train lines scar them,
the trees decorate them,
slip a red watch around your wrist to hide them
in the commuter rush,
the office dash,
to wet-sidewalk-up-leg rain splash;
she's lost in the swell of New York City
with red wrists, a scissor's nettle rash,
and she'll sleep alone tonight.

Be silent for a moment
Make no sounds.
Be the chirps of the birds
Low and cooing off somewhere
In the branches of a tree
Swelling with the soft breath of the wind

Be the far off roar of jet engines
A quiet reminder of powerful things
Lost in human struggle

Sit silently.
Absorb the life around you.

Be the pulse of traffic
Roaring and pulsing
Like veins in a cardiovascular
Organic machine,
a great entity unaware of its
Own existence
Except in small instances

Be the sparrows,
Shouting in heated discussions
That we will never know the meaning of

Make no sound. Take in
The sounds of cash registers afar
Customers and children chattering and shopping
Living. Be the sounds of oranges falling into place
Completing themselves into and onto each other

Be no sounds. Be the stone in a bubbling brook.
Feel life flow around you
Fluidly pouring ever onward
Chattering quietly to itself as it pours
Over the stones in the river bed.

i once had a bb gun
it was really cool because it could shoot way far
like,
to the moon probably.

i showed it to my friend thomas.
he thought it was cool too
and then we decided to go look for things to shoot.
we shot at some cans
and some pinecones
and then we drew a bullseye on a piece of wood.

that was fun for a little bit.

then i had to go home.
on my way back i saw some pigeons sitting on a telephone wire
i don't know what i thought.
maybe i was thinking "what's one less pigeon?"
i don't know.

i fired one shot and wings were alive with fright
they clapped like thunder in my ears as the bird  tried to fly away
it started to fall from the wire
i think maybe
that this was the longest moment in my life.
the wings which had served that small creature so well were useless
now
i could have sworn it looked at me

i don't know why pigeon.
i'm so sorry.

she smells like rain on a humid summers day and she tastes like blackberries freshly picked off the bush.
when she laughs, it makes the humming birds sound like nails on a chalkboard and i know how cliche this all sounds but she walks like an angel and i cant help but notice she sings with her tears, she disperses the pain. she makes me want to write about butterfly's and flowers instead of cut wrists and veins.
I tell her I love her. She replies with a kiss never confessing her love but I say it anyways because her smile creates this feeling in me I haven't felt since childhood and she needs to know she is loved. when I feel her bones on my hips I cringe she's so thin.
The disorder, it's gotten hold of her. We both have bruised knuckles and neither one wanting  to confide in another the reason we shake.
But I know her secret and I know she knows too. We've never been on a date because dates consist of eating and neither one of us are ready.
Ready to show our own bruises, our protruding broken hearts. I just hope they melt together and if they don't I'll sew them. We can beat together because we already do. We hurt the same, we have he same demons and they visit us at night when were alone and always lonely.
Hold my hands I'll hold yours too but your fingers they're so cold I fold them to my heart. If we're together tonight the monsters stay hidden, fall in love with each other, not in love with our demons.

it's not about hating things you do
I don't care about these things
I just want to show you my flowers
my words
my soul
so you can love me like I don't

the great awake
through
the nightingale's span
and the yesterday brook
the tomorrow lights
that today mistook....




....for something more
than it really was...




...it always happens like that
with us, cardinal versus cat...




...people like you and i...and no one else has ever felt like that...






...

lift up arms
weightless and numb
to float away on clouds of smoke
as the neck drips
off the body losing one
precious head while eyes rest
within an empty shell of hair
sweet smile lost in the bed folds
to laugh at the walls
when they melt to the floor
crying tears of grandeur
here hands comb hair
tangled fingers break
curls now dotted with flesh
warm shivers run past
dry eyes
smoke picking up the pieces
putting a face together
mask
arms weightless and numb

Feelings are vibrations
Purring and winding,
Snapping with a scream
And if you listen closely
You can hear that
Indecision is silent, soft
And only different from loneliness
By its fatality.