You are the razor's glistening edge.
Slits across fingertips.
Yes, there will be bloodshed.
Blood from tips to wrists dripping and spilling from my veins.
It is not poetic.
So I'll clean up my own mess.
No nerves left to damage with the memory of you hardened, turned to stone,
stored in nails and soft hairs.
Locked away. No key in sight.
I have tried to unfurl these fists,
only to fumble around with the essence, the innocence, of lovers after.
These hands are cracked, wrinkled,
disintegrating.
Their untold stories turned to dust.
My palms no longer hold signs of a future.
They can do nothing.
Paralyzed by your pride.
Paralyzed by your edge.
Glistening.
A razor's edge.

Baby, let's break the world.
We'll hum a symphony
and skip stones across mountains
while we smoke cigarettes rolled with desire.

We'll bottle the oceans
and sell them for $1.99 a piece
while we turn diamonds to liquid sand
that's capable of softening these innumerable miles of asphalt into fields of yellow.

Let's break the world, my love.
We'll show the universe that we are more than just tiny flecks of flesh forced to live and be bound by the rules of fragile glass.

Let's break this Godforsaken world
and leave it to rot.

You are not perfect, darling.
Far from it, actually.
Your aura is lined with jagged edges.

I know it.
You know it.
God knows it.

But that is what makes us so extraordinary.
Your jagged edges expertly fill my empty spaces.

No one is formulated quite like you.
Never has there been.
Never will there be.

You are you, made imperfectly just for me.

I know it.
You know it.
God knows it.

Forgive the night, my dear.
She thinks herself a romantic as she extinguishes your flame, believing her own stars and moon can reignite your stolen fire.

Forgive the night... For she knows not what she does.
She is unaware that her moon's light is not its own, and her stars that burn are slowly dying.

In the glow of an intransigent moon,
she looked up at dull stars with a twinkling bitterness.

All she wanted was the sun.
She wanted endless yellows and reds.
Blues.
Greens.
Light to be shed upon her world.

But she was stuck under a film of grey.

And the night would not relent.

She looked into his damp, brown eyes and realized in an instant the beast she really was. At one time, his body was still a body. Now, it was just a shell. She was tearing out his insides piece by piece and displaying them to the world. Any outsider could see he was stained red.

She looked into his eyes and saw a monster glistening in her reflection. She knew what she was doing to this poor boy. She saw the harm she was causing to his sweet soul. But she enjoyed every minute of it. She was selfish, and she would not stop.

When I die,
write me a lullaby.
Sing me to sleep,
with a breathtaking melody.

When I am ready to fly,
let me go and do not cry.
Just let me flutter my wings to the beat
of your awe-inspiring harmony.

So, when I die,
please write me a lullaby.
Play it aloud, gently,
then everyone will have known the sound of me.

Forgive me, for my years.
Perhaps I am just nine short of knowing the rhythm to which your heart beats and having the ability to match it.

Forgive me, for my legs.
I did not have, and still have yet to find, the strength I need to run to you.

Forgive me, for my words.
They were deceitful. I believed they could keep you close to me. But in reality, you have always been hundreds of miles away.

Forgive me, for my heart.
The poor thing loves too quickly. It did not see the big picture. For months, it's gaze was fixed solely upon your scorching glow, which was mistaken for a beacon of hope.

Tainted havoc ensue
from our imminent destruction.

We befoul each other's affinity
with the ruin of our past lives.

Together we spoil, destroy, and infect the air that devours us.

Coexisting is not an option
between

You,

Me,

and

Sympathy.

With you, I want everything.

I want to take chances.
Exchange side glances.
Stay up 'til dawn with talks,
filled with sarcastic remarks.

I want to trace the ***** of your nose
and measure the length of your toes.
I want hair and skin slathered with "I Love You's."
Political discussions over empty bottles of *****.

I want to whisper in the mornings and shout in the evenings,
how much to me you mean.

But you... You already know...

You see it when I take chances,
in every one of my not-so-sly side glances.
In my droopy eyes that I refuse close,
while I lose myself in your sardonical prose.

You see it when I admire your face,
only to view others following with disgrace.
My "I Love You's" will never run dry,
unlike those useless bottles.

Nothing gets me drunk quite like you.

Like you go back to those **** cigarettes,
I go back to you.
So go ahead, take a drag.

Watch me be consumed
with every inhale

and forgotten
with every

exhale

...

When I have fallen,
When I have hit rock bottom,
I need it to be
Your fire
That guides me,
That leads me,
Out of the chasm
Of my own darkness

Words disappeared,
and we were left with nothing
but the electricity.
It, too, fizzled into oblivion.

Wearing my heart on my sleeve,
came at a cost it seems.
I let you love me.
I let you destroy me.
Until I fell upon my knees.

-a.r.r.

In a dream, unable to awake,
An insidious haze threatening to overtake.

Foreign invaders infesting the brain,
Corrupting the blood coursing through veins

The descent into madness
Maliciously surpasses

Disintegrating sanity.

You and me,
entangling entropy.

Organizing chaos.
Initiating an incessant onslaught of bittersweet loss.

If love could speak,
its sly voice would slither
up your spine,
promise tomorrow's sunrise,
and gently cut off your blood supply.

Trees shed leaves
We shed clothes.

November winds yearn for stark branches.
I desire bare skin.

Darkness unfolds.
Eyes never waver.

The cold brings a chill.
You make me shiver.

"The smell of your hair in my face at 7 am is what God must have been inhaling when he put the first angel on Earth."

I might as well write your words on my skin in ink.
I assume it will hurt less than this tattoo you have left infecting my heart.

My heart is ruined.
      Aching.
A stomach at 4 AM.
      Regurgitating.
The pain is unbearable.
      Excruciating.

Float.
Float away with me.
Take my shaking hand and steady me.

Drift.
Drift away with me.
Take my trembling waist and lead me.

Steady me and lead me
through this world's structured madness.

My feet need to leave this pavement.
My ankles are turning to stone.

My toes crave the clouds.

"My God,"

he whispered with his hands tangled in her hair, a hitch in his voice, and a spark in his eye.

"I want you. With all of my being, I want you. I want to trace the shadows that play on your face, and I want to thank the sun every morning for accentuating your slopes and angles in such a way that destroys my ability to breathe."

Promise me that when we're old
When we have nothing left to gain
You will knead my tired muscles
To ease the aching pain.

The band is playing so loud
I can barely hear myself think.
I've been stagnant so long,
this place is starting to reek.

My dangling feet tell the story
of many a bar stool night.
I order the counter to dismiss my banter,
I insist with all my might.

The bar doesn't listen,
neither does its tender.
Their unsettling ears pry,
Relentless until my surrender.

I am young.
I have plenty of life left to live.
They why, when I wake up every day,
do I feel it coming to an end?

It's not difficult, dear.
Just slip under the covers,
and let me love you until your sadness escapes through the open window
above our bed.

Fall asleep with me to the sound of rain under a mass of blankets.
Feel my heart beat.
Press your lips to my forehead.
Pull me closer.
Wrap your bones around my sorrow.

Oh, baby, don't feel bad.
You're all I've ever had,
All I will ever need.
From my depths I have been freed.

A shooting star lit up the sky tonight.

It reminded me of you.

The cold nostalgia that followed shook me to the bone.

I could see your smile as clear as day and hear your voice as sharp as the night's wind.

The seemingly insignificant celestial body took away my breath and stopped my heart.

A flash of light brought you back to me, and I was reminded, if only for a fraction of a second, of the weight I still carry.

The weight of the promises.

The immensity of you.

But as the meteor passes, I remember the unanswered questions.
The silence.

And the nostalgia turns warm.

I need to let you go.
I'm asking myself how.

I have never left you.
How could I leave now?

I will love you always.
Now go on and take a bow.

If I were a doctor
with the finest education,
Zeppelin on vinyl
would be my only prescription.

Photographs sure carry a weight, don't they? The black and white and sepia tones speak with a voice that has known sorrow.

They tell the story of fifteen minutes between small talk and bad news.
      Of a motorcycle, a truck, and a bottle.

They inform wary viewers of a Saturday funeral.
       Only six sunsets after a Saturday marriage.

They advise a newlywed widow to let go, to open her heart to love once more.
        Although they know she can now only live in fifteen minute increments.

"But maybe," they say, "she will never take 900 seconds for granted again."

People we will never meet,
Faces we will never see.
Unbeknownst to us,
Wandering aimlessly.

I aspire to awaken hearts

I want the souls encompassing me to flourish.

To dance and sing and create a rhythm.

So when their spirits fly through those Pearly Gates, the fluttering of their wings will create a melody so sweet, even Van Morrison says it sounds free.

I was blindsided,
Hit in the back.
A ruthless attack.

Your adoration vanquished me.
It relinquished me,
from the agony of my dreams.

I miss you. I miss you so. ****. much.

I miss you with every step and breath I take.
But no.
I miss you more than that. So much more.

I miss your fingers entwined with mine, your thumb doodling patterns across my knuckles.

I miss your voice, the inflection and emphasis of your carefully chosen words, hearing you laugh when I laugh.

I miss your breath tickling my neck at 2 AM, and waking you at 3. Kisses, love, and challenges to follow.

I miss once-in-a-while 4 AM kitchen dances. Aaliyah serenading our modest rendezvous.

We believed it was the perfect time for a dance. Not quite morning, not quite night. But for us, it was just right. The essential in-between moment of blurred clarity.

I miss our blurred clarity.

Our oxymoron.

Two ears, two eyes
A nose
A mouth
A chin

Billions of combinations,
Not always showing what's within.

More than a face,
your soul shines through.
You're too busy to notice,
being so utterly you.

So mark my words, in your special way,
You will see your own beauty one wonderful day.