I would spread my life wide open
if only you'd come
fill this bed,
my empty head,
and too- full heart,
force me back to
sleeping lengthwise.

I've got a ring
I don't wear it.

Even though it's on my finger,
you see,
it wears me.

I have this gold wrapped
around my finger -

For when you aren't near
For when I can't lay in your arms
For when I need to be held,
your ring holds me.

Just before bed
I turn out all the lights
and for a few moments
I am bathed in darkness.

In the moment before
I turn the bedside light on
I imagine you'll be there
In bed
smiling,
in love,
when the light comes on.

But you never are.

And this nightmare-come-true,
tallies on another day.

I shake like a drooling fool,
exhale a snore
am spent as my drizzle creeps towards her ******.
The loose flesh of me weighed down upon her,

but she wasn't there

She was running through fields of fresh emerald spears,
chases the wild horses of Patagonia
never catches them as she is overrun
carried away by the stallions from behind,
blooms a water lily opens and closes over and over,
Cereus opens with the touch of the Moon over and over,
feel the dust hear the waves of trampling hooves

as her face, a tense string,
shatters into an open mouthed smile and shout of,

"I am life, and you are the most blessed of creatures, here.
I am the glamor of everything.
I am Mother Earth in this moment,
screaming, fitting, wailing, quaking, coming.
Your diminishment has made this possible.
Bathe in the spinning cradle of life,
and stay still before you retreat from it."

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.

I'm sorry
I can't field the answers to questions
I won't relapse into.

My heart is hurting,
and I can't stop it.
I want to feel again, so badly,
but it's dead.

The muscle is not alive.

Just like my writing,
this boy isn't real.

If the world
is ending
then why not
end it all?

If today were my last day,
taken away by my disease,
I want you to know
that love has never been
so pure,
easily because of you.
I would want you to
smile,
love,
live,
even if I couldn't any longer.

I'd want you to keep her safe
because I couldn't,
if today were my last day.

I deleted your photos
from my ******* facebook
cover album today.

I went to change it and your face,
beautiful,
took me by surprise.

You left is such a hurry,
in such a dark plastic wrap gesture
that I've already started to
forget what you look like.

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.

"If you love something, let it go.
If it doesn't return, it was never yours,"
they said.

Well it WAS mine.
There are no two ways about it.

What they don't tell you,
is that some things don't return,
not because they weren't yours,
but because they die
without you to hold it.

...and I cradled your head
on my chest
hair a rarest substance
onyx in reflection
eyes black holes
whose event horizon
arrests me

the feel of your skin
cheek cradled in my palm
press of your body
like a reflecting song
I can't get out
of my head

and I could breathe
again.

"And every time he woke up in the coldest sweat
Scrawled to the bone with her nails
was the promise that she wouldn't let go..." ~ "Momento Mori" by Antemasque*

I was dreaming
about you
and realized
I haven't dreamed
about her
in weeks.

Yeah,
that's what Rex said.

You're in good company,
I guess.

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

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.

Well at least
we answered
that debate,
didn't we?

I've only got so much left
and no ones listens to me not screaming for what I want,
my mouth full of feathers and blood,
weakened to the state of living past the point of dying,
to the point of numbness
where I can cut this skin like construction paper,
stretch it over love you never had
and find something that can carry me forward
into somewhere I can finally rest.

There's a clear stretch of land ahead
of that broken dessert landscape
shattered in atrophy and assumptions,
wrong.

The things I took for little,
weren't.

That stretch is ahead,
though our heels are leaning back on the precipice
behind.

Ahead may seem empty,
but it's not.

I'm filling it with a road lined with dates,
trees a girl draws in journals, hope and want.
And just like those tree sketches,
skulls growing into cartoons that are non-threatening,
in black and white
like your face concentrating into that mirror
on March 5th,
the road will lead to wherever
we need to go.

I'm busted, baby.
Swollen and brittle
Soft and pliable
And there's just nothing I can do
Excluded lesions collect in pools
In sorrow, I've dug for you
But I'm busted, baby.

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…

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.

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.

I'm so close to slipping away
burning life into irradiated ash,
slipping beneath the waves,
and escaping.

Baby, let me break.
Make me happy,
lonely, aching to
love.

Able only
to hate.

I'm sorry for the toll
my mental health took
on your sweet soul.

The nights of worry
watching me disintegrate
in a grey-shaded room
where you must have felt...

...so alone.

And if I could break
this time-line error
I would save the baby girl
that was being suffocated.

Take her hand
(Fight)
Tell her it's alright
(Fight)
Cradle her precious face
(Fight)
And never look away from her doe-eyes
(Fight)

I'm so sorry
little one.

I'm so tired
of laughing without the eyes
of crying without the tears
of wearing this mask
on top of a mask
just to keep
people
satisfied.

I still turn to talk to you
I still expect your smile
I still hold on to your soul
I still see the rest of my life
in you.

And so...

I'm still fighting.

She only has so much weakness to bleed,
so much effort to save,
so much anxiety to drain.

I've painted enough words.
You get the point,
but there is less a period.

I've often wondered if, why, when, and how much
it weighs.

It weighs exactly as much as the leaves
you wear upon your hair.

I love you
I say a thousand times
Would say
has said
wrapping my arms
around you
I will protect you
I will fight any battle for you
I will be the warm water
pouring into your empty cup
Filling you up,
pulling you to shore,
mouth to mouth,
you gasp...
you're back.

Scrawling drawings in bone coins,
desperately attempt to pull you from a hole of
skipping heart and
tightening chest.

My pen is crooked,
my lines are numb,
and I'm wishing you were awake.

And baby,
you are my perfect world.

How dare you
take it away.

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

Like the cracks
between the sea.

I hold out loud
conversations
with the ghost of you
in my bed.

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.

It must be nice
to be surrounded by green
to be in a safe place
to seek the therapy you need
to break away
to wrap yourself in yourself until yourself emerges again.

It must be nice
to not be left behind.

Slide across your subtle folds
Tease with fingers
Wetness
Your body always responds
It knows the touch
of me entering your honey
Slick, like a baby seal
and just as bald.

So many words
spread across so many tears.
The days add up
to dessicated husks.

"I will walk through Hell for you," he swore.

"I'd stay with you even if we were homeless," she lied.

And how the moments add up.
How they take and take and take, sapping away like the hatred for the face in the mirror.

All of these thoughts melt
like the gates between her legs
now open
to his whispered words.

Swings and playgrounds
Candy and sunbeams
On your face, loyalty
Can you feel my love?

Turnstile girls
Nullified conscience
On my mind, ghost
Can you feel my love?

Black eyed scars
Kisses and blood
In my words, deceit
Can you feel my love?

Vacuumed existence
Jargon and filth
On my breathe, death
Can you feel my love?

It's hard to fix,
when she's taking
strange *****.

My lips hang from the edge
of your lips
for a moment,
then meet...

(My soul is blinded by you.
My heart is only for you.
My love will not fail you.
My mind will not destroy us again.)

...and part.

She beats you to hell,
for months,
then says she doesn't deserve
to take one beating.

We've shared secrets no one else would ever want to know,
but now your brothel hair has become a nest for dead birds.

Where once you were a wet marsh,
perfumed in tangy musk,
you have now become a dry
steppe covered in rotting fish.

I'm writing acrostics of your name,
remembering you like discarded tire husks
on Arizona's August freeways.

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

We were meant:
From open handed
unrestrained
open-palmed
strikes to your face as
I penetrate you,
to the way you lean
into my hand
squeezing your throat
until you nearly
lose consciousness,
let go last moment
hard-******* in for air
your body more alive
then ever
woke again
from another slap
and your eyes gasp wide open
looking for Daddy
and finding my gaze,
and being at peace
with the weight
of me
on you.

I used to
burn for you,
now I
burn away.

You haunting ******* ignition switch,
the nail's-head trigger was hung over like
a pendulum Poe would be proud of.
I'd have stopped elevators with my blood and bone,
held it back, pushed it back,
taken my life out in a splash of cement chalk-lines,
to save you.

I still dream of you.

The good dreams hurt
much more than
the bad ones did,
when you still lived.

"Blood keeps drinking away, certain of its destination. Driving through New Orleans at night. Gotta find a destination...just one fix." ~ Ministry

Sick
I gargle your blood one last time
I hear you tell stories of authors
you love so much
while inside my head digs tunnels
to China

At first unwrapping,
(a child with no eyelids)
the chunk of tar
always seems fist-sized - until it is gone

High
You are suddenly there,
a cool summer morning anxious to be far too hot,
wind blows through you as if it were
balloons
in rainbow hues.

Reloaded conception, sanity.

Sick*
Stupid -
doing your part by recycling cans,
wasting water cleaning each one out,
equation a zero-sum,
positive multiplied by a negative.

Aokigahara, a Sea of Trees,
redolence of a carrion flower attracts flies.
They land, bring up dissolution and
spread your legs
where they deposit the eggs.

Beachy Head, a white plume of efflorescent death.

I've lost myself
in you
but much prefer the me
that grew.