every day, speak a little less
reduce the number of words you say from half to
ten less, and then none at all.

Don't forget to be soft.
Kiss your mountaintop goodbye for
one last sunrise and descend
into the night
where it's quiet
like you should be.

one by one, pull back towards yourself
the orbs of energy you've left
bouncing around you in the
atmosphere.
be their chalice
one last time
and watch them burn out.

and when you're reduced to
dying ashes and deathly whispers
a strong voice will suddenly falter
and they wonder -
*didn't we once know a ... ?

Nights spent pulling away pieces of my skin remind me of trimming fabric from unwanted articals of clothing

My exterior does not define me
But I despise what's underneath

Maybe if I peel back far enough
And glare at the bare contents of my being
I'll see something worth saving

Thrifting, and scrapbooking my flaws

I do not enjoy this
I do not want to be this
These torn up jeans
This torn up soul

So I scratch off the scabs from every wound
Reopening my problems, exposing them to my ever changing mind

This scar stings my eyes the way the sun used to when I was a child

This scar has been there since I was a child

I believe that thought is called an epiphany
But I never wanted to realize these things about myself
So I throw them out
Leaving me hollow

Maybe something or someone can fill the cavity I myself carved from my chest

Maybe nothing and no one ever will

It's hard to tell

I feel nothing

I am nothing

Writers block
Blocks building complexes
That will soon decay
And when the structure falls
When nothing is left
You can write again

Images of pills peaking out amidst *****
lying perfectly in a porcelain nest
shining like stars in a still night sky
are flashing before my eyelids tonight.
Memories
I can't shake.
Putting all that I've got into change,
forgiveness,
redemption.
So just how many more mornings
of coffee, cigarettes, and the daily newspaper
how many more mornings will it take
for me to stop imagining my face amongst others
in the obituaries?

I am awake
I am sober
What a surprise it must be
To have full conciousness
And still feel this lonely

I am awake
Are you?
Seizing across the mattress where we both used to lay
Wilting sheets with tears and frustration
Trying to decipher ourselves

I don't understand
Do you?

I doubt it

Where are you now Elliot?

Sitting atop the ashes of Oregon

Bathing in golden melancholy
With needles, and woes and angry
pints

Neglecting the linings silver lure
Unfamiliar and unsure of what it really means
To be happy

Concepts are ******

If I could have your way

Grow black moldy moss on my skull six feet below the ground

And leave this decay with a pressing of emotion engrained in circular black plastic like stone

To ring generations calling for comfort, solitude, in apathy

Maybe then I would be complete

Or complete a vision all too real

And join you in the whispers through Portland,
In the tears of Los Angeles,
Drifting subtly through Washington

And finding rest within the cavities of culture and youth

Speaking sweet sorrows as invitation to a dance we are are familiar with

Stepping on every third beat
missing the counts between

I wish I could know you Elliot

The way I wish my peers could know me

Maybe we could convince each other that the logic behind our understandings were in fact
Misunderstandings

That the pain that coincides with hope was meaningless

That a figure drowning in confusion was simply the manipulation of an ancient desire we've created within our ourselves

So for you Elliot I drink
Every sip a tribute to the ones before us

Cut short to bloom a gene as troubled as ours

Where are you now Elliot?

With blood spread across the floor like red silk carefully layed for display
A sheet of innocence tainted by love and abuse and self infliction

Now relevant the way you were the whole time
But never felt

As I feel

Perhaps I'll achieve that sense of enlightenment someday

And join you above the Rockies
So we may sit and sip coffee and continue to observe the aftermath of our destruction

The way we fantasized in life

The way no one had planned but ourselves

Every stroke of the blade as important as the lyric that followed immediately after

Every song a howl for love misrepresented
And poorly executed

But I am not you
Elliot

I have years to endure

Before my thoughts can reach an audience that suits my content

Years to endure

Before soft light drifts from my eyes

and warm lips run cold from deaths tender kiss

I will know you Elliot

In every note plucked upon the strings of her spine

In every contour I traced with my fingertips
Memorizing the curves just in time for her to vanish
Like they all do
Like I will
Someday

And when I see you Elliot

It will not be in happiness
But in struggle
Conversing the reasons behind such drastic action
Regretting each one
But finding a sick sort of comfort in it

I do not know you Elliot

I will not fulfill the yearning to know you or any other the way I've wanted
Not in this life
But for now

This knife will suffice
And that is enough

Her hair gleamed silk reflections

A beacon of sable beauty contrast against the tangerine sky

Calling out like a sirens moan
To any willing to follow

To any willing to fall

Frail leaves decayed beneath their feet

Echos of the lavish greenery ****** from the air and pulled into the pines

Ghosts of summer
Lost in autumn