I can pretend behind this wall
that I'm okay,
tender little teeth
wear the truth each night,
grinding down to nerves.

I've not gained so much as recently,
as I watch it all
drain
away.

Wearing my words, she holdse far.
Fist aflame against her men,
as she stands in fingers and teeth
and ribs breaking skull.

But, oh...

How could less be more when
all that she has ever wanted
is writing this for her?

But oh...

If she only knew
all I've gone through,
skies of red,
and dreams of blue.

But oh...

In refrain like a sad song
that tears fall gently from,
is all that this boy has
for the night.

And so I beat my fists,
aflame,
on my pillow
praying my hair
catches fire.

I am just a ghost in your machines
low as binary, weak ink traces
a lost little girl
justice is never wrought
the leftover heart break I thought
and you still occupy
the cracks in my heart.

I am a piano, slightly out of tune
but my dissonance makes you notice me.

I am a steady nurturing rain
and I keep you cool and wet.

I am the sunlight on a blackened world,
that brings the music of memories
and the life of fresh precipitation.

I'm skipping stones on your plain
surface risking nothing
but every corrosive moment
in the clutch of feathered sadness,
dripping in milk.

I will show you
just how soft
and close
it can
feel
when
it is

engorged in near-violence
shudder your teeth
as your whole body
grinds on its own shaking muscles

inner thighs
*******
neck

and suddenly
you aren't sure anymore
that more love is made
making love
or being
******
and
owned.

I am writing words because speech is often too much. Writing to a black haired girl I have dreamt of, damage done. Aloe shatters in an explosion of feathers, lost out in between my tears. My weakness is something I call a strength, what broke was tempered steel beneath her gaze, wide-eyed in love. The Mother Mori bends her back, back at me again and I enter her, conquered. Do you even read me? I've started moving from your well of gravity and am writing a story of my life with myself as my own unreliable narrator. Would I slide into you? When it's never been a problem, the lack of your insides wrapped around me suddenly becomes one. Butterflies flutter around the butter that has begun oozing from the wound you have made in me, like a sweetly scented rot, a gorgeous gangrenous gap in my skin, attracting flies. When speech becomes too much, I write. You brought me to life by reading me. When you don't read, this dies.

There are things I could tell you
about myself,
lesions awakened in a cloud of poppies,
burn the tracks and the bridge
that contained them,
only to realize
I was on the bridge.

You appeared
like a boat underneath
to rescue me,
but you being a ghost beneath,
only makes...

I'm falling asleep...

You are a dream,
But am I only dreaming you?

They say it is one of the rarest things in the whole universe
that there are only three known to exist,
(coincidentally enough)
but there is a fourth I know
that is so close it makes me wonder
how rare can they be, really?

I realize it only speaks to my fortune
to be so close to them.

Hollymylove, orbited by two smaller bodies
white flaming hair that blows in stellar winds
lighting up the insurmountable darkness.

The concourse lays out between you and I,
allow this reprimand,
accept this brokerage
in escrow.

Weep the clouds
out of those spinning absences you left,
broken, open, empty,
and full of terror.

Fragments, strung together like your tears,
shock themselves, an ice bath.
I could steal you like a thief in the night,
your shining white knight,
fill you with my lust
**** myself just enough,
that little death of ******,
inside you.

The other day I dove into water...
I swear I heard
your voice
like an echo
stirring in my mind
as I was drowning,

As my heart spent its last breath,
it said your name.

There is so much that goes on in that pretty little head of yours
un-shown to anyone with living or something instead of words
that mean so little when so much said causes burns.
So abbreviate, punctuate, silence and contemplate,
hold these conversations using only your face
those eyes of blue, convey everything inside of you:

the perfect despite what you tell yourself
the flawless despite how you rate yourself
the endless rattle of colic baby rattles
the voices telling you that you equal less
than the shocking
the breath-taking
the gasp of first love

that made this never-at-a-loss-for-words boy
stumble-stutter over himself
in his first attempts to get inside and learn what
goes on in that pretty little head of yours.

I miss you,
I hope for you
someday to return embraced in my
arms of chicken wire,
brittle in this cool breeze blowing across
cracked earth that surrounds me, grey,
the only precipitant;
drops of suspiration from my eyes.

My world skips to slow motion
as I observe with the eyes
of a million unwoken promises,

and it hits the ground,

each drop splattering like a cloud devoured in a
pool of flies.
My body yearns, it aches for you
like a honey suckle longs to be
plucked,
torn in half
licked clean
by the tongue,
moist with desire,
that makes it home in the preoccupied body that will soon discard it,
barely noticed by the taste buds; it moves on to consume another.

Hope leaves me
as I realize
I miss you, but I don’t know who you are…

Just a tiny spot that grew
into the crevices of our love,
a mushroom-blue fungus
spreading mycelium tendrils through

It's only been a week
trust me, I know

I've been counting the suffering seconds
while you are away, having your life there with
no responsibilities
no work
no job
no cares
(for me, even?)
no schedules

I count these seconds still as you tell me how tired you are
(doing nothing)
how there's little time to talk
in my spare time from the job I work at seventy-hour weeks,
(the one you said I needed to save our marriage)
and how the frustrations of a bad connection
mean more to you
than I do,
anymore.

So I hope you sleep well,
I hope the fact that you can show no care for
a person who cares for you more than themselves,
doesn't keep you up.

I hope your beautiful head is sleeping soundly
as I am sleepless,
waiting for your answer.

Do you know
that you are a light in my world,
that you are the smartest girl in the world,
that you are the sweetest person in the world?
Do you know
that you are the most beautiful person in the world,
that you keep me together,
that without you I'd be completely lost?
Do you know
that I'm not going anywhere,
that I'm all-in,
that I will fight for you,
for us?
Do you know?
Do you now?

I had enough of emptiness,
the shallow grave I've been digging myself.
Lying to myself all this time
thinking I was digging to China
but only inches down
ready to fall in and expire.

But there is no expiration date
on love.

I'll wear it like a broken record,
your weight, an open wound,
still.

How quickly the everything you were,
your void, a dripping faucet,
madness.

You swallowed my love in your throat,
your gut, a churning pit,
death.

What's left of my ability to feel,
your numbing, a left hook,
loneliness.

So please, free me, Star,
from the gravity of your being,
as it has left me crushed
like damp, wrinkled pages
of a book you no longer care to open

If you were a worm,
I'd spend my days in dirt
letting you run through my fingers
along my gentle hands.

If you were a worm,
I'd spend my money on earth
rich, black, loose
where you could live.

But you are not a worm.
You are a human being.
And as a human is
infinitely more complex,
so is my love,
infinitely exponential.

All I want is your attention,
Your fingers in my hair,
Your soft voice in my ear,
Your cradle made of arm bone and flesh
to rest
my head in,
Your chest
to rest
my ear on
as your heartbeat murmurs its lullabies
to me.

If I am empty, it is for you.
If I am full, it is for you.
If I am something, it is for you.
If I am nothing, it is for you.

If I am, it is for you.

When wakefullness holds me captive,
stirring ceaselessly at 2AM,
I rest on memories of you,
on the spot you once lay,
on my bed.

After everything, how could you walk away?
After everything, how could you let me drift away?
After everything, how could you siphon the years and pack them,
like boxes, in just those short days?
After everything, how could you wrap up our memories like twine slowly frays?
After everything, how could you break every promise to which I pray?

After everything,
how am I feeling sexlessly ******
disarmed destroyed denigrated
left on the roadside dying
to just be with you after everything?



Everything...


...


...




There's so much to be had here.
Come back to me here.
Don't leave us here.
I only want to love you.

He's running to catch you, Marion
at the end of the dock
stretched out over cyan waters.

His hand arched out like vellum over dry bone
reaching for his dream
hoping that when he reaches the end
he finds something other than a requiem.

When the memories of
how I was your first love,
all engulfed in flame,
and how I am your first regret,
wrapped in the cellophane of disgust,
I feel the black maggot
churn in my heart,
defecates into my gut,
makes me sick,
all over again.

I bet your strings could be pulled,
Marion...
ette.

Raspy in motion,
the scars you bear could, would,
will show me the path inside you.
Tongue traces,
**** this brittle bone beware the accent marks on my vowels;
they always catch the lips.

If there is a star, and if it has a name,
I would never reveal it.

My Star had a name,
she blew across and away from my world
left everything burned like
Mercury's surface,
too close to what gives life,
to ever live again.

you will *** for Me, until you cannot speak
and for that,
you will call Me, "Daddy."

you will mold to My desire, which is only to better you
and for that,
you will call Me, "Sir."

you will bend to Me, but I won't break you
and for that,
you will call Me, "Master."

**** the flies
out from my eyes.
As it is,
all I ever see
with them dies.

Did you hear it,
telling me I'm ugly?
Did you see me,
believing every word?

I want a black-haired girl,
I want my fingers to be
coiled about by ebony,
pulled so hard it cuts the fingers
like fish line she is caught on,
(the other hand, hooking her mouth
assures she will be helpless)
as my tool opens her insides
spills every drop of oil within her
making my work
faster...

but even more
than my weight pushing her down
into a smashed doe pose,
I simply want
a
friend.

There are bits of glass
strewn about
this empty
heart of mine.

It comes to fill an empty space
to fill in the spaces left by the loss of

our pores opened
our saliva blended
our sweat mingled
our velvet moments
our staccato line of site
our time spinning in reverse
our words spoken with our eyes
our family held together by a thread
our love stretched so thin over our bones

It comes like a dead wind
filling the emptiness left behind,
and I don't want that inspiration.

My memory is fading,
your face, a burnt and ashen sillouette
of blood in my mirror.
Catch me, I'm falling,
hiding in a nightmare of *******
unrealized sexuality,
unwanted.

I'll spin on out,
uncatchable,
ruining lives along the way,
carrying only the broken memory of you,
Love.

******* out,
through the back of my skull.
Let the soul fly free,
into your nothingness.

I've been unaware
holding this head under water
driven in by tiny bones
ossuary of the lines on your
face.

He's been stirring
water pours off as he rises
attracted by brittle bones
sarcophagi of dreams
broken.

Leprous ash,
the soreness of atrophy, caught,
a terrifying tenderness,
and my numbness just cannot sway.

I just cannot give what I want,
what you need,
and I'm dying
in my attempts to provide it to you.

My favourite pet daydream,
(her combustion creates me)
that I eagerly await
to set fire to flames.

I'm leaking thick drops of lust
into the naked nothing
surrounds my chest
breath, a Liliputian task in your absence.
My weariness, a tourniquet,
gauze, wet, etches the corners of my mind
I'm swallowing water, child,
and this undertow is just too strong
for treading.

Search me,
stretch me out over the table of our history together,
with your tongue trace my skin like it's a map,
and find your way back home to us.

I am waking up in tears every morning
our songs echoing through my head
covered in sweat,
shirt soaked through,
hair on end like I've been swimming in the bath of
warm water and
memories
we drew over nearly a decade.

I'm spinning out of control and
I don't know if I can remember how to be a good husband anymore.

But mostly, I just miss you
like the desert misses the rain,
and just like that metaphor,
I am becoming a ******* cliche.

...my puppet on a string
mistaken feelings
a mixed drink of
clutched-breathed *******
and red-road nail marks?

Your hand,
(fingers spread)
palm pushed knuckle-white to the wall, shakes.

I am behind you...

My free hand:

pulls your hair like a leash...
breaking against your ***...
held firmly over your wet, open mouth...
wrapping around to *******,
polishing your pearl,
collar of fingers...

I was dreaming of things I didn't want to,
and woke towards your comfort

but it wasn't there

and that's what has hurt the most,
so far.

Scold this abrasion
in weakling poses
dance with me,
Memory.

Awaken me
in the hold of your breath,
stilted in the lapse.

Our lights are bending
beneath the weight
of your gravity...

let it go before they break.

I'm filling the void
left by your absence
with **** and marijuana
and I'm so sick of feeling cold.

The flowers, red and violet,
bend away from your light
and they just won't reach to you
the way I wish they would.

I'm an old man,
sipping a drunken melody
in this claustrophobic daydream,
and my heart just feels like Winter.

There's nothing left
of all that could've been
except my empty shudder
inside this chest,
begging to rot
from the outside in
where lust equals death
where death equals trust
where nothing,
(nothing at all)
keeps me alive
for the nothing that's left.

Love has an empty story to tell,
and I am sick of listening.

Oh, to get my hands upon your frame,
to mold you,
to hold you,
to *******.
To watch your eyes gloss and fade,
as your identity fades into

a glazed expression of
all the gains,
all the lost hopes,
all the joy,
all your dreams,
as all your existence collapses
into a single few moments of freedom
from yourself.

I'm swallowing pieces of paper,
dissolving the fragments of
your holy ghost on the
moist surface of my tongue,
the one that still means
all the lies it told.

So I am shaving my eyebrows off,
over this white porcelain sink
(it was never as pure as you),
sanding my fingers down to nubs,
and licking razors until
the tongue is gone,
and only the truth of silence remains.

Blankets never had it so good,
and I just need someone to hold.

Put me in your pocket,
keep me safe
like the paper fragment
I wrote this on
and never gave to you.