These paint strokes
Birth poetry--
Art competing for art,
When all you want
Is to be a great artist,
But you are pulled
From morning
To night
With every cycle of the moon.
You've no friends left,
And all you have left to wear
Is a pair
Of canvas shoes
And a pair
Of paper wings.
A sound like
A baby crying
Calls you out into the streets.
You pull on your paper wings,
And step out into the rain.

I don't know if I'll ever see her again,
This one I trusted to be my forever.
This is not forever.
This is a day and days without her.
She doesn't want to be bothered.
She doesn't want to be better.
I hate myself for respecting it.
She's gone somewhere far away,
But never more than a phone call away.
I pray her face never fades from my mind
As I may never see her again.
Still, even now, all I can recall
Is the snow covered bridge she sat upon,
The snow soaking into her jeans
And an icy storm in the water below.
She stared so deeply into that storm.
She used to say, "Home."
She always whispered, "Home."
She doesn't want to be bothered.
She doesn't want to be alone.

Why am I still doing this?
The road no longer offers
What I had hoped it would offer.
I ran out of my money weeks ago,
And the only money these gigs offer
Are just enough to get me
To my next gig.
Every morning I wake up inside my car,
Frost on my windshield and hair,
Not sure where I'm going next,
But not ready to go home.
I smoke some stranger's
Thrown away half cigarette for breakfast ,
And put all of my trust
In Paul Simon and Adam Duritz
To get me to my next stop alive.
I haven't written a new song in months,
And all the ones I keep playing
Have grown old and stale--
Maria being the only song I can still sing
With passion.
Yet I keep doing it,
My todays following my yesterdays,
Each day a shadow of the last.
I found an old Carole King CD
Underneath my passengers seat,
And I let it remind me that someone
Is still riding next to me.
Reno sounds nice.
I might go there next.
I pop in the CD,
Hoping to find some comfort,
But all I hear is Carole's voice
Reminding me of everyone
Who is still so far away.

We don't talk all that much these days.
In fact, we don't talk at all.
But I'll never forget
When we were kids
And our secret dream,
To run away together.

The dream grew brighter
When it turned into a plan.
We had our bags packed and ready to go.
A pair of jeans and a sweater,
My guitar so we could busk,
One **** dress in case times got hard,
And the money
Your mother hid in her dresser.
We'd take the train,
Get the hell out of here,
And never look back.
We said I'd cut my hair,
So they would never find us.

We never quite knew
What we were running away to be.
Rockstars, hookers,
Crackheads, or movie stars.
We didn't care.
We were young and wanted an out,
And the city
Was calling our names.

We never did run away.
I guess I knew all along
That we never would.
But I don't regret any of it.
Any of the planning,
Any of the dreaming.
Because that dream,
That hope of an out,
The idea of there being an escape
No doubt kept me going.

I still think about you often,
And our run away dream.
We were dreamers alright.
Or maybe we just hated this town.
Maybe we were just young.
Maybe we read too many books
And watched too many movies.
Or maybe it all goes back
To that same song.
The one where he stands outside
Her bedroom window
And begs her to come outside.
"Come outside,"
He'd say,
"Come outside.
Out the window,
Down the fire escape,
And run away with me."

Run away with me.
Place your mitten-hand in mine
And discover what it is like
To be children of the wind.
Run away with me,
To a dream of a field
Where angels play at snowy dawn,
Clueless of where we are really going
Yet hopeful nonetheless.
Run away with me
Far from this world
Of rust and stormy hollows
That only ages our hearts
And wishes to turn us into orphans.
Run away with me.
Lace up your boots,
Kiss your mother goodbye.
Meet me by the river
Where we will run away
If only to sit under a tree,
Knee to knee,
Foreheads pressed together,
Staring into each other's eyes
And grinning with our baby teeth,
Thankful that for a moment,
"We are here,
We are here,
And we are not there."

You told me a story
Of mass destruction,
Then romanced the idea
Of self destruction.
You told me of a world
Filled with corruption,
Then added sugar to the taste
Of self corruption.
You told me of a people
Wrapped in infliction,
Then taught me the ways
Of self infliction.
You told me of a home
Trapped in desolation,
Then brought beauty to the thought
Of self desolation.
You told me of a family
Held back by ruination,
Then offered me a handful
Of self ruination.
So when you told me of a killer
And his tools for termination,
You suggested a simple gun:
Self termination.

One of the greatest problems I see with relationships today is that most people see *** as the key to a successful relationship instead of a result of a successful relationship.

Peace and self justification
Is all I seek
Amongst the racket
Of this corpse house--
But all I find is noise.
I could shoot myself
For second guessing this all,
But what's worst is knowing
That it's not a guess.
I know
That I will only ever
Be your heat.
Who's to stop me?
I hate the taste,
But I love the buzz.

The sound of the wind chime      
Is enough to break a tired soul,  
With its ringing so lonesome and low--
Cold.            
Like the floor you slept upon
While you were becoming a man,
With the radio
Somewhere in the distance
Humming songs about the river
And the promise you made to him
To love his daughter.

The air is heavy
With smoke
And the sound of the bass.
We think we're the baddest thing
Since 1976 England.
But deep down
We all know the truth.
We're all just a bunch of nerds
Rescued by rock and roll
And hoping to get out.

Some days I look at you and I
And realize that I
Will never be more to you
Than ten painted fingernails
Two smooth legs
One hundred thousand wavy locks
A pair of red hot lips
And one body to touch.
I think that one day
You will find a girl to love.
To really, really love.
You will find a girl to love
And leave me alone in your room.
And who am I to be offended??

I wish that I could give it up.
That it were only a license
Expiring over time.
But alas, it is inborn,
A divine curse, artistry is.
A curse for there is no choice.
Had there been a choice I would have ran
Far into the opposite direction.
For you could not know unless it were you.
As others only see the births,
And are ignorant as to what it is
To live with the mother inside you.
I fear she has a plan to **** me
And to use me as her means.
She plans to steal my sleep from me.
To convince me I do not deserve rest
Until his face emerges from charcoal
Or until I find a way
To make horses in water a metaphor.
She plans to make me mad
And in this moment holds the lead.
I have forgotten to eat.
I am paranoid every hour.
Someone is watching,
Something is lurking.
Sounds make me cry.
Lights hurt my eyes.
I feel people in my bed.
Even now as I write this,
There is a man standing before me
(That I am certain is not real),
Clothed in white
With an outstretched hand,
Oh so inviting.

We lie here with our loved
In the dampest of fields
Amid the days
When the dawn and sunset quarrel.
The guns are heard echoing in the fields,
"Mark
And
Take
And
Break."
And we who were loved
When the sky was still grey
Sleep in the fields,
Short lived,
Dead and Gone.

I hate every last bit of this.
All I want is to love you,
But you have no interest in being loved.
Sweetheart,
I am so tired of these games.
This party has grown old,
These lies have turned stale.
Tell me honestly how old are we??
I do not wish to throw accusations at you.
You are as free as you wish to be.
Your decisions are your own.
But tell me now that you do not love me,
So I can try all I can to walk away,
To move on,
Without you.
Without you.
I know you do not love me,
But my foolish heart remains hopeful.
So please tell me,
That I might lay this foolish heart to rest.

*I will always love you.

We make quiet love inside your basement
Just out of earshot of your sleeping mother,
I wonder if for the first time I have found forever,
Or if I should just add you to my list of lovers.
But there is something about the way you hold me,
Subtle safety like the walls of New York City
With both minds mutually as hideous as the other,
Heaven knows I do not need your pity.
We talk about leaving this hick town,
Getting married and moving to a different coast,
But it is nothing more than a pretty dream,
A mental escape from the things we fear the most.
Tomorrow morning everything changes,
Tomorrow morning life goes on as we do.
Tomorrow night you will find someone else,
But for the now please just pull me through.
Nothing ever stays the same in this town,
And not a single thing ever changes.
There is no such thing as ever after here,
We are eternally rats inside of our cages.
But beside you is an incomphrensible sightly sweetness,
I can not explain the way it makes me feel.
And just like the world spins at the hand of Jesus,
We are spinning like a wheel,
We will keep spinning like a wheel.

Sunday afternoons
When I'm finally alone
With myself again
And I can breathe
Like a normal human being,
When I take Edgar Allan Poe
Off the shelf
And sink into his words again.
Sunday afternoons
When I stop to watch a film,
A cheesy romantic comedy
About two beautiful kids
And no one will tell me
Not to laugh so loud
Or ask me why I'm crying
Such big, heavy tears.
Sunday afternoons
When I catch up:
Tweeze my brows,
Paint my nails,
Take a bath,
Maybe sing a song or two
Like I used to when I was still young
And he called me beautiful.
Sunday afternoons
When I sit on the couch,
Stare at the ceiling,
And dream of Adam
In the perfect quietness of the house,
Knowing that any minute
You'll be back,
Angry and penniless
With the smell of beer on your clothes
And not a dollar to your name.

I wish to shout from the mountain tops
Fearful that the world may hear me
Yet unashamed as it might.
I wish to sing so loudly
That it leaves the birds in awe
Having only over me their flight.
I wish to roar with the strength of the ocean
Leaving the lion
Startled and trembling.
I wish to howl with the force of an earthquake
That the earth's foundations
Are found disassembling.
I wish to toss my voice
Into the hair strands of the wind
Praying they ask me to stay.
I long to holler in the currents,
Cradle inward like a child
And ride along the waves.
I have to offer only this voice
That promises both sonnets
And prehistoric cries
With all of me pouring out,
Revealing my face
Without ever seeing my eyes.
My contribution to this world
Is my sonorous voice
And nothing else.
Hear it bounce amongst the valleys
Like the echoing
Of cathedral bells.

The girl with the eyes
And red stripes for sleeves
They left her alone
And that's how she pleased.
She had not a face
But red screaming eyes.
She stared people down
Until they would cry.
She was like a disease,
More creature than not.
Cold flesh for skin
Eyes burning hot.
Don't look at her now
She'll give you the eye
And watch as you burn
She'll watch as you die.
And if you ignore
The fact that she's there.
She won't even know.
IT'S NOT LIKE SHE'D CARE.

The difference between us
And everyone else
Was that everyone else
Lived as a part of something bigger,
All realizing
That they were destined to die.
We on the other hand
Were two lost wanderers,
Unaware of a picture at all,
Both desperate
And determined to die.

You may never understand it,
But from the very first time I saw you
Before we ever spoke a word
Before we ever met
When you had only smiled at me from a distance,
I knew that from that moment on
I wanted to spend every day
Of the rest of my life
Loving you
Looking after you
Caring for you
And giving my everything
To never lose that smile.

We were young again.
You were the boy.
And I was the girl.
There was a garden
And we ran
And we ran
And we ran.
Barefoot.
Collecting new scratches
And thorns every time.
I stood on your feet
To reach your face
As we explored our innocence.
We were young again.
You were the boy.
And I was the girl.
There was a garden.
And everything was perfect.

The air here smells like cigarettes,
The water tastes like wine,
The rooms reek of asphyxiation,
But everyone is fine.
In the bathroom is a bathtub,
Adorned with a ring of blood,
The walls, decorated with a yellow stain,
From an unattended flood.
The food inside the kitchen,
Is no more than butts and ash,
The pantry, filled with Sylvia's books,
The sink, a pile of trash.
The dark of the room is passion,
Anger and beauty and romance,
One moment there is weeping,
Then fighting, then time to dance.
"Where are we?" you may ask?
This is the artists' home.
Evidence of painting together,
And poetry written alone.
You thought it might be beauitful,
With color and sun and flowers.
You had no plan at all to find
Men self-sabotaging for hours.
Oh, you thought the walls would show
Van Gogh, not evidence of mourners.
Yes, well, Vincent is still here:
He is the man bleeding in the corner.

I've scrubbed off all the makeup,
Stripped of all my clothes.
I have to face my body,
Bony and blue,
Still so young,
But visibly aging.
I'd give anything
To see myself
In true state again.
The I that I was,
Young, pure, and untouched.
The I before the first sense
Of self awareness,
The I before that first
Cool, innocent cigarette,
The I before that first secret drink,
The first forced kiss,
The first basement time alone,
The first walk home to not my home,
The first flirt,
The first sneak out,
And the paranoia that came with it all.
I haven't seen that I
In far too long,
Nor do I know if I'll see her
Ever again.
But sometimes it's nice to try,
To break myself down
To my rawest state
In hopes of finding her once more.
So I'm just standing here.
Naked and my face scrubbed raw,
Being stung by those tears
I tried so hard to avoid,
Looking my I in the eye
And whispering,
"You're still in there.
I know you are.
You're still in there."
God, I hope.

The desire to be an artist,
To be a poet, to be immortal.
Knowing there's a land of words
If I can only reach the portal.
Drown in ****** and Wine
In a tub filled to the brim,
Letting France run down my throat,
Letting France run down my chin.
Words lay at the bottom
Of every bottle (or so they say)
Convincing us it's worth the *****
And the headache the next day.
Kiss goodbye the sound mind,
And enter insanity.
Welcome to the world of arts
With streets of vanity.
There stands Shakespeare on the balcony;
Kurt Cobain sits in the corner.
This place you are one
Where anywhere else you are a foreigner.
Here there is no day.
Here there is only night.
Here you sit making art
By the candle light.
But here there is no laughter,
For an artists knows no joy.
Instead here lies the dreams
Of all the dead girls and boys.
And here there is no rest,
For an artist knows no peace.
Here is the land of artists.
Is it everything you dreamed?

Where do we stand??
Where do we stand??
You tell me.
For we both know
That a single kiss
Can mean everything,
And a single kiss
Can mean nothing at all.
So you tell me,
My dear,
Which was ours??

I'm not exactly sure what love is.
I don't know what it is supposed to feel like.
But I know this.
Every time I see you,
My palms start sweating uncontrollably
And I wonder how in hell
I am ever supposed to hold your hand
If being yards away from you
Does that to me.
When I see you,
I swear "Dream Weaver" starts playing
In my head.
Whenever I see you,
I feel like I have to puke,
And it's the best feeling ever.
Every time I am done
Spending time with you,
I have to *** right away from nervousness.
But there's not a single person
I am more comfortable around.
When I am around you,
I spend more time
Covering up the teeth I'm so insecure of
Than I do talking to you.
I don't do that around anyone else,
But then again,
No one makes me laugh as much as you do.
When I see you,
I start thinking of different cheesy quotes
From different cheesy Rom-Coms,
And pray to God
That you haven't seen those movies,
So on the one in a billion chance
That I am actually brave enough to say something,
You won't realize how unoriginal I am.
Whenever I am with you,
And you ask me if I agree with what you said,
I'm lying.
I have no idea what you've just said.
I was too busy counting the wrinkles
Around your eyes
(Because wrinkles are my favorite, you know).
When you hug me,
I feel like crying.
WHY DO I FEEL LIKE CRYING?!
I have no idea what love is.
But let me tell you,
This feels pretty **** close.

I wake up
To the mist of his breath
On the back of my neck,
The smell of alcohol still lingering.
I roll away
From the grip of his arm
And sit up in the bed.
I might be the only one awake,
Which gives me a good chance to leave
Before I have to make an effort.
I step out of bed
And head for the door.
But as I walk away,
I look back at him once more.
He was a nice guy,
Wasn't pushy
Or aggressive.
He might even be worth
Trying to make something work.
A tingling hint of guilt
Dances in my stomach,
Then flees just as quickly
As I see him sleeping so peacefully.
Sure,
He was a nice guy.
But for once,
It will be nice
To be the one who leaves
And not the one
Who gets left in bed.

He took a look at them
In their tattered clothes
And worn shoes,
Their filthy skin
And vacant eyes
And said,
"Send them back home."

"But sir,
They don't have one."

A snowy everything
Or complete heat
Is the only time I feel
This awakening
From mindless sleep
And wounds that never healed.
I walk along
The power lines
No beginning and no end.
I hide my face
In dark disguise--
A stranger with no friends.
No words to me,
I have no ears.
A vagabond through space.
A desert song
That no one hears,
A pale and dusty face.
The sound of snow
The curls of heat
Bring this feeling back to me.
I hate it, still,
Do not ever leave,
Dear feeling from the sea.

It screams and it screams
"Wait and Remember"
But never escapes my lips.
And so it screams louder and louder
Desperate to be heard
Until it leaves me
With fingers curled around my ears,
Desperate to drown out.
Too late.
She is already deaf.

When I stand beside you two,
It takes everything inside of me
To smile and tell you I am well.
But when I see you walk away,
I wonder how I ever thought
That this would not hurt like hell.

There are three beautiful people
In my life.
One I am in love with,
One I am in lust with,
And one I can not move on from.
One has my whole body,
One consumes my every thought,
And the other holds my heart.
I often wonder what would happen,
If I walk away from it all
And leave it all behind.
Move some place new,
Find a new lover,
And start a new life.
But even I know,
That a change of scenery,
Never truly changes a situation.
For every time I stand in the shower,
And the water droplets
Run down
Between my *******,
One face returns to me.
And every night,
When I close my eyes,
And the midnight air brings
The deepest thoughts to my mind,
Another face appears.
When I walk the park in evening,
Trying to clear my mind,
Of the troubles of today,
And I see two beautiful lovers,
Nestled together on a bench,
I see that face,
Staring right at me.
Clear as day,
Never blurred.

One moment
Your lips taste just like hungry kisses.
The next moment
Your lips taste like wine.
There is guilt
In your face my eye quickly dismisses
As you search
For an answer in mine.
There is distance
Between us that smells just like blood,
And a presence
I simply cannot touch.
There is a shadow
Of a daydream we once called love,
And a sense
That we hoped for too much.

I'm jealous of the person I am when I am with you.

She believed in love and Jupiter,
And everything in between.
Yet the earth betrayed her
In failing to give her a home.
Which is why she bared her chest
To every last element,
Hoping that the dust
Filled all of the cracks in her skin,
And praying that the moon
Tasted as sweet as she remembered.

Because you said you loved me
And I believed it.
Silly me.

I never intended to lose you that night.
I was wasted out of my mind--
Treating my young irresponsibilities
With more irresponsibility.
They said you left crying and in a daze.
In a certain sense,
I'm glad I didn't see you.
Not like that.
It would have broken me.
I just can't help but think,
That if I had,
Would I instead have held you through the night,
Before I let you become a victim of the night?

I'm so sorry.