my
mind.
no
doubt
the
good
if you do still care, Lord, please keep me safe.
had
weightier
things
to
worry
about
than
the
half-
hearted
apology
of
a
crashing
crankster.

thoughts bulleted
in my brain, ricocheting,
creative side to practical side,
lustful half to hateful half.
sleep? yeah, right.

i got up, located cleanser
and sponge, scrubbed
the bathroom,
washed the dishes,
waxed the kitchen floor.

wrote a four- page
letter to my sister,
told her i was in love.
with a girl.
i think i asked
for her forgiveness.

wrote a poem, and epic, tinged
with dark humor,
decided to give it to my mom
because this was all her fault.
somehow.

went to the bathroom,
considered my ground stomach,
but the thought of food made me want to heave.
settled for a beer. That went down fine,
so I had another.
and another.

but do they know how to craft fiction?
do they know how to spin
lies?
his eyes swear forever,
flatter with vows of only me.
but are they empty
promises?
i stare into his eyes, as
into a crystal ball, but
i cannot find forever,
only
movies of yesterday,
a sketchbook of today,
dreams of a shared
tomorrow.
his eyes whisper secrets.
but are they truths or fairy tales?
i wonder if even he
knows.

i am so depressed
i can’t breathe.

i lightly trace your lips with my finger,
then intertwine mine with yours,
and ask
how long it’s been since i touched you that way.

you can’t remember.

has no meaning
when you’re living in the
moment. i wasn’t ready
for that moment to end.

through the thickening
vespers
the clock on my wall
whispers.

tick-tock. tick-tock.
intones
the passage of time
drones.

inhale. everything
slows.
exhale. the exchange
shallows.

heartbeats mimic,
tick-tick.
become erratic, stutter,
t-t-tock.

through the indigo.
down.
gradual motion.
i drown.

because
i think if
you die
without
knowing

love in
this life,
that’s how
you’ll
spend
eternity.

alone.
frozen.

do you
think hell
is fiery?

i don’t.
i think
hell is
frozen.

But find no comfort
in its feathers and patchwork.
despite the wine and rich
food, breaking down into calories,
i feel cold, way deep inside,
and it’s the kind of cold
that can’t be fought

with Hollandaise or alcohol
or a pile of quilts. i wish i had
a joint. a big, fat, stinky j to slide
me into sleep. but no, all i
can do is lie here, brain
turning summersaults.
it’s nights

these when memories
stir, whipping themselves
into stiff peaks of pain. here
comes one now, materializing
like Daddy did that night.
the night he came to
me, crossed
the final line.

must be nice to have that kind
of unshakable belief
in  a merciful higher power.

i believe in a higher power,
but you can’t call
it merciful. no, not at all.

it’s the power of my father, all
will and rules and law,
and governed himself by

Deadly sins, chief among them
avarice and lust.
the only two that don’t apply

are sloth and gluttony. that last
one i lay claim to, and
before i go to work, i plan on

giving into it wholeheartedly.
Gluttony interrupted
leads to Gluttony, with a capital G.

i seriously despise the man, would do just
about anything not to obey him, at
least if i thought i could get
away with it or even that
the sure consequences
would be sufferable.
but when daddy
decides to make
you suffer,
it’s more
than any-
one can
bear.

for more than moms affection.
my body is screaming for food.
and tonight we get the
real deal instead of
our usual fast

or flash-

frozen repast.
but any food is my
friend because it’s under
my control, unlike most of the
rest of my life. i eat when i’m sad.

i eat when i’m lonely. i eat when
i hurts so much inside, it’s
either eat or find an
easy way to die.
the only

time i

can’t eat to
total contentment
is when daddy’s around. “no
daughter of mine will wear double-
digit clothes”, he said once, and meant it.

out of control.
sometimes they’re
the same thing.
the trick is knowing
that, realizing
it’s okay to feel
out of control
once in a while,
as long as
you’re sure
you can regain
the upper hand
when you
absolutely need to.
and really when it
comes to my
reclaiming control,
it comes down to one
simple little thing,
something i sometimes
have difficulty with:
saying no.

who comes
home every
day, dives
straight into
a tall amber
bottle, falls
into a stone-
walled well
of silence, a
place where he can tread
the suffocating loneliness.
on the surface, he’s a proud
man. but just beneath his not-
so- thick skin, is a broken soul.
in his courtroom, he’s a tough
but evenheaded jurist, respected
if not particularly well liked. at
home, he doesn’t try to disguise his
bad habits, has no friends, a tattered
family. a part of my despises him,
what he’s done. what he continues
to do. another part pities him and
will always be his little girl, his
devoted, copper- haired daughter.
his unfolding flower. but enough
about daddy, who most definitely
has plenty of secrets. secrets mom
should want to know about. secrets
i should tell, but instead tuck away.
because if i tell on him, i’d have to...
tell on me.

i could leave you with this, seeing as though it’s relevant-


Don’t let the biting words and
sharp memories scar your thick
skin; remember your value always

                                                    good luck, friend