I can see the fog horn hasn't been lit
Staring at the wall of white
I hear voices of my friends, in the trenches
I can't help thinking,
"How could they all make it?
With you here, trying to fake it?”

It's icy cold in the winter
And it gets colder as you get thinner
As you pull yourself into doubt, into grief
I was in danger of slipping

Always in danger of the cliff before my feet
I've been sitting here on the ledge
But it's time to walk along the lonely ridge

Someone once told me, you've got to know your cards
If you see a bridge, well, it's your choice whether to burn it
But burning's not so easy when the match is in their hand
I tell you friend, I ran along and fell
The future has always been tomorrow, forever
But now the future's here in the palm of my tattooed hand
I can't see it, but it's glowing so brightly
Maybe I'm blinded, but it's as dark as an abyss

I see mist is floating towards me
Holding closer, dreams ignore me
Will I ever escape, will my boat come in,
Or did it sink?
I sit and think, again.

I used to date
Now I just hate
It's a little
Silly stringing
Me along when you say
It's better if you go away
Tripping down a road
With water streaming between
Can't help but think
That the separation of my legs
And the stream, that's all it takes
Seeing what we'd never be
A bee and ant will never live in harmony

I used to love
Crushed by a dove
White feathers
Floating blood down upon
My arms,
I scratched,
Against the thorns,
You spit from your teeth
Come on closer to me

If we are, we are
But I don't pretend to know it
Side-stepping affection gone putrid
It's stupid
Thinking I got along fine
Before I left you behind

I used to connect
Warmth, I used to let
Fill up a gas tank
Leaking slowly
Open a valve like a locket
pour in the oil
I used to date it,
But now I hate it,
This crap you're giving out
Won't sustain, I'll clog the spout

And if I scream in anthology
Analogy, metaphorically,
Speaking, I'm going to die.

"What happened to her?"
It's better if you Don't. Ask.
See she wears Depression on her face,
In bloodshot eyes and dark circles,
In early age lines and pale cheeks,
In bitten, chapped lips.
You want to ask, "what happened to her?"
But it's better if you don't look too closely,
Or the spider-web cracks across her porcelain mask
Will break
You can already see the black smoke eking through
Joined to the shadowy frame of the one who walks beside her
Caressing her filigree skin and flicking a lighter.
She says, "I want someone to take the pain,
**** it, smoke it, love it, beat it, praise it, blaze it, lemon-glaze it,
Kiss it, kick it, shoot it, carve it, wear it, taste it, light it on fire."
But all we ever say is "you're looking so much better now"
So much better now.
Like a marionette in a little side show, colorful, with ribbons.
A broken smile, and sad, sad eyes.
So beautifully tragic, it must all be for show.
Though the silver she draws with, its ink a bright red,
Is more telling than any lie she has fed
Fed on, cried on, choked on, drowned with, like a gluttonous pig.
So what happened to her? And the life she once led?
Those honeyed dreams turned to mutinous greys in her head?
It's better if you turn away and smile,
And pretend your heart inside isn't as dead,
She only wears the pain most hold inside, swallowing a painful life from a flask sewn into the flesh of her hip,
It's better if you didn't ask.

I know I’m trespassing. Is that why he’s here? I’m not smoking, or drinking, or skinny dipping. I could be doing drugs. But I’m not. I’m just trying to find my own peace of mind. What’s so wrong with that? The summer homes are long abandoned. There are no lights from boats on the lake. It’s too cold for anything to live around here. So what if you’re not supposed to be at the park this late? Dusk is a concept! My emotions are a racket.
                I said, what are you going to do? He said nothing. How about you.

                I think that’s why I’m sitting on the wet rocks. Craving a smoke and chewing my fingernails. I could be a lot of things. I could do a lot of things. I’m just not sure. I’m waiting on something that’s out of my hands. I’m waiting for the typewriter to end its round. The press to run. The stars to fall out of the sky, gathering in my ****** and coughing up dust. I’m waiting for this to become us.

                I’m thinking I should have bought red lipstick. The summer I painted the Denver room with make-up. I’m thinking, I should have broken the board into half again, the day I got the news. I’m thinking I should have walked farther into the ocean the weekend they announced it terminal. I’m thinking I should have moved in with you. Now every empty doorway is another reminder of the space that used to be filled. And I’m too small to fit into the cracks in these walls. But for hell’s sake I’ve got to try. I don’t want to be that.

                I don’t want to be another “why?”

I might just be an echo of a star trying to burn her way home