I always thought it would be funny
If for a day I stopped hiding my scars
I could pretend to be the Joker
and say, "You wanna know how I got these scars?"
And when people look upset I could say "Why so serious?"

I am lost,
Only to be complete in my brokenness...
An imagination left to its fragments -
Almost methodically widdled down to dust,
My body left mindless,
My soul in shambles -
I am empty.

An uninhabited cup waiting to be filled,
A blank canvas needing paint -

Who am I to wander this world?
Who am I to love someone?
Who am I to exist?

it's just that ******* tap tap tapping
but away it goes
up and down, up and down the rows
of violets and tulips.
and she had two lips and violence
violent love and hate
crimes against humanity,
if there was ever any left
up and down, up and down the rows
of streets and cars
the lines and scars etched in his skin
but there's nothing like
a bottle of gin
numb around the edges, the seams
because everything is ever as it seems
and they just let it keep running
up and down, up and down the strands
leaving marks like brands to sell
the weave, the inches, the criss-crossed and sashayed
and she has one because it never looked to be
as long as she would like it as long as they would ask for,
and the years go on
so the tears flow on
growing longer, and taller
up and down, up and down the walls
of granite and moss
just one quick toss over the edge
because maybe humpty dumpty had it right.
nobody can piece that one together
like it's some big puzzle just twigs and grass,
make up the *** that he wanted to be
getting nothing that he wanted because he never asked
called or scrawled, just pushing, screaming
up and down, up and down the floor
of hardwood and paces
like jacks and aces handed out to those
who had them, no reward or achievement
it's own gift of life, and sometimes it's longer than you wanted
while crawling hands and knees to pick up
your ****** fingertips along the edges of cards,
because it's going to be okay.
because it will always be.

My overwhelming solemnity;
brown fields of Spring-time withering.

Nostalgia, be riddled,
by life,
before none;
sweet candy sour,
as the taste on my gums.

Pale, empty vessels of our spirit,
said one,
A final embrace from the Mother -
to son-
the end of a turn,
of a wheel just begun.

Find - now - in a moment,
the peace,
and the sun;

- don't cry under moon crests,
don't weep for high tides -

for,

but laughter
and sorrow
and joy found in love

shall Wake us each morning,
blood found in our bodies,
our hearts and our lungs.

The present is written,
The past is still sung,
The future a distance,
a lion unroped.

You had the same effect on me
and like an addiction you were for me,
The crave of your touch I would feel
at night falling asleep,
and when I woke up
it would be still here,
craving, wishing
needing your lips.