I keep forgetting which glass is mine
Oh, what I mess I keep making I can explain
Why I can't shake this second hand weight
Or drown you off my lips
You're laced to my water colored tounge
Buzzing between each breathe I take
Something takes over
Laughs into my ears saying he's already forgotten
Have to convince myself I'd rather be the lost one
Rather be the clif hanger than the unhappy ending
Oh **** I'm sorry
I've stepped in it havent I
All over your shoes I'm so sorry
What a mess I'm making
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 3:00 PM UTC
When everything was fine
And the notion of sin had vanished
And the earth was ready
In universal peace
To consume and rejoice
Without creeds and utopias,
I, for unknown reasons,
Surrounded by the books
Of prophets and theologians,
Of philosophers, poets,
Searched for an answer,
Scowling, grimacing,
Waking up at night, muttering at dawn.
What oppressed me so much
Was a bit shameful.
Talking of it aloud
Would show neither tact nor prudence.
It might even seem an outrage
Against the health of mankind.
Alas, my memory
Does not want to leave me
And in it, live beings
Each with its own pain,
Each with its own dying,
Its own trepidation.
Why then innocence
On paradisal beaches,
An impeccable sky
Over the church of hygiene?
Is it because that
Was long ago?
To a saintly man
--So goes an Arab tale--
God said somewhat maliciously:
"Had I revealed to people
How great a sinner you are,
They could not praise you."
"And I," answered the pious one,
"Had I unveiled to them
How merciful you are,
They would not care for you."
To whom should I turn
With that affair so dark
Of pain and also guilt
In the structure of the world,
If either here below
Or over there on high
No power can abolish
The cause and the effect?
Don't think, don't remember
The death on the cross,
Though everyday He dies,
The only one, all-loving,
Who without any need
Consented and allowed
To exist all that is,
Including nails of torture.
Totally enigmatic.
Impossibly intricate.
Better to stop speech here.
This language is not for people.
Blessed be jubilation.
Vintages and harvests.
Even if not everyone
Is granted serenity.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
How did we ever confuse the birds with the bushes
We’ve kept the birds wings clipped
And the bushes are running rampant
Yet we still wonder why we can’t understand anything
Like how gravestones roll off your tongue
Why the matches fall from your fingertips
And how your name has always reminded me of the gallows
The monsters under our beds have voices like shattering glass
And I know it makes it so hard to sleep sometimes
You told me to keep all my skeletons in the closet
Because I shouldn’t want anyone to read the signs that hang around their necks
I know to never look at them unless I want to see everything I ever died trying to find
And when I wake up in the middle of the night
With the tremors haunting me like a car crash
I always think I’m back in that hospital bed
And I’m sorry that I cannot control what escapes from my lips in that moment
I swear to God I’m not afraid of the dark I just don’t know what I’m fighting anymore
Entangled in the bushes that we left to grow unchecked
While the birds without wings watch me struggle with what I’ve made
Strange how its so hard to breathe without the sun
~W.C.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 9:20 PM UTC
He came over me with power and smoke. No hints of love which I neither asked for nor expected just the blanketing feeling that I was transitioning from something like warm air to something like rain.
He’d kiss and hold and touch the way I was told the best ones do. Sell me to feel ways I assumed were only available to other people not because I am unworthy just because I felt so small in comparison to the weight he carries with him.
I stood no chance against my own senses. Captive of a shaking earth with all of its walls but no roof or floors. The only consistency I could reach for ached in my guts every time I saw him. Wanting to be pulled close only to be peeled off flinging him away.
If I have learned anything it is that he expected nothing and in this I can balance regret sour in my mouth with all his empty words and spines on my lips from where I kissed with the intention of growing private roses.
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
I know hurt like the palms of my hands
Angst laced along the lines of my fingers
All I have done once parted from me, became a part of me
Times and thoughts I could not wash off
Lies and trust I could not make up
Or cover up with new foundation or new foundations
Band aid branded reaching from wrists to lips
I am stuck on bad memories ‘cause bad memories are stuck on me
I am stuck on bad memories but these memories won’t heal me
And maybe one day when I have grown my thickest skin
I can turn a punctured past to paper cuts
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 9:01 PM UTC
Classical music
Thin words spread thick
Butter milk expression
Flushed cheecks
No good mornings
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 9:00 PM UTC
You are the first
The first to awake me
Out of innocence and my daydreams
Foreignly reckless
Walking with a dawn I could not understand
An infinity laced to your light from which I was reluctant
And yet
I rubbed away all of the night stories
Walking drowsy and half sleeping
Smiling through the warmth of my fantasies
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:56 PM UTC
I want us with capital letters
Direct indication saying, really saying
We are a beginning
I want us from your mouth, eager to speak
Announce and to elevate
Complete with well timed spacing to make it easy
Easier to digest a passage so eloquent
So subtle
So illuminating
That we don't have to say anything
And it still reads right
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 8:43 PM UTC