These broken people
whose steps are stumbles,
whose words are either strained and unsure
or sharp as daggers,
they walk so close
their shoulders caress.
These broken people,
they hurt because they are hurting,
they hate because they feel unloved,
they dream because their existence is ******** than the **** filled sewers
that sit stagnantly under their feet
as they walk too close,
as their shoulders caress.
These broken people
with eyes so filled
they spill and spill
down their cheeks
onto their sheets,
they weep without making a sound.
These broken people who ask
Who am I?
They sit in despair
because their tiny brains can’t think up the ******* answer
to this cosmic question.
Who am I?
They wonder,
between the drags from their cigarette mountains.
Who am I?
The question is slurred
because of the spell of intoxication they have put themselves under.
Who am I?
They moan,
from the cold bed of a stranger.
This question continues to bounce around in their skulls
giving them incurable migraines
of the existential variety.
These broken people
we are among them
with tears shed
and mountains of cigarettes,
with pools of sorrow in our wake.
With scars on our shoulders,
scars to caress.
We are just people
and we are in love.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 6:25 PM UTC
Their eyes, they follow
like faithful dogs
all starry and moonstruck
for the love of their master.
But there is no love
and even less faith
mirrored back
my way
when our eyes meet.
Their judgment runs deep
inside my veins
and I could honestly forgive their vanity
had they not wounded mine.
It’s winter, I know
but still I wonder
why does ice need to be broken
with old friends?
Is it me?
Or my choices?
I have a hundred voices
pulling me to my
breaking point
skin ripping
bones breaking
how long until I
snap?
The point is
I’m sorry
for whatever I have done
for whatever I may be doing.
I’m not ruining anyone’s life
but my own.
I’m sorry
I’m sorry
for living my life
the way I want it to be lived.
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 6:49 PM UTC
hell bent
downward
on my knees
it adds up
do the math,
you had me at
goodbye
you know
and quoting
Sylvia Plath.
you had me
up against
the brick
you had me
in the snow,
you had me
long before we met
that night
ten years ago.
abandon ship
quite recklessly
abort me
mission miss,
falling down
together
alone
we’ve fallen
since that kiss.
impetuous
the winds have been
but silent was
the storm,
your eyes
not arms
would comfort me
would keep
my heartstrings
warm.
hell bent
was i
when wounds were
fresh
and hearts
still young and sore,
down on
our knees
with stifled pleas
we don’t need
anymore.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 12:44 AM UTC
Quiet,
quiet,
quiet.
Eyes looking in every direction but me,
but the raw emotion on my sleeve.
The fear, perhaps,
that I am worthless.
Some god with a wasted gift,
I am no longer in your ranks,
I wasted it
away.
I’m wasting
away.
My cup was never full,
but you drank from it.
With sick, gluttonous gulps.
Gasping and gurgling my insides,
until your veins were pulsating
with the blood of two.
Overwhelming? Perhaps.
I wanted you so badly
to hold me together
to hold me up
to hold me down
to hold me in your sweet arms.
I loved myself, in you,
I did.
The kind that was infinite
and reached with hopeful fingertips
stretched out over eternity.
The kind that made me understand
the beauty
I wanted to be.
I could taste it then,
I could almost reach.
The purpose I served is unclear;
it is clear now that I am
worthless
in our eyes.
Not an explanation
nor a look of remorse,
no hidden smile
i could see.
We no longer care for the heights,
for the taste,
for me.
You climb on your own now
with others pushing you
upward.
They feed you
and once again you are
ravenous
for admiration.
But not for me.
No, I need no nourishment,
it only makes me wobble.
I whimper inside
to the silent room,
it echoes from dusk ‘til dawn.
The fix, inhale and shoot.
Drugs and blood
they pump your heart and fire it
in wild directions.
You love it?
Who doesn’t?
An addiction we would all admit
to craving
one worth the
painful recovery.
And I am a
fix.
Momentary, but sweet.
The moments were sweet,
and still….
When nothing else
existed
but the threading of
two minds, connected.
The strange,
that was so impossible
so bittersweet
to us both.
I never felt such power;
a strong hit was all.
We devoured it so quickly
and the beauty we could almost reach
was
gone.
In the dust forgotten now,
or that’s what I’d like to think.
Better to be forgotten
then noticed and
not
missed.
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 4:33 AM UTC
Father,
Did you never stop and think
when you used a woman
or many women
when you ******* them all
and fed them lies
or let them fall
for your disguise
and kept their strings
coiled tightly
to your fingers
and used your charm
to bewitch them into bed
did it never occur to you then
in your head
that one day I’d grow
and find men like you
because that’s what a girl
is supposed to do?
Did you never think to yourself
that one day I too
might get used
and abused
and lied to by men
and not only by
you?
Did you have any foresight
or did you really never think
that someday I too
would become a woman
and meet men like my father
and did it never occur to you
that each woman you broke
was another man’s daughter?
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 2:51 AM UTC
The shackles that chain me
Made of my own flesh and bone
Fingernails dig into my skin
Drawing blood
I’m alone
And there’s no chance that I could
Win
With that wavering tone
The only shackles that chain me
Are my own.
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 2:49 AM UTC
A woman lies sleeping in her bed,
Her hair is a halo
Her bedsheets caress her frame.
In this dreamlike state her skin is smooth,
Her mind is at rest.
It is almost as though she has never been touched by worry or fear,
Or life itself.
Apart from her relaxed brow she remains much like she is when awake.
She is
Silent.
Her ambitions are kept safely
In the sanctuary of her mind,
And her darkest desires can only be found in the darkest of hours
When she she is supposed to be asleep.
Unseen
Unknown.
Her angelic face hides her ravenous hunger
To feel as she knows she can
To be as she knows she is.
Only the faintest hint of colour in her cheeks can suggest
The passion within.
In her dreams she is dancing free,
While the city around her burns.
She is wild and naked
And loud
And hideous
And joyous all at once.
But from her face
This cannot be seen.
Even if the angel awoke and parted her lips,
Letting her secrets pour out
And rush through the winding streets
Down the sewers
And up to the heavens
She would
never
be
heard
Oct 30, 2012
Oct 30, 2012 at 2:48 AM UTC
aching
pulling
bloodthirsty
i am.
that
illustrious feeling
so tender, so strong,
gnawing away
at my insides
trying to rip itself from my groin
and extend past the physical boundaries
of my body.
trying to reach another
and pull them close
too close
too tight
until two is one
and the moon becomes the sun
because we spent the whole night
making
lovely fools
of ourselves.
isn’t it strange, to feel desire
and still desire no one?
Oct 23, 2012
Oct 23, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC
confused
rattled
ashamed
when i imagine heaven
inside another’s arms
i never thought before
that love is simply
understanding
and accepting
so few accept the shadows
i carry with me
why then do i shun this idea
my preconceived notion
that love must be a certain way
i think that i am keeping things simple
but really we are
complicating
things that don’t need to be
complicated
maybe what is right
is right there
or perhaps i am just
starving
for some contact
for attenion
for touch
Oct 12, 2012
Oct 12, 2012 at 1:08 AM UTC
thinking thoughts
letting them race
making up my mind
at no particular pace
just wondering
how you are
and who you’re with
while you’re far
just wondering
if you love her
in the spur of the
moment
just wondering
if you loved me
and if we’re capable of
atonement
just thinking
just thoughts stirred
just wondering
but i won’t say a word.
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 1:55 AM UTC