sometimes i miss you at 2AM and i scream into the void,
and i wore the tightest clothes i could find because i swear i'm human and maybe you just never saw that.
i think the wind can hear me,
maybe so can you,
but you kissed me in past tense
and i felt 47 bones shatter under your finger tips
and i wonder if you know how many times i've cried over you in the middle of the night
and how many times my mom asked me why i was still awake at 4:32
in the morning.
and i wonder if she makes you happier than i ever could
because i never knew how to love you
without setting myself on fire.

what meanings truth and justice had
we've understood and will not pass
that bill was paid at stalingrad

(not the first time) and we are glad
to see reflected in the glass
what meanings truth and justice had

in eyes that are forever sad
seeing the bones beneath the grass
that bill was paid at stalingrad

for generations good and bad
by that immense levée-en-masse
(what meanings truth and justice had)

so demos spoke and thus forbade
the foolish claims of herrenrass
that bill was paid at stalingrad

so many folk might think us mad
to speak of mankind as one class
what meanings truth and justice had
that bill was paid at stalingrad

It hangs in the space between
our swollen lips and lies
in the air
between those hushed
and hurried whispers
and makes its home
in the war-torn collateral
left behind by four years of
misplaced trust.

It emanates from the tears I shed
in secret as you spin her
around the dance floor
and sigh into her ear
the words you used to save
for me.

It is the gentle vibration
of the shotgun
shaking between my fingers
beneath two tight-shut eyes.

It is the secrets you keep from
yourself as you stammer
some half-hearted explanation.

Perhaps it is the reason I cannot
pull the trigger.

Perhaps it is the reason I never will.

I look out and see a crescendo of light emerging from behind trees
I try not to stare because I know my eyes are sensitive to this bright light
but I can not help but stare at such a beautiful illustration
and this is the closest comparison I can come up with
to how I feel when I see you

Her copper eyes strain
in the dimming midnight
as the crickets hum
in effortless flight
each heartbeat aches
for the warmth of embrace
and every nerve ending
begins to ignite

She sees New York bustle
from safely inside
the cinder-block walls
give her silence to hide
from a promise like clockwork
of whiskey-filled veins
and an unwelcome presence
in his sea-colored eyes

That caramel voice
still melts in her ears
with his oft-rehearsed script
that still dwells in fears
perhaps his gaze will narrow
to the curve of her hip
and his calloused hands will dry
her delicate tears

So many words between us—
The caustic breech of abatement, ruin
Runs atonal, in recitals of indifference,
How even the ****** birds now sound
Discordant and rain crushes as it falls,
Ballistic.

The pinprick stars are merely eyes
Undraped to the worn soul's veil
And gorgon time roils setting our feet
In the crust of wishes and delusions
Kept.  

The bullet riddled skies in absence
Of colour are but particulates of lime
To the moonless night.  Words have no
Eyes, they can only finger.

O the sorrows of the untouched—
The cruelty of the sightless and bent blind,
Drab vermillion stars felled like forced tears.