You bend
and almost break.
My pretty dead doll
skin pale as bone
spreads her legs
like a gate to bliss
now wide open.

Worship your white stone temple
words whispered from my thirst.

With tongue and fingers
I write my worship.

All zeros and ones
binary becoming
the form of my dream
out of the digital screen.

When I was sitting at home, considering suicide,
you were ******* someone else.
When I was too nervous to even go outside,
you were ******* someone else.
When I was staring down the barrel,
you were ******* someone else.
When I was needing love and protection,
you were ******* someone else.

And when I needed my
wife,
soul-mate,
friend,
lover,
more than ever,
guess what you were doing?

Yes come,
let's surround ourselves
with each other.

I want to spread you open
like the blank pages I use
to write on,
and cover you in the poetry
of my lust.

I weigh down on you
through sunset
and into the black.

I nearly crush your little frame,
reducing you into your safety.

Can you feel me?

Who are you?

I'm here,
waking in a sweat,
from a dream too sweet,
to let go.

The sky is greying
like an old man
and the clouds are so close
to crying your name.

Powder-white and goose-bumps
in the rain.

You slide down my throat like a...

My numbing mouth,
the flashing lights.
I can't control
my sleep tonight.

Running running
silently as
Godspeed You! Black Emperor plays
in our shared
binary ying-yang.

Escaping, we fly,
inspired to stay audible
and we are free.

Come with me to the trees,
unjudged,
moon white as your skin,
like Lucifer,
and just as beautiful.

Like a stranger you appear
the places you left in
my construction paper-heart
now finding ways to divide schismically.

There are parts,
some better,
filling in your
silhouette.

Delicate thing
the bones exposed
through translucent skin
under which flows
the vivid red lines,
highways that lead
to and from
her heart.

And I'm dreaming of a dream
and we are lost,
white makeup,
trees, everywhere.

Just a simple twist of words
to tighten maybe pull the cord
as brittle as the shells may be,
there's the watchful eyes of Miss Luci.

I'm day dreaming
as you night dream
and I can only
imagine what inverted blessings
have I done that now
reveal you to me,
sleeping,
away from any problems,
only
innocence
and
beauty remain.

Separate phone plans.
Separate bank accounts.
Separate vehicles.
Separate homes.
Separate insurance.
Separate hearts.
Separate lives.

Separate.

The hold music is especially poignant today
and my heart is hurting
as I wash the last dish you ever used,
feeling the last warm water that involves you,
with my fingers wrinkling up one last time
as I commit this morning ritual,
again,
with no one to celebrate it with.

Straw-colored veil
falls naturally into itself.

She smiles,
not knowing its power.

Little bones etch the flesh
and quickly clouds are parting,
laying out their symphony
of rain upon this tightened roof.

In her fragility
she shines,
so strong.

Your Mother died
at only thirty,
when you were just
thirteen.

I'm sure you've always wondered,
and so have I,
whether you would live longer
than her.

Turns out,
you died at thirty,
too.

It's funny how quickly
people disrespect you,  
when you start realizing
your worth.

I said I could never be mad at you
but you pushed
until you made
me a liar.

The thing you begged for
and were gladly given
has turned
and you have bitten the hand.

I will not serve this
weak heart.

The sap dries not so hard,  
sticky to the sweetness
of your maidenhead.

Stroked away like
paint peeling, yellow in its curls.

Your face never wanted
what it said to give.

And I was left
spinning spinning spinning
into what could have been,
but luckily,
is not.

That
I hope
you're sad

that you get that special kit out

that you look puffy-eyed from crying

that this poem ****** you the *******.

I just don't have
time enough
to suffer love
that's been poisoned
for years.

You ****** someone else.

"Don't say that, you're berating me!"

So I can't talk frankly about
what you've done? What
the **** am I supposed to say?

"Call it 'an affair'!"

But you let some other guy
*******
(more than once).
I can't talk frankly about it?
About how you let another man
enter you?

"*******!"

And the door slams.

And the car drives away.

And I feel a weight lift off of me.

And like that,
the switch
in my head
in my heart
is, somehow, impossibly,
flipped to "off"

You should have
hit the light switch
as you left, cursing me.

Empty me out
blood,
to the floor.

Open my veins,
hung from the door.

A way to sing the praise
of rotting memories
without the tears
without the years
without the tears
without the years

...

you could come
if you choose.

Don't think I dont know.

The music isn't a magnet,
it's an escape.

Conquistador
claiming you
night after night.

In those hot and
cool May and June nights.

How much could mean
nothing?

In memoria,
our ashes sing
songs of sadness.

Over the ridges of kettle corn chips
as some sort of enduring
piece mail attempt at balance.

It's never possible.
You are unlovable.

And if fault may lay,
it lay in me.
When I die,
early of my years,
I've gladly gone,
and am listening to music
with Noni
and Tim.

Gaze down I examine
the dried once-white paint
peeling away from
the wooden window frame.

I am abbreviated
in my stance
as the knock reaches my ear.

Who are you?
I know you,
I mean,
I knew you.
I knew you?
I knew you...

Sunlight catches the air

I realize it was a dream.
I was wake-walking
into that leaning
blue-hearted home,
whose colonial frames
bear the weight of guilt,
peering, leaning
into me.

I become nothing.

The flower bloomed
in fertile dirt
then pulled her roots up,
spat on the soil she grew from,
petals turning vanta black,
and left.

I cradle my head
like the Old Guitarist
the leather of this couch
a cold and dead reminder
of your flesh
which I would feed on
in this very spot.

Right back there
in the basement
dark,
Dark Crystal on the television.

Right back to age six.

It's funny how betrayal
will nuke you right back
to the Stone Age:

No comfort.
No relief.
No touch.

No touch...

And so I sit
six years old
and watch
this movie
again,
alone.

How dare you
take it away.

Will I just think,
"Yeah, wasn't worth it,
I should've left years ago"?

It has been
festering
for years.

My pornhub
searches
start with
"loving".

The
pavement
cracks like
memories.

And there's
no girl
in the passenger seat
to keep me
in my lane.

I had no idea
you were tunneling
under the life we had made
churning up ground
and defecating it out
until it all collapsed
in a pile of ****.

How can it be
that after all
you're just another
stereotype.

I see pictures of you
and recoil
in shock
at the sight
of the face
of the girl
you destroyed
(she wasn't real,
she drowned herself
inside of you).

The only thing
harder than my pain
is how I press the letters
writing messages
to you that
I will delete,
unsent.

I wish I was heart-broken
Sad, let-down, hurt.

But what you've done
is grind this heart of mine
to a fine black powder,
and dust
doesn't pump.

And I'm sick
So sick
I'm vomiting up
black powder
and soon, hopefully,
this stupid aching heart,
will die.

How did it feel to watch me,
trusting you,
oblivious
to all your crimes
against us?

You proved everyone right.

You proved me wrong.

A cunning girl
who knew how
to get exactly
what she wanted
at the time.

What the **** else do you
want me to say about it?