Is this what it feels like to be,
what they call,
"hanging on by a thread"?
Tenaciously clinging to some faint hope that you still want me?
My raw parts?
My shattered self?
I am grasping for
some inkling,
some sign,
some act that will show you still care.
You have left me completely numb and without good reason.

“I like to pretend that sometimes” I said. He looked at me, in a way as though asking why or how without the desire to physically say the words.
“What I mean is that sometimes I like to pretend you were my first, instead of your older boy summer romance cliche. I don't know why though. Maybe I want to keep a bit of you with me when you leave. I think that when I’m old, or even just in college I’ll tell people how I lost my virginity to my bestfriend and how special it was. Maybe after I tell enough people I’ll even start to believe it too. Not that Michael isn't sumptuous or anything. Maybe its because when I tell people that story I’ll leave them with piece of you, and you’re great.”
He snapped the last of the bowl and kinda just sat there with a weird expression. It wasn't confusion or even melancholy. He seemed upset over something. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” he said.
“It won’t always be.”
I didn't feel sad, or happy, or angry with the silence. It was cold that night and we both kind of just sat there looking at the bright Los Angeles skyline we were so used to. He packed another bowl but I was done smoking for the night. Perhaps he didn't realize I’d been dying to tell that to him for a while. Killing myself thinking about him. Maybe I loved him, then, truth be told, I didn't know. I felt empty. Like I’d just thrown up everything I’d eaten that day. My head was as blank as the smoke coming from his mouth. He slowly put his arm around me and kissed me that way you see in movies. The way your friends sometimes talk about but you don’t really understand until it happens. He then put the **** down and fell on my lap. I quietly ran my fingers through his hair. Then he said, “Did I ever tell you about this fantastic girl whose virginity I took in the schools parking lot?”

i never really knew nonchalance
until approximately twenty minutes into ever
having had the pleasure
of your existence
alongside mine.

"i'll have to teach you how to surf"
you mentioned casually, sounding perfectly genuine-
which alone was enough to startle me
knowing you were leaving the country
before the water would ever be warm enough

the far rockaways?
my mind's eye gave a grimace and half a laugh at the thought-
but my affections were melting through your fingers.

you stopped us abruptly on the sidewalk,
halted all conversation
and crept up
(as if you had a hundred times)
on to some random brooklyn woman's stoop
and ripped a few leaves off of one of her plants.

i stood idle, feeling warmer suddenly,
trying to disguise any semi-shocked expression i may  or may not have emoted..
and watched as you returned
with the most unmistakable grin
and two sleepy little leaves in your palm.

without hesitation you began chewing on one,
while handing me mine
and i listened as you detailed the experience with an ecstatic moan of pleasure.

"mint?"

i knew it was a mint leaf,
obviously, somehow
but still asked anyway

i don't remember if you confirmed,
feeling so bewildered by the strange glowing glory of you
but i ate it obediently,
as if it were naturally in my personality
to never question eating an unfamiliar plant
from the unfamiliar hand of a man
whom i was most unfamiliarly falling in love with.

You could take it all away right now.
With one singular buzz of my phone you could stop my anger from boiling over
and my thoughts from imagining you with her.
I'm waiting restlessly and angrily at 2:59 a.m. wondering where the ******* are
and hating your lack of vacancy and loving every single part of you.
You are so beautiful to me and I need to know
I have to know that when I get like this, punching walls at 3:00 a.m. that you'll come out of the shadows and stop me.
I need you to grab me and hold me until I'm okay again.
You can stop me, but you are the only one at 3:02 a.m.

It is a desire for something received,
constantly and always from someone else,
filling a need everyone had,
be it with food, gifts, money, or affection.

We get addicted to those offerings,
give back something else in return,
to which they get hooked as well.

A man-made brand of clever negotiating,
getting what we need in the name of emotion,
nobody suspects or realizes it, of course.

The sub-conscience that man kind has,
which fools everyone including ourselves,
to our true nature.

This horrid concoction created by lies,
evolved to suit our fancy,
even now, you still have not a clue;
"Love" is funny that way.

my body is still warm in the
places where you pressed
  against me as you
****** out from my bones
any ounce of apathy
I might have had left
  and my guts flutter
violently like a moth trapped in a glass box
  and I can't wait
to never have to see you again
because I could love someone who is
seven times better than you
        but right now
    my waist can't stop remembering
    the places your fingers sometimes liked to rest

I suspended my disbelief for you
but you forgot me somewhere
   like a flea
   behind the cigarettes and ******
   behind the pretty girls who tease
   behind the marrow in your knees
but some mornings, you wake up panicked
swollen with the sweat of something you might have once dreamed

Another chance, a new approach
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

What else is waiting there? (x2)
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

So, take your time, enjoy the ride
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

Yeah, enjoy the ride...while you can
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

For you never know
What else is waiting there
Waiting in the wings for you . . . .


Refrain:
Dare you hasten your destiny?
Only to regret your impatience . . . .


What seems to be boredom now
Is simply biding grace time
Waiting in the wings for you.

And that is not so bad at all
Waiting in the wings for you
Waiting in the wings for you.

For you never know
What is waiting there
Waiting in the wings for you.


S T, 30 April 2013

A stripper does not command the same feelings
when there is no music
when there is rain
when there is **** beneath their feet
when there is no stage
when they are
naked.

Step off stage,
peel their eyes from your skin.
Layer after layer
of pervert,
of bloodshot,
wipe the trails of loathing
they leave behind.
Take a cotton swab to your navel
to dry your mother's tears.
These are nothing you haven't seen.

Find glass where it is not broken,
Break it.
Pull on your face until you can see your cracks
echoed in kaleidoscope reflections.
Let your tongue swipe your teeth
and slurp down the dollar bill smile.
Chase it with the cat that was
swimming in your eyes.
Imagine what you would look like dead.
Make silly faces in broken mirrors.
Turn away before they fade.

Shake your head in your hands
until music flies from your ears.
Shake harder.
Spill the hypnotic equilibrium they sold you
Watch the room start to sway.
Sit down.
Stand up.
Find your legs.
*****.
Heave,
feeling there is much more poison
than will ever come out.
Cough into the air,
knowing your hands are sacred.
Wipe your memory on someone else's sleeve.

Walk to the door.
Let your profession slip from your shoulders.
Become human.
Become blending into the crowd.
Become busy with something in your hands.
Open the door, then your umbrella.
Do not breathe.
Take five steps forward and wait to exhale
until your hear the door slam behind you.
It isn't healthy to mix the sight of rain
with the smell of broken pianos.

Walk forward.
Out of your shoes.
Wince as the concrete speaks to your heel.
Bathe your toes in the nearest puddle.
Let your umbrella slide from the warmth of your hand.
Watch it fly.
Notice the people.
Move your sight from the ground
and rest it on their chins.
Realize you're wearing no clothes.
Pull the confidence down and off of your walk
and turn to the closest alley.

Step off stage.
Peel their eyes from your soul.
Become an individual.
Forget "the people."
Notice the persons
wrapped to their noses in professions and smiles,
confidence and ignorance pouring from their eyes,
heads tucked low beneath charcoal umbrellas.
Smile.
Without trying when you hear the clouds roar.

Stop when you find there are more walls than bodies
and the smell of ***** is stronger than your own.
Forget your smell.
Open your mouth.
Forget your taste.
Bend your knees and raise your head.
Close your eyes and feel it rain.
Scream.
Strip the religion from your prayers.
Scream the ineffable confession.
Forget your body.
Drink the rain.

there is no music
there is rain
there is **** beneath your feet
there is no stage
you are
naked.