Burnt to ashes
how do I spark my flame?
Perhaps, embers somewhere
still breathe
and so I write again?

Bonfires and wildfires
people see so well
but the fire in my heart
remains unseen.

If you ever come along
and empty the sea on me,
I'd would still be burning
till he came,
a drop of tear from his eyes
is all I need
to douse the raging fire
deep inside.

Again, I lost it.
Got my hopes up;
As usual.
Iterated my disarray,
Nothing but rejection was their reaction.

Again, I thought of it.
Grew to an acquaintance,
Assorted into bleakness;
Intrinsic I was not,
Null was I.

Again, I felt it.
Glaring at me;
Anger and disgust.
Inside of me,
Apprehensions try to rip me apart.

Again, I've hurt myself.
Guilt ensues over me;
Again, I've hurt them, as well.
Insensible as I were;
Not as insensible as I am now.

Again, I've fallen.
Gutted down to nothing.
Assaulted beyond me.
Inherently living in me;
None other than perpetrators, such as myself.

he sits on the bar stool beside her
                            too skinny
                            his flat wrinkled forehead
                            lifts brown bushy eyebrows
                            but he does not speak to her

                            she is blonde of course
                            perhaps 23
                            also skinny
                            a flat chested go go dancer
                            from new york city
                            el passo
                            bakersfield
                   ­         miamichicagomontreal
                            denver…­

                            she is with someone else

                             he thought she was his
                             but now

                             as a friend
                             she would like to buy him a shot

                             tired eyes narrow                            
                             he  stares at her as if he
                             has never lost a job
                                                                      ­                                     
                             as if no woman
                             brunette red head or blonde that he has loved
                             whose name he has tattooed onto his arm
                             has ever left him
                             as if the mail man, the priest, and his mom
                             are spitting into his stupid face
                             as if god has kicked him in the nuts
                             as if his dog has bit his hand as if
                    
                             this could never have happened to him

Spasms of pain controlled by the brain.
Hitting the ground without a sound.
Itching to see if you'll hear my plea.
Trusting the dark to leave its blue mark.