what am I
to carry these insides
that tread in the wrong places

I feel this

After the first wake
of devotion.

Any spark
burns bright then dims.

Each me
is the shadow
of one anothers
ascetic.

We still try
coagulating the unknown known,
and your close drippy beam
destroys me.

All ripe is rotten
actualization
through a feigned gaze.

I asked a stranger to pour me into the ocean
so shards of me could fall in the peacock blue.
You should put it in writing.
but Amy asks  “But who ya writing for?”
My hair floats above my head
my body hovers
where succubi don’t put up with false pretenses
and neither do I.

And then I was ****** under.
While you were thinking I didn’t have a clue
With no voice in my head, I shot into the sky
to find myself as an emerald.
Where I observe, but don’t change.

I keep a cool front ruin
With no trace of kisses that left resin.
My red bite meant to kiss you
But I fell through like a Rock
I breathe out ashes
from the retired dragon in the story books,
you know the ones made with overstocked pages of gold.

And so I'm told you're happy
By a picture. You happy,
I picture
Without second thoughts
Without me.

So maybe my grin isn't as curved
as the cartoon from the birthday card I sent you
Because that smile you wore made my stomach hurt
Even made my phone sick.

For he is the only one who has ever told me to cry. He is the only one who said, it is beautiful to cry, it is the only way you will feel better. He sits with me, even when we are not together. He listens, even when we are miles apart. He shares my obsession of a classy $3 bottle of wine and the southern love of red shouting about on the television screen. The feel of his all too flamboyant thrift shop fur entrenching my body as his arms wrap around me is what makes me feel loved. My best friend, he is. In a short time, he became so and so he will stay.

I'm slowly mulling over the gaping empty spaces we all left, ones that I helped dig hollow myself.
Is any standstill a pleasant one as this,
Times frozen without vindication.
Addicted to those tiny jubilant, fuzzy but blissful moments.
Tiny coping mechanisms
Altered memories that will somehow glue together simplicity.
Lets try and forget the vastness of it all
Lets keep dancing this dance, and pretending that the smoke that fills our lungs doesn't make us spit in the morning.
Tiny snippets of modified memories I can handle rather well.

You are having a hard time,
said in quotation marks.
There are echoes from no mans land, but they are understood universally.
What happened to you?
I open my mouth where a dried root lays.
We revel in the sand and my skin becomes paper,
We circle round the uprooted valley.
Round and round we go.
You are having a hard time,
you say in quotation marks.
Like a cartoon.

Where is home?
It is not here,
This place containing faces that are unchanging.

There is no escape,
Haunted by the ropes you are entrenched in
Pulling at you from all directions.

As you feel the pain,
You can do nothing
But stand there and cry.

As the tears run,
Your mind races, your heart beats in your ears,
You stand up from the low point which you were just in.

Ripping the ropes apart,
Shredding their tethers as you break free
From this world you are trapped in.

You are dying, begging,
Counting the days...

Until you leave this *brick built prison.