We are on the outside,
peering in
They've let the two-way glamour
of their muses let us see

The women, different faces
different names,
but all the same
She is the Hurt and Angry
She is the Left Behind

He's the one obsessed
with finding ways to let us know
that the stones they throw are not for us,
but to keep them safe,
alive

When the glass is finally shattered
He leaves Her among the pieces
and runs from skewed reflections of his past
and we all aren't shocked to see
He had already broken every mirror in his mind

"Whose life is the most meager,
the monkey or the *****?"

To screech and wind the
same dreadful tune
a mildew forming on your screws
What a way to grind your gears,
counter-happy through the years

Or

To pantaloon a penny nearer,
wearing outfits scavenged
from old graves
To jingle shackles,
worship Cesar's
To have a smile filled with nails,
a heart fashioned of broken stares

"But who has the most meager existence?
The undertaker or the priest?
The coffin or the corpse?"

To love the man who appoints the pain
to the monkey and the box
To praise the God that has made love
a traitorous paradox
To be the one that bears the wounds
of every ******, child, or sage

That is to live the worst of lives,
                                                    the bleakest death
That is to understand the blackest hole

I'm safer with you
I like this sort of foam between
                                                   THEM and us
it's comforting
I know this is crazy,
but I actually thought I
could look up
                       to you that's childish
I know,
           They know
You know I love
                           you can't judge
a cliff by its sky
the same way
I bowed down to your
slippers each morning thinking
that alone could resurrect
the statue
                     from your heart
It's madness                            really
     how you thought I'd
love,
        I'd love you if
only that can change
                                   my faith in you has
                                   waned
that's one thing I'll never
                                         promise
                                                       you
                                         promise you'll come
                                                            ­      back
love
                                         promise you'll come
home.

I'm scared,
petrified of retreating to nostalgia and chaining my ambition there
of settling for the everyday, to never dream of "ifs" and "maybe's"
to admire  jewels, stars, and lovers from afar
declare them unattainable and safely hide behind anonymity
I'm afraid of comfort, of the well-known roads and faces
Yet,
is it better to cry over spilt milk,
or watch it spoil in your hands?
                                           I don't want to live with regrets
But I know,
it's easier to live with than failure
Honestly, truly,
I'm terrified of crossing the line,
fearing every envelope could push me into ruin
Let me, then, hand the glass to a braver one
a better one than I

We fall
We rise
and yet I don't really know
Is it best to stay down,
                                        or to swallow the world?
Is it best to say yes
                to say no
                to die loud
                to lay low
I can't smile if it's sunny
I can't cry if it rains
That's a lie!
We are robots, we don't think
We just do
It's a life- no, existance!
It's everything scribbly and color by gods
Making us equal, while drawing a blank
Don't tell us creative, or different
unique
It's making us filled in with "pretty," all neat
To hell with the ones who cannot oblige
For using their beauty,
not staying in line

Silence can be the greatest answer or the worst of evils
It is the absence of truth, it is the purest of statements
Silence is not quiet, it abandons its shame into a bottle and shatters it under its feet
Silence is wrong, yet it does right in the eyes of the angry and discontent
Silence is kisses on the feet of the oppressed
It is the strength that raises the oppressors
Silence is dust under your feet, the salt in the ocean
Silence is our fear, our love, our panting voice behind the bars of your inhibitions
Silence is our hungry hearts that cannot beat and smother words of the ones who hurt

                       Let their be sound
Let the gnashing of teeth among the wicked and ****** be heard
let the cries of the children and devils and saints be heard
and break the silence of our world, for there are no righteous men
and there are no living gods

in the darkness, the blankets are so warm and the religion so comfy
with its cushioned promises and feathered saints
how lovely it is to reach out and not see your fingers, but feel them wrapped around glass beads
each is an eyelid, a door locked
each one is redemption
is love, is
                .... fingers tightning, beads falling, eyes opening
Light is not truth, light is not gods' almighty forte
Light is exposure, it's beating your eyes with Lies lies lies
April to May to November
Lies lies lies
Monday to Sunday
Lies lies lies
Tithe to rosary to confession to sin to lie lie lie lie
Light is god, Light is evil Light is devil
Light is lie lie lie
Death is truth, death is End of Light
Death is the end of the thumbing of beads of the beating of chests
of the ashes, martyrs
of the lies
of the misery
of the guilt
the shame, the
                                                                                                                          lie lie lies