I've had this
sharp piece of bark
between my throat
the back side and the front.
It would close my throat
if I sang.

I had to sing.

I would feel my throat
closing
feel it hurt
make myself
believe that it would be fine.

I had to be fine.

I wonder how people yell
do their throats not close up?
I hear my mom yelling
over the phone
a different kind of sickness.
She's unhappy with a life
she is not living.

She's living here.

With me. But her rage
shot through continents
found it's way back where her mind lives.
That's a sickness.
Your mind and body being in different places.

Sickness is living here.

I can't tell her about
how my throat closes
how loudness
isn't possible for me.
For I must have swallowed
every tooth pick
to feel the abrasions in my throat.

I swallowed every toothpick.

I let myself swallow further.
Let that bark fall farther in to my stomach.
Wake at night when it hurts,
when it begs to wake.
Let myself be hurt.
I don't tell her how I close.

I close my eyes.

I dream that I am living elsewhere.
I am sick. My mind is living where my body
is not. I am dreaming
of a world where
I can be sick.

Dried sands of the usual
Lay endless across the horizon
With simple coarseness
And familiarity
This is the life I understand
From the thirst
To the hunger
From the burning heat
This pain was home

And there stands a place that is much more colorful
And what may be a mirage
Of a mind that craves escape
From a dull and painful trek
Felt more and more real

But why am I so uneasy
To drink from the water of the oasis
Is it that I fear that it is poison
Or is it that I fear it isn't
That the soothing
Cutting taste of something better
Might make me unhappy
With what my life has become

Hot breath
Boulder swallowed to the center of my chest
Hands tied to the route past the river of styx
Tongue torn tossed
Eyes darting almost lost
But able to see the molten
Asylum made just for me
The notetakers of my fate
Did more than just write notes atop
My shoulders
God's servants hands look more like man's
Pressing against this sinners throat
Bubbling hot tempers for angels
Telling me hell came early

From the overcrowded train cars
To the indifferent desperate distant eyes
Of every passerby
Cars bustling by the street corners
With nowhere to park
New York is not the place
For one to sit down
And just take in a view
And in this way
All things become fluid
They come in to our lives
And swiftly pass by
And if we get lucky
We can fix what has been broken
Or be another passing
Distant
Indifferent
Face
Waiting for their time to go
And leave New York City

When it comes time to say goodbye
For the first and last time today
After lovely conversation
And joyful teasing
I am able to think
Excitedly
And say happily
See you tommorow
I will slowly unplug
The headphones
I used to make you feel so close to me
And the microphone I used to
Give all of my self to you
This evening
The computer light fading
Like the presence of company
Reminding me of the lonely walks home

When friends of mine
Past the most happy occasions
Would split like branches on a tree
Walking several different paths
Home to their families
And I would begin to notice the weight of my bag
Close to the weight on my chest
Of just saying goodbye
Not knowing if we would ever
Have the chance again

I walked back home
While the sun began to set
And that excited see you tommorow
Feels so meloncholy
As the cold bitterness
Of my room and family
Replaced what warmth I had
With you next to me
When no ones there to look at me
I count the hours
Till tommorow arrives

I want to melt
I want to dissolve
Pour myself into the ground
And let something better grow
Where I once would've stood
I want to escape
And scatter each bit of memory
Become one with the stardust
That had built me
At least then I would be again a star

What does it mean to have a butterfly
Fluttering in your chest
I am scared of the things
That you might say to me
If I let the letters of my
Heartbeat
Speak to you
More clearly
I've enjoyed the time I've spent with you
And this weight in my chest
Is the fear
That I will tug too hard
At the string that binds us close