At dusk I hang up
a worn blue work
shirt that smells
strongly of love
of dirt of the earth
melancholy, sweat
yesterday's brews
the blues, regret
twenty cigarettes
black breath
of the bone moth
old blood, moon dust
spring pollen, summer
grass, Autumnal ****
winter's cold blast
sea salt and pine needles
mountain laurel, desert air
my dog's hair, I swear
I can't bear the thought
of washing or throwing away
all the stains, the growing pains
the laughter, the sorrows
these history lessons I need
to get me through tomorrow.

long hair cut short.
apology after apology.
jackets often worn,
if not, sweaters or
long-sleeved tops.
anti-social,
not because
i hate people,
but i fear they hate me.
isolation in my bed,
sometimes,
panic attacks
in the bathroom.
constant overthinking,
whether 3 am or 3 pm.
scribbles thoughts
into poems,
but hides them.
pushes away,
even though i want
to pull them closer.

me and her we barely talk
like spies for different governments
I've tried extracting information
but I'm cut off, passing out
and I wake up every time
17, heart-broken with silence

blank stares scan my every evening
somehow I am still invisible
turning this into a cold green light
to explore the dark corridors of my heart
my thoughts turn to microfilms
and battle plans and secret blueprints
my cover's hanging by a thread

I'm now a fugitive with everything to lose
a secret agent in love with their handler,
the disembodied string of signs on glowing screen
how much emptier than this is it possible to get

because there is no home
and you can't just go back to the agency
one wrong step and charges vary
from espionage to treason
and there've never been any right moves
at all

so now it's back to basics

departure
                arrival
the climber
                 the diver
     the heat
                 the chills
     the beat
                 the thrill
         depth
                 moisture
        height
                 closure

Bleak sand and Grey rocks form a beach and a jetty. Salt spray washes up as it meets the barrier of the land. The cold wind sweeps in and forces couples to huddle close. The dark sky heralds the coming storm. Snow falls from the heavens and begins to blow with the wind. Ships bear the brunt of the early winter. Summer has forsaken the coast and retreated. Now only the hearty stand here. Standing firm is not for the faint of heart. Stone cottages stand empty except for those who were born here. The light house stands as a solemn sentry against danger as the waves thunder and crash. Nature is no longer kind, but for any who will dare, life can be exciting when the costal winter comes.

I want to be alone,
And someone to be alone with,

Crowding eachother
In an Empty heart,

Dark stars entwined
In a melodious nothing,

Taking in the sorrow,
Lovers with melancholic grace.

you know the look
the look
when you feel eyes on the side of your face
but you're not completely sure
so you turn
instantly catching them
looking
their addictive
ice blue eyes
staring
and then quickly they're gone
looking somewhere else
like the floor or  
out the window or
pretending to be deep in thought
but
you know that they've been looking
because you've caught them twice before

The most delicate form of beauty
plucked from a metaphor
a simile for beauty
made from the softest fibers of earth
the eyelashes of the mother herself
positioned to perfection
framing the faces of flowers of every stem
the petals turn to look at me
and I dust their existence onto my cheeks