so I start a crossword puzzle
To distract; lest I indict myself more.
Feb 27, 2014
Feb 27, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
Li-ttle peo-ple do-ing a-dult things.
Life is too slow, get out of the slow lane.
Friends are too dull, get out of your mind.
Hitch a ride on the veins of your arm.
This liquid is the fertilizer to your flowers.
The ink to your shocking autobiography.
You've broken those ropes that once constrained,
Left that home that made you gasp for air.
So drive off into the sunset and breathe.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 5:52 PM UTC
"What are you afraid of?"
nothing
The nothing that left, but never said why
So that when you lay on the tiles,
it feels like a whole breath escaped you.
I feel it when I reach into my right pocket
and fail to hear the sound of keys.
Yet those problems have solutions, and I
am left with nothing I can do.
Heights - a worthy foe, a common problem
Keep your shoes at sea level.
You cannot flee from nothing
Nothing is terminal: the outline of its shadow.
Serpents and spiders may sink their fangs,
but there is no antidote which lets you do,
when all you can do, is nothing.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
isn't it a shame how
one little memory ruins
such appetizing scenery?
a bus stop by a hotel.
empty church parking lot.
the riverside pier.
if I could frame those spaces
and show you what I saw
maybe you'd change your mind.
a fear of falling fast.
stumbling youth left unlived.
promises broken.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 3:35 AM UTC
this one who has stepped on stones
through the green marshes of my mind
ignored the moss and the mulch
that the creatures leave behind.
to her, the path is familiar
knowing more about the land
than the architect of the maze
who constructed it by hand.
While they have never looked
deep into each other's eyes,
The pathway through the swamp,
the two souls did devise.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 2:35 AM UTC
That night our love was
fluorescent and mint-green.
Air stood still in the hospital halls,
and I could hear your lungs at work.
I took my shoes off to match you,
and let the sleeping tile freeze my soles.
I only felt suited when
I could share a fraction of your pain.
A promise was made.
We would keep your bracelet.
When you are released,
we'll stash it in a safe place.
When a plague sinks its teeth,
I'll put your bracelet on.
To remind me of the wounds
I wanted to take for you.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 2:38 AM UTC
Like a foolish boy I once
went looking for danger,
Learning of tall tales
then seeking them for myself.
The gazette speaks of a melding
between two celestial bodies.
*Don't gaze directly at it
no matter how sublime it may be.*
I have met the protagonist before
if even through tinted shields.
A lifelong rapport, yet is
hitherto a subtle stranger.
I braved a look yesterday,
to examine all the fuss.
Touched by your spell
as your visage fills my eyes.
Now when I blink I spot you
staring back with blue flame.
A face etched into the cave of
my sockets - your new home.
Forecast arrives, moon meets sun
as my anxiety sweats in my hand.
I don no lenses, for you are the
enticing stranger which I cannot fear.
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 2:10 AM UTC
Spoiled milk
I left you waiting in the dark for far too long
and now you've gotta go
These bones are gonna miss you
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 3:39 PM UTC
I am not a sculptor,
wouldn't shape you in stone.
I just wanted to paint,
and give your smile a home.
I sat by my easel,
giving blotches for backgrounds.
To show you that vision
that always follows me 'round.
Amidst sullen, sickly moss,
unable to be harmed:
You, a curious clover.
So queer, yet I am charmed
This portrait, I said,
I'm making as a gift.
You took a step back
and conjured up a rift.
I finished the sketch,
except for your smile.
I wouldn't need ten years,
but merely a short while.
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC