my cerebellum is ever changing,
but in my head there are always vases breaking like a drunken father in an angry fit so that my isolation is never vacant;
my thought patterns are shattered, blood-stained glass.

a furious saleswoman is grasping my hairline at the forehead and pulling the skin off of my scalp from behind,
her friends tying my hands behind my back with rope that is much too tight,
ensuring helplessness over my tumultuous oblivion.

I am a timeline of everything I've ever known.
It's copied onto thirty-five pieces of blank paper
and revealed to you in that mundane history course
that everyone naps through.

I can't deny
that among the black waves,
I've seen a sea star or two.
But I seem to be devoutly colorblind
to the silver linings that outline
what I've gone through.

You can't disguise your drowning,
nor can you swim to shore.
You just have to hope
that no one knows what to look for.

A horizon and a half to see-
he's putting mind over matter,
and I think it might matter.
But how is one to find out?

Does the Jellyfish not sting,
or the caged bird sing?

My answers are not confident,
despite some marvelous attempt.
I'm still held in contempt
over a crime drowned below the surface.

She raised the platform, fortunately.
And unfortunately,
she was only there hypothetically.

(She still has no idea

…

okay, I ate the last chocolate.
***** me.)

Next time,
I'll catch you if you fall.
And cage you if you sing.

Apathy
is not
pathetic.

Apathetic
is
nothing less than pandemic.
But
nothing less common
than soles wearing out
between hot, molten asphalt
and the swellling skin.

you've been begging to just cave in.

But I can't live and not care.
Fiction is nothing to compare-
except all of the scenery that matters.

A horizon is subjective.
So the billboards
and the spider chords
have still taught me nothing.

I am opening my eyes to the green.
I am shaking like a lantern unseen.
I am a seed
planted on top of a building
waiting for sunlight.

i'm unmedicated,
but when you fell asleep between your glass of Merlot and the outside of my left leg,
I was sedated.

my bones never enjoyed saturation, or even understood how someone else could experience something similar; they just reflect raindrops like a two-way window pane.

now, it all hits me in brief, powerful bursts like a short-range shotgun blast and in long waves like electroconvulsive therapy that gives you painful memories instead of making them go away.

i hadn't felt anything in years but even brick walls have soft spots. Even spiders can abandon webs and become kings.* Even someone so full of nothing could feel like the new year wouldn't bring more pills and that love could fly without restricted access areas or delays due to what they claim is the weather but is really pain being drained in the wrong sink, one either too puke-stained or too leaky.

i finally realized that color television was a worthy investment. I can recognize how much brighter black and white seemed when you gave me what I perceived to be the inside of your arteries: red, black and blue humming along at a pace that felt synonymous with what I perceived to be equilibrium.

i am no longer sedated

I'm not too inclined to write.
Because my roots lie deep in soil
unmended
and highly offended by such
apathetic precipitation. Approximating that
any hint of hope
was barren.

So a love life-
one, call her wife.
She austerely abided by permanency
despite omnipresent strife.
There was simply no life.
Nothing.
Not an attempt to stick it out
past
imaginary doubt.
All when you were
all my life was about?

Days of
ferris wheels
and
tickled squeals
bring on such sweet strength.
But I can't say anything
blunted the light
more than your shadow.

I digress.

It's always been a battle
My blind past,
they say,
shows only decay.

If green is still visible,
on a day chemically dismal
remember
that still
I'm not inclined to write.

I fall,
and I am fleeting.

Here,
there is no escaping.

Clutches
of care and emotion.

I'm terrified of such a notion.

Brown-
there is brightness
in such darkness.

There are hymns
hopefully strung on tombstones.

There
is
light
where
there
is
nothing.

These words are nothing but
bits of string
arranged by
the level of warmth they provide.

Stagnant feelings may divide.
I will smile if she smiles,
and work tirelessly
all the while.

Green eyes
and velvet pastures
just weren't enough.

My greatest surmise
is that faucets
just didn't emit the right temperature.

The puzzle pieces
were just some false expenditure-
some meaningless adventure.

I don't know why roses sting.
There's just always a reason
to ignore the sun.

I dont' know.

There's so little difference between
frowns and freckles now,

It's like stepping on aluminum
cans ripped opened
by cigarette smoke
and my attempted assimilation
have manifested
some profound sadness.

There are no butterflies in the field.
There is no text on the line.
There is a coyote
working the lines
until dawn breaks,
shaking my world yet again.

If only the power would give.
If only the can had no bottom.
If only there was never a romance
of egg and *****
forcing this ringworm
of a human being.

I have dropped my value.
I have lost my voice.
I have lost my fingerprints.
I have boiled too soon.

I have taken a heart
and I have chewed it
dry.

Even the wounds die.

The apples tumble down the tree
We swim in the green sea.
That idyllic place
where the camera lens reflects
the sunlight against your eyes.
And doesn't predict our demise.
Or any little fights in between.
No arguments
about the shirt on your back
or the ***** you lack
or the picking up of the slack.
Who wants to hear that?
I want to be back on that picnic day.
No way.
No way anyone this perfect could love me.
No one so free.
No eyes as clear as the sea.
And that one time you pretended to be Ashley.
(How fun was that night?
You got us into bars,
played guitars,
and brought me to Mars?
****, what was in that?)
Don't ask me again,
why you think it isn't worth it.
The touch of her nose
some witty verbose
her hips like a rose
and that little way that she hiccups if she's had a little too much to drink and she starts to laugh really, really hard and it just kind of comes out and then you laugh harder and it just gets worse.
(I can't make this stuff up.)
I'd like to think of all of those things.
And I think you would too.
If love wasn't what we are fighting for,
then do we even have anything to lose?
Some green bills,
some overpriced pills,
a trophy for us today,
a sense of narcissism to stay.
So just try to love.
Because despite anything above,
We have this.
A dauntless, morning kiss.
a star upon which to wish,
a euphoria close to bliss.
Something to always miss.
And the pancakes at that place
and that look on your face.
Erase.
Erase anything else you need.
Trust me.
When you find her,
it won't matter.
You'll fight, and you'll tire,
there won't be any fuel for the fire.
But man,
those eyes that are clearer than the sea
are clearer than anything to me.

i'm absorbing the pain of your lacerations -
the tattoos of your mother's screams
etched in between your knuckles.

a canvass,
whitened and deeply dented,
takes the form of wordless, celestial aspiration -
the manifestation of release from an invisible prison.

your clanging tin cup on the bars asks for logic -
in response,
the uncompromising transmission sits in silence.

your mind does not deserve such a fate.

under opaque bedsheets,
a reversal in perspective unlocks the gate.

a house divided may only stand
if division negotiates with gravity
in blind faith.

If there's a fight every day,
does any mind exist to stay?

I've been thinking of overgrown vines
and broken stone walls.

The air just doesn't
taste as green anymore

How can anyone deny that?

The urge to connect,
combine,
transform,
touch
and ascend
is not to ever ignore.

The only happiness I know
comes from memories
of vines and stone.

So-
here are my limbs.
And there is the moon.
My only request
is that you don't untangle
the overgrowth
that makes the bond possible.

the bulk of the evidence:
the dust bunnies in the largest eyelid-corners,
the aching deltoids of the early mornings,
the limbic system of deteriorated thread and fragile glass-
suggest a verdict of dancing with customer services and inhaling the fumes of the daily commute,

rather than opening up hearts like delicate, antique quilts.

the discrepancy is not an evident ideology-
it's pulling the plug,
or attempting conversations on transgender rights with dad -

nothing is certain.

thus,
my cellophane heart will backflip,
my shins will swing and splint like
dull firecrackers-

patting backs of mothers who will not see their sons again,
pushing change while kicking up the sharp rocks,
running marathons i will never finish
because
my heart,
a skeleton with a rusted cape,
screeches my least favorite record on an endless loop.

I am but a slave to you.
Motionless.
You remain.
And I cannot fathom
Why I cannot fathom.
Why I cannot break free from these shackles
I've been unwillingly volunteered to wear.

You are my coffee date.
And why I'm always sleeping late.
You cast paleness into every inch of me,
And darkness upon any possible casualty.

I can't wrap my head around the fog.
Why have I been given so much,
Just to regard it all as gathering dust?
Is this a reminder of my fragility?
Or a framed portrait of my futility?

I am just so terribly afraid
Of what may happen if I drop.
Because the glue does not always repair
The arbitrary shattering
Of what I had hoped would be there.

It's some sort of yearning-
***** of yarn,
stars that burn.

There is a path that never connects me to the center, nor does
the center define
an end goal;
it's something south of overlapping my dreams
of yearning and
knitting and
lighting fire to everything inside my head that tells me every single ******* day that I'm not good enough.

I ignite fires on days where
it is too cold to be
mindful
or be positive
because
I must.

every day the drywall grows in size and in impact,
reminding me of rooms that i haven't
lived
within,
like a candle swimming in the salt and
band-aids.

sleep,
ephemeral heat is
a dream where
the inside of my eyelids are not monsters,
where paint brushes bring color to garages,
where i don't drink until numbness,
and where your hands continue to guide my skull
from the ground into the clouds.

you all told me i had a place here but
why have you all left?

a crossroads-
my fingers are drooping like dampened socks,
as I am changing like a
kitchen table hardens over spills and
senseless childhood arguments.

i’ve forgotten how to breathe as my lungs strain more heavily,
as drains reject water in hypocrisy and your image haunts the table like an apparition with no social courtesy.

the mirror has been less and less friendly. my hair feels like styrofoam.

i felt my worn-down sneakers attract the wet leaves like magnets in another New England autumn. i wondered why they didn’t repel me like logic, purpose, or your daisy-shaped palms.

we fight and bleed to stick to the bottoms of sneakers but winter will come and lovers will pass,
as any breeze will tell you.

If you asked me what I missed,
could I say anything at all?

Homework
and lost words.
Homeward.
and Route 12,
northbound.
Your smile poking its way through.
The tight black skirt,
more cleavage than tee shirt.
A walk or two,
and a view, straight through.
A meticulous routine to undress;
the wood-pellet stove keeping it hot.
The butterfly that was never caught.
Every box of Mike & Ikes bought.
An arbitrary laugh, a foreshadowing sunset-
a neck full of bruises and sweat.
The mocha-chip Thursday Nights at eight.
All the way back to a single Ferris wheel-
an ironically fatal first date.

If you asked me what I miss,
would I say anything at all?

You will
neutralize.

You will
(              )
what I
am running
from.

Please,
for the sake
of


life


(            ),

leave.

Please,
give me
equilibrium.

()


(    )

I do not need anyone
to complete me.

Write the pages,
catch the leaves.
Listen with your ears
because your heart doesn't care.

Open your mouth, feel the shock, disbelieve the surprise.

Read, but don't get too lost.
Remember the words you don't understand.
Love the protagonist,
But remember he will die.

Pay the man, ******* with the man, smile at the man.

Hold her hand and look her in the eye.
It shows confidence.
It shows self-worth.
It hides the shadow.

Write the obituary, scrap together the pictures, decide on calling hours.

Don't forget the kiss.
Don't forget how euphoric her soul feels when it (tries to) touch yours.
Don't forget to breathe.
Don't forget to keep the mask on.

Awake, dress in black, hold back the tears.

Don't act surprised when she doesn't call.
Don't look twice if Spring is late.
Don't stutter if the publisher says "no".
Because it will happen.

Greet them, hug them, kiss them on the cheek.

It's okay if you like winter the best.
There's something so inviting about the barren branches.
It's okay if you keep the shades down in the summer.
The sun can't listen to your vivid nightmares.

Kneel for her, grasp her hand, pray for salvation.

I can remember when a cup of lemonade or hot cocoa
solved any possible conflict in the world.
I can remember when I would laugh
and actually mean it.

Say your goodbyes, listen to the dirge, drive in silence.

And what does this change mean for us?
I think as we draw further from this idyllic place,
we long for that final state;
we long to rest and feel no pain.

Dig, dig, dig.

Dig, dig, dig.

A person, a thing, a conversation.
A feeling, a cloud, a heartbreak.
Another day, another day, another day.
Do you remember the last day you felt rested?
Do you remember the last time you heard silence?


Silence.

there are so many knives in my skin that I swear I might be sick.

I am not sick.

I am human.

I can't trust water by it's state of matter. Just because it can go down doesn't mean it's easy to swallow. If it echoes, then it's at least partially hollow. Don't try to start a conversation after everything when you still echo through canyons and mountain ranges.

All of the flames are far too warm to touch, but I need the light to see and to be okay.

------

*ignore my ugly and come back to me

It's funny how the heart can
eat away at organs like
a starving, rabid dog.

Your corroded liver
and decaying lungs
are contagious under a false pretense,
my dear.

Your skin reveals
the true hue of that
which makes you be.

You bleed nothing
but grace.
You slow nothing
but a perpetually accelerating pace-

and the ability to slow time
is not an abundant quality.

For you, the world is shrouded,
and such a distorted vision
is nothing to relax about;
I want to see the heights of
towering playground equipment
in your eyes.

You deserve nothing less than
all of the water in lakes I have ever seen.

You deserve nothing less
than continents
encapsulating the altruism
of each
fragile,

timeless,

exhalation.

You.
Where can I possibly begin?
My perception of you
Between an innocent first day
And a battle-scarred, war-torn last,
Has indescribably transformed.
Just as a chameleon does
Under the same circumstances of fear and doubt.

You.
You were there, ready for work.
Smelling of popcorn and lip-gloss.
Ignorant of what was ready to walk through that door
And ruin your life.

You.
You were there for months.
Friendly and shy all at once.
Laughing at my jokes
While guarding your heart with a strict severity.
And that profound underlying insecurity.
Awaiting the fall.

You.
You were there on that Autumn evening.
In the passenger seat of mom's Ford Explorer.
Your hair blowing in the frigid breeze.
It was there-
It was that evening.
Under the stars and lights of the Ferris wheel.
That my lips met yours.
I was awkward, I was scared;
I was elated.
You were mine.

You.
You donned that blue dress for Homecoming.
My hand could have wrapped around your waist
Again and again and again.
This was eternity.
This was love, as I spoke to you that night.
My hand grazing against yours,
My body pushed upon yours,
My heart on his knees for yours.

You.
You lit up 2011.
It was a year of illumination.
The year of rhythm, harmony, and bliss.
Every meal
Every date
Every touch of your skin.
Lit up my life like I never could have imagined.

You.
You were so smart.
Westfield, Roger Williams, Bridgewater.
The former was your favorite.
And you were gone.
But we still remained.
The idea of separation seemed impossible.

You.
You struggled so desperately.
To fit in, to grow up, to grow strong.
But you leaned on me like a fencepost.
Because I was there.
And I loved you so profoundly
That the thought of your unhappiness
Made my very being collapse.

You.
You continued to isolate yourself.
You continued to drown yourself.
Again and again.
And I was there.
And suddenly,
my friends weren't.
Nor was my family,
nor were my hobbies,
nor was my identity.
And suddenly,
I was an empty container.
Serving to please you.
Every call.
Every game.
Every night spent alone.
Every tear.
Every wish for my life back.
For you.

You.
You demanded my presence.
Or, by your standards,
I did not regard you as anything more than a body.
By your standards,
I did not love you.
By your standards,
I did not care.

You.
You were there for my first day on campus.
Ready to criticize.
Ready to consume me.
Ready to tell me why I was not what you wanted anymore.
But
"I was in there"
God knows that I hoped I was.

You.
You dragged me through this year.
Time I could have spent connecting.
And laughing.
And making memories of the sun and moon.
But this was it.

You.
You begged me not to leave.
Because what would you be?
Without me attached to your sleeve?

You.
You always had a reason.
Why it always "made sense"
And so what did logic dictate?
My wings refused to lift me.
And I stayed.
Like a hopeless fool,
I stayed.
And we were on for year four.

You.
You took a room for two
And made it your own.
You took a passion,
a hobby,
a life,
And made it your own.
You ensured the final draining of my soul.

You.
You knew I was getting worse.
You knew I was no longer there.
You knew nothing lied behind the blank stare.
Nothing could prepare you
For a trainwreck of a partner.

You.
You turned my emotions into a background noise.
When I cried, the couch became my best friend.
When I could not feel, you made me do.
When I could not do, you made me do.
When I could not go on, you made me do.
Because you had felt so unfulfilled
For so ******* long
Because of the corpse lying next to you at night.

You.
You didn't know.
Just as ignorant as I was.
This was love.
This wasn't love.
This was what it was supposed to be.
So we thought.
And so one day,

I.
I knew.
I left.
Teary eyed, achy, and broken.
The last ounce of life drained out of me,
Feeling like an aging man.
Feeling like the **** under my shoe.
Feeling
Such an amazing relief.

I.
I now can say you are gone.
And I have moved on.
And my life is forever changed.
No matter how many souls I encounter,
No matter how many ghosts may haunt me,
No matter how much love I may receive,
You will be there.
Because I can never know if I was right.
Because I can never know why
I made the choices I did.
And I'm so sorry, my dear.
I'm so terribly sorry
That I could not separate
The love I wished to give
From the love I couldn't possibly feel.

I love you.
Enough to draw this picture
in perfect, negative contrast.
I don't want your reflection looking so grey.
I love you enough to hold your hand in public
I'll tell you behind a screen,
but only if you ask.
These gifts show affection.
The kisses worth the lists.
Hindsight is abysmal,
because there is no dollar sign
on all the damage that this put me through.
I love you enough to follow,
enough to put myself behind.
Enough to look up the knot
and choke myself blind.
I love you enough to lie.
Enough to say yes.
Sixty miles.
Gone.
I love you enough to lose it all.
I give my demons a ******* excuse
why I can't hang.
And so they escape unsolved.
Why didn't someone tell me?
The further they ride away,
the harder they are to understand.
I love you enough to write this.
I want to pay an earnest tribute.
I want to know it was all worth it.
The black dawns
the aggressive swans
Your role as the queen
and mine as the pawn.
If they all blame it on you,
they are wrong.
I caused this.
You just tagged along.
You just loved me.

Your hat
in the wind
Your broken eyes, your freckled skin
Every chemical akin.

I just watched you
shining like a chipped diamond,
Breaking like a cliff in the hurricane.

We go here for you and our baby
A product of our intimacy, and you,
and your freckled skin.

But you broke beautifully
and you broke with me.
And us is all I'll ever be.

So let us together
never be apart.
A dandelion in weeds-
a brand new start,

and your freckled skin.
With every chemical akin.

We all have a purpose or two-
I just came without the instructions.
Mine is a flawed foundation-
an accidental procreation.
Listen-
I can't feel,
but that doesn't quell the urge
to touch every single inch of you.
It doesn't matter if her name sounds like yours,
her eyes have a different sparkle,
and you don't make me feel like ****.
So let me dance you into the dawn
and tie your noose for you.
It's either me or the chair,
because I'll never be there.
I don't know if this is too much to ask.
"We all deserve love,"
but what if that's not true?
The burning burden I ignite.
There's an empty cavity in my chest
and your heart can't fill it.
I'll keep climbing the pit
until I let go.
I'll keep letting go
until you reach for me.