Your cold body is contorted on the soft carpet
Spurts of thick blood come from the heart I have carved out of your chest
My warm fingers bare the scarlet stain as evidence of what I’ve done
And no amount of scrubbing can take it away

I’ve become a paralyzed creature, who doesn’t understand how to respond
I played around with the heaviest words in my vocabulary
Not realizing the power that they had
Unaware that I was unready to say them

I never loved you; at the time I thought the feeling was there
Now you lie unresponsive
As I slowly walk away from the mess I’ve made
And leave you in the past
The words I used to stab at your heart, the words I didn’t mean, echoing in my mind
“I love you”

her eyes are bluest in the bathroom
in early afternoon on the west side of the building
(but you probably knew that)

those are the lights, there
and there are lions in the lights and their gold circles
are halved and the gold circles
beneath her eyes are halved
and there are lions in her eyes, too
except in the bathroom, on the west side, in the early afternoon

it has always been something but not this
always there but not so big
her eyes are bluest in the bathroom
where you wouldn’t think to follow her

you tell the story and it is
happily-ever-after, goodnight
(day is so much better still)
she’s unready still

always unready to run with lions and so she tames them
in her eyes, and in the lights (it is ethically challenging)
and the gold half-circles
are bigger

and so is that other thing
always there
always unready

Battling the incredible weight of eyelids,
Searching for knowledge, happiness, a productive purpose
Conflicting thoughts
Sway like the branches full of morphing leaves
On firm, yet flimsy trees
Anticipating a violently destructive storm

Darkness, a black blanket...
Covers the whirring sounds of uncertain  numbness


D
R
  I
    F
        T
               I
                                 N
                                                      G
Eyes closed

OPEN

close

             Open
c   l         o            s                   e

Drifting into a hope for tomorrow
Or today
4:27 am now

Sleep is a natural thing

So...
As
Disappointing
Some
Aspects
Do
Seem,
All
Die
Someday
And
­Die
Silently
As
Delicate Doers, Dreamers

I often wonder if God looks down at us with a microscope
Like a small child examining ants
As we march to work and we march to school
Falling into the rhythmic beat our busy lives create for us
Doing everything we can to fall in line

I wonder if God laughs, when he sees me stumbling over small cracks in the sidewalk
Thinking I know the best way to go
Thinking that I can make it alone
Not realizing how miniscule I am in this universe that he has created

I wonder if God hears my insignificant squeak
When I turn to the heavens and attempt to roar in pride
When I bury my head in my hands and sob over Earthly things
Do God’s cheeks sting from salty tears as well?

I wonder if God’s heart breaks
As I struggle with doubt
As my heart wrestles with questions about his existence
Or does God even have a heart to break?

I wonder if God turns his head away when I attempt to meet his gaze
When I stare into the sky and challenge his authority
When I think I know more then a man who knows everything
Or do his eyes stare back into mine, as he reminds me of everything I don’t know?

I wonder if God ever wonders about me
This strange little creature that he has made
Fighting society
Attempting self-salvation
Looking up and asking questions
I wonder if he smiles

I remember the day we first met.

Two scrawny, energetic young scamps too excited to make the transition into our education.
From day one, we were together.
All day, every day.
People asked us if we were brother and sister.
And everytime, our answer quickly escaped our grins...
                       Yes.

Let's fast-forward to the third grade.
Our heads were still innocent enough not to know the flaws
we would eventually have but I was still mature enough to know
that when you walked up to me that morning with
tears and terror streaming down your face,
letting the words "My mom left us" seep through your painful gasps.

I was nine years old when I first saw someone's heart break.
I tried to sweep the pieces back up and glue them back together...but I failed.
It wasn't until later that night that my mom woke me
in the middle of the night to explain that your mother didn't leave,
but went to prepare a safe hiding spot from your father's fists.
We talked on the phone every night until you came back.
The stupid chatter of whatever a nine year old even thinks about
tying up the phone lines for hours at a time.
That was the first time you told me you loved me
It was the first time first time I ever believed it.

Now let's fast forward to the seventh grade.
Junior high.
A boiling *** of hormones and hate.
By this point, I hadn't talked to you in two months.
The judging panel of life had already confirmed what I knew was to happen.
Bubbly, boy-crazy blond girl rises to the top
Insecure, boy-crazy ****** boy sinks like a boulder.

I was thirteen when I first felt my heart break.
My eyes were opened to the **** life was ready to dump on my doorstep.
I knew that lines were to be drawn
I just never would have guessed we'd be on opposite sides.
I got called ******.
You called yourself silent.

Next, let's talk about year that ended everything: senior year.
A year of endings.
Graduation from the hell hole that was high school.
Leaving my mother for the first time since birth
Leaving my friends since the first day we stepped onto the playground together
thirteen years earlier.

We started off strong.
We were determined to end our school years the way we started them: together.
We would go off to the same college, get an apartment,
and everything was going to be fine.

Six months had passed
We hadn't spoken for one of them.
You had me pegged as your sworn enemy.
I was terrified to wake up in the morning
because I knew I would have to look at you
instead of seeing you.

I was eighteen when you broke my heart for the final time.
Your army of farm-town morally upright teenagers
had done their best to destroy me.
But I still walked. I still dragged myself around,
****** and bruised from your attacks.
I thought things were cooled down.
I just wanted out.
Then you said it.
That final day.
You called me a ******
and said you hated me.

Now, almost a year later, whenever I think of you my eyes start welling up.
Your words, spoken and unspoken, still sting.
I know that I hate you.
But I don't know why I still care.

What I do know is that I don't need you.
I've met the most wonderful group of people
far greater than I could have ever imagined.
But still, whenever I'm with them, I'm thinking of you.
Wondering what I need to do for them that I didn't do for you.
I just hope their feet are more stable than yours.
I can't handle anyone else running away.