Not a woman,
on a dust dry morning
death put it's flag in me
bones crossed
a line, thin
you tread
as I sat up
in a ghost white sheet.
Not a woman,
moon-mad and haggard
full to the top with drugs
a lizard stuck in it's half-sloughed skin.
Not a woman,
on a dust dry morning.

I carved out a smile for you
it was blue
but it's line curved up
toward my eyes
wrinkling my brow
a snake's tongue curled behind my teeth
waiting to dart at a moment's notice
and tell you how you turned
a butterfly
to a worm

Roam, rambling in the rain
starved for love.
Write a letter to your pain
detailing every ache,
and shred it in the moonlight.
Wander down your lover's neck
to the small of their back
and set up camp there
toasting marshmallows in their
embrace.
Run wild, angrily screaming
scaring the bats of your past
out of their caves.
Listening to the part of you
that hasn't been loved.

I wrote your name
in it, a cadence,
making my feet tap
and my throat hum.
If I were beside you,
I would lift my head
open my eyes
and see you in bed.
If I were beside you
I would go to sleep
with my toes touching yours
knowing that I'd see you
in the morning,
the sun lighting my face
as I sing the tune of your name
and
You would love me
If I were beside you.

Where is the feather light
pile of leaves to fall
into?
        Instead, I find a brisk descent into
        a pitch dark night of the heart.
Here, there are only
Monday's and the 9-5, forever,
                                                     with the
                                         pitter patter
                                                  of someone else's fun
                                                                ­                 in the other room.
I tear at the red dirt, screaming,
to find new growth.
    but find only
                           bones.
I rattle my cage, and spit at the lock
singing a hymn
for an autumn
                          in black.

I turn on the light in the kitchen, and three roaches scatter to the corners. Deb bought peppermint tea, but I can only have bitter black coffee tonight, to keep me from sleep. At 2:30am, I am the only one awake, and when I catch a glimpse of my tired moon face in the mirror above my desk, the years face me starkly. Have I done it even half right? Have I become the sun? I fear sleep because I fear death. Here it comes with it's pale grin, and am I resting? No, not until the light streams in through the curtains, and I collapse on my bed, a lone marionette without it's puppeteer.

I take one to keep the blues away;
One so I don't peel my skin like a banana;
One so I can sleep without being chased by death;
One so I don't jump out of the car on the highway;
One so I don't run down the street naked talking about ethical consumption under capitalism;
One so I don't cry about the sad looking potato chip;
One to **** the pain in my heart;
One so I can focus on my school work;
One so I don't tell my teacher he looks like a bridge troll;
And one so I don't fall in love with you.