I wanted to love every space
and every missing piece -
I wanted to see.

From the moment your
warm hands held mine
I felt safe, and I knew
this would be more.

I needed to know every
wonderful secret
every dark thought,
I wanted to know you.

To stick my fingers in
the little gaps of your
soul, I wanted to feel
everything you felt.

I wanted you to feel whole.

I desire to know every
dark nightmare,
the smell of blood
still thick in your mind.

Every dream and
every regret
I wanted to feel it all.

But-
I hesitate.

I need you to know
the love I've felt
and hidden,
for your sake.

I wanted to gently mend
every flaw you saw
in yourself, I wanted
to make life beautiful.

To let you in?
I wanted to try. I wanted to feel.

I wanted to be there to share
when the demons come breathing
down your neck and every sick
thought stalks your head.

I wanted you there when the
tears wouldn't stop
or couldn't start and
I wanted to catch all of yours.

But you feel I've done wrong.
Pain that ripped through my core
and begged me to scream out
every truth I've concealed-
terrified because my love is so deep
yet I never bothered to reveal.

I wanted to tell you
but the words are so heavy and
emotions so real.
Someday I'll tell you.

War in my mind as real
as the war you have seen.
Silence leaves me wondering
if you would fight for me.

I would fight.
I will fight.
I will fight for your love
until I can't fight any more.

I fell in love with you
that was my first mistake.

Empathy that shook my core
I wanted to feel all you felt.
I wanted you to feel what I felt.
(Because I knew you felt it, too.)

I wanted to give myself
until there was nothing left.
I wanted you to love me.

Timothy Baxter: An intellectual genius with the emotional intelligence of a five year old
so thank you for these closed lips
and thank you for the impeccable hair line
thank you for the one too many thoughts keeping me up at 4 AM
thank you for my 5'7 stature
and thanks for all the self-loathing
thanks for the rent
and thanks for making me love hating responsibility
thank you

Mary Hartley Baxter: not one who came from white picket fences and Sunday drives. A giver. A lover. A control freak
Thank you for these psyche wrecking nerves
the bowling ball taking up permanent residence in the pit of my stomach
Thank you for teaching me how to treat women
and thank you for the stubbornness which allows this arrogance
thank you for keeping my feet attached to planet earth
while my head sails among the billowing clouds
for telling me how handsome I am
thank you for teaching me what it means to be in a family
thank you for letting me be a loser sometimes
thank you

Harry J Baxter: the heroic coward with a funny joke in bad taste and the right words for the wrong times
anti hero of a story nobody else is aware of
thank you for abusing all those pesky substances, they surely deserved it
thank you for the black lungs
thank you for speeding down dead end lane at five hundred miles an hour
thank you for remembering your helmet
thank you for saving all the words we never said to those we love
thank you for hiding from the unknown to avoid the scars of failure
thank you for getting those scars anyway
just so we knew what they felt like
thank you for the writer's block.... You *******
but in all seriousness,
thank you for building up your tolerance to beatings
because they will continue until morale improves
thank you

It's a strange place - the real world - monsters lay in wait in every shadow around every corner
and yeah, you aren't the human being 2.0
but you're prepared enough to board up the windows before the hurricane
and Mum, Dad,
I can talk all the **** in the world
but all of it would be empty
because for as ****** up as I am
as ****** up as you both certainly are
we've made it this far
and ******* it
I can't see our sun setting anytime soon
so my naturally adapted cynical sarcasm behind me
Thank you for loving me no matter what
even when the well was so dry love was hard to find
Thank you.

my sister thought my mother
had died on her lap;
she walked to the bathroom
inside that depthless hospital hotel.

the putrid smell of life and death
all through-out this concrete heaven
and hell.

at the age of fifty-four
my mother's bones would
carry no more weight.

her gentle heart
her forgiving mind
her words so strong

but mine,
they are forced out
by constricted wind-pipes
and angry words

i glanced down at the cot, where my mother died
as I made contact with my mother's pale-blue eyes
she looked at me with the most helpless,
childish face I've ever seen.
as if to say:
"he isn't here.. where is he...
where could he be?"

she lived thirty more minutes.

he arrived a few hours later, asking:
"how's she doin'?"

never take for granted,
someone's borrowed time.