Inhales inaudible
You exhale  
The ghosts that haunt your sleep
The terrors that sculpted
Your past
Your future
Breathing in nothing
But the knowledge
You grasped from the horror
You remember -so well
Out and not in
I-so-la-tion
Swallows you as you sleep
rocking you into a deep, deep
Place of fear of anger but of love
For the life you've created
Though unbalanced and un-whole
Your inhales are inaudible

no one is around
i walk down the streets of a vacant wasteland
forgotten, discarded, tattered
red cups drag across asphalt
with no force pushing them but the
tired alcohol stained breath of the wind.
this beautiful sunday morning-tainted
by the drunken cheers of last night
the life-poured, guzzled, shot
out of this place
death hangs over the streets while a
drunken hibernation swallows my
"highly esteemed" peers.
shattered glass cracks beneath
my feet as i follow the pathway
to my house; to my successes
this place…
this is home.

that place…
that place where you..don't…know
whats right or whats wrong
that place where you just are
not quite yourself; yet not estranged
by a strangeness completely
that funk that is what this is

do I feel extra or not quite
is this excess or insufficiency
Do i jump into action abounding
with love or stay put
for fear of the funk that follows
quirky tendencies or supressed emotion?
stirring. twisting. explosion

of thoughts of none
but a barren wasteland that
slowly crawls through the excessive
chatter that fills me to the brim.

is it grim? or a beautiful bounty of
raw, ******, toils of the soul

blessed, or cursed
I Am This Place.

your hot breath Consumes my ears
my neck, Victim to your tongue
Heated Passion
with kisses that Burn

I could cry at any moment
tears pouring deep and wide
from the everlasting well of heart and soul
buried in the dark depths of my uneasy chest

I could smile at any instance
Joy spreading like butter
smoothly and easily from one side to another
as I remember the light rays of happiness who's shadows once graced my face

I could yell in a heartbeat
at the Fierce Ferocity gaining momentum
from the bottom of my toes obtaining speed as it overcomes my earthly being  

I could laugh at the corny attempts of your mistaken humor
or at the twisted path you push yourself to follow
—hilariously distraught with comic ambition

I could dance in the silver sprays of moonlit grace
ignoring all but the life within myself
listening to the music of the rhythmic unknown
unsure of what song to play next  

I could hide—
from fate, from love, from lust, from fear
Refusing to be powerless
Refusing to be broken
in a world made whole by imperfections  

I could run
my body to the ground
the world to oblivion
Fueled by Passion
or none at all  


but I don't

I just sit here



waiting.

I used to love this time of day
the sacred “Golden Hour”
—when the sun’s last dimming rays
casts down, kissing its earthly
lovers a long, slow, thoughtful
Goodnight.

I used to love this time of day
when simple sunshine
smiled at me and I back,
laughing in its
reluctantly cooling embrace
thinking of the joys of right
now—the carefree remembrances
of yesterday—and the excitement
of tomorrow.

Now—I hate this time of day.
its fleeting light taunting
Me with what I can
and what I can’t do
with the remnants of what’s left.

Now I hate this time of day
when the sun’s heartless rays abandon
me…again.
Another day past.
Another day gone.
Did today matter? The sun yells
as it drifts and turns, dancing towards the
inescapable, daunting darkness…
Did you make it?

The phone rings.
I dance along with its shrill tone
and listen as my father answers.
My view shaded,
by a five year old’s innocence.

His face falls.
My heart sinks.
Did something bad happen?

Laura.
My companion, my cousin,
my neighbor, my friend,
gone
he tells me.

My mom enters from the garage,
a brand new pair of sneakers
just for me in her hands.

Sneakers!

She stops at the agony
painted across my fathers face
What’s wrong? she asks.
Oh Mommy, Laura died.

New shoes! Let me see the new shoes!
I tried them on as my parents
wept.