winch sinched grimmace
hung at half mast
in an attempt to hold rebelious bicusbids in their place
     but they still wiggle like a bobble-head jesus glued to the dash
     every time that you laugh
so i guess that's why you're giving it up

your arms look like a road map
     riddled with pin-***** ***-holes
and with routes to hell and back marked
by distressed vasculatory flares
     so you ask to borrow my sweater
     and another fourty bucks
with no explanation why

for once
     you didn't lie to me

he whispered secrets in my ear
as i'd weave tall tales in his chin hair
     and still to this day
          we each swear
there was nothing there

other than the static charge in the sexed up air
and the moon beams
     tangled in our thunderstorm breathing

i still see you in my dreams

     you come and go in flashes of raw and sacred light
like heat lightning
     a mile and one half downstream
from my not-so-secret hide-out
amongst the limping cedars and smouldering sage

          and i?
i am the thunder

tap-dancing my way
through the ill-reviewed chapters of your life
     the same way that your nothern lights glow
through every lifetime of mine

          i found you, once
          and i'm miserable at letting go

for, oh
     you move so slow
          yet you're somehow far too hot to trail
like a commet lusting after its own tail
lacing our solar system
with the whimsy of wishes to throw in the air
     or the well
     or at the man in the sky
          who promises to keep us from hell

     it's just so bizzare
          how i find your missing heartbeat
               in every stray that mine picks up
and the way that you're stitched to my sole
     like my shadow's lone companion

i chase my jameson with the best of intentions
and each of my cigarettes with ****** tension

i guess i'm the best
at ignoring my own lessons

i've learned to trust each exception
     and never call a moment home

that's when i grow

in the universal record skip of an instant
that reminds me to question
absolutely everything i know

i want to douse you in the muddy water
of the balckfork's patient trickle
     at the crest of spring
and baptise you as mine to keep

     my own semi-precious stone to bring to the table

let me carry you around in my pocket
like a bottle cap
from the last bar you sat at
     while you were day-dreaming of me

          some treasures are far too great
          to try to hide from the world outside

          and more often than not
     a good bargain
isn't what we bargained for

i can never find my drink
     it's not so much that i forget
     it's more so that i'm never around long enough to circle back twice
but that's alright
     i can always find someone's

i talk to myself
**** near constantly
     i'd like to think it's not to hear myself speak
     but to let myself think
the only time i get the chance
to say the things i've always longed to
is when i'm the only one around to listen

     i love to listen

i also love to eavesdrop
just to see how others talk
     when they're expecting only to be heard

i still don't believe in hell
     not as a destination
hell is some place within me
i dredge through it daily
and not a soul can save me
     guess that's why i've never feared god

no
     not god
but **** near everyone else

i've got this ******* anxiety
just welling within me
and what's worse
is that no one can see my crazy
     no
     just me
but it pecks at my brain
and howls at the moon
and consumes my thoughts whole

     i'm afraid of everyone
     always

i'm the most afraid of me

i'm afraid of the things i see in the mirror
     i fear for myself
that i'll never really grow up
     just more scared
     and angry
     and bitter
i'm afraid of my heart-rate
     climbing higher than your balcony
     until it factually breaks

but i somehow know i'll be okay
i feel it more and more each day
     because somewhere
     in my static-charged skull
     and double-time heart
     there is at least a little balance

     see
     i've got something that most people don't
          i really only know one thing:

if i ran into the six-year-old version of me
if we passed as strangers on the street
     she'd smile
and think that she'd like to grow up to be just like me

i still stretch in the morning
in hopes i can someday make myself
into the shape of the hole
at the center of the universe
     and become the glue
     that keeps magic in its place