My ex almost lover slides down the page of my messages.
I've got a whole book of faces, and his is the only one I'm looking for.
I have to click the 'see all' button to even catch a glimpse of him,
And even then, it is only his back in the mirror as he walks away.

I count days, hours, moments.
I memorize lines, words, syllables.
Soon, I will make the decision to try to forget him.
The lovely ex almost lover does not know this.
He thinks (at least I imagine he does) that I've already forgotten.

But he beats a staccato song inside my chest, like a hard rain on packed, dry earth.
He wakes me every night with his silence,
Like summer coming to an end, the cicadas ceasing their chorus.  
You don't know how accustomed your ears have become,
How much you need that sound, until it vanishes,
Becoming nothing more than an echo of memory.

A week goes by before you ever realize what it is that has been intruding on your sleep.
There is an absence of the familiar,
and to keep yourself from falling off the edge into the abyss,  
'dear God, will I spend the rest of my life alone?'
(Breathe!)
That habit of loving shadows reinvents itself.


*Once, I believed in fairy tales.
Maybe, I always will.

Have you ever held your hand still
Just above a river’s passing water
Liquid rushing by reaching for your skin
Jumping up; eager to commune with you
Beckoning you to dip a finger in

A bag full of water
Little goldfish swim around
Nudge the bag, explore your world
Tell me all that you have found
Let me know your in there 
Little nudges, little kicks
Let me see those acrobatics
Show me all your tricks
You are my little goldfish
With tiny little feet 
Little arms
Little legs
I can't wait for us to meet

It's been a while,
Random memories layed out like tiles.
Infesting the solitude I yearn to find; the place I can't go, the place in my mind.

We're all watching you walk
walk away from us all.
Where are you going?

Street lamps shatter and your feet kiss the glass shards
but you don't bleed, minipulate your mouth into smug smiles
Miles, miles, miles, miles.
Watch your step theres a bump in the road.
There's no time to smell the daisies,
there's no time to turn your head
Just smile and walk, miles, miles, miles,
Glass eyes don't cry and neither do yours.
Would one be game enough to ask,
where are you going?

The pier, a long walk on a short pier
or a short walk to a long pier?
Stumble on loose nails and skim your worries across the water
that tortured mind is occupied.

I say, my dear, what a lovely day you've chosen
What a lovely day it's chosen for you to walk
The sun is shining, clouds gathering upon the horizon
The grass is green and stale Rome air never smelt so sweet.

Oh god, Rosa! Your foot nearly slipped!
Darling girl, the end of the pier is rotting, watch your step.
Stumbling and your eyes! they're so, so red.
Rosa, can you hear us?
"αυτό είναι δικό μου χοίρων"
You're lucky the priests aren't here demon,
Rosa, demon, you're skitterish and talking nonsense.
Are you ready to jump?

You are a thought terrorist.
I can't go on a walk
lay in my own bed
or have a conversation
without you there.
You have hijacked my eyelids
you linger in my mind
-its maddening!
Maybe with these words
I can cut you from my head
and trap you in paper.
You can not become
my background music or
the rhythm of my soul
-its MINE!
Yet still, I think of you.
Why do I do this to myself?
If you are the terrorist, I hope
I am not the plane going down.

Proust turned to Hemingway as her feet dangled off the ledge, playing hide and seek with the setting sun

What shall we do tonight?
Wander the streets as vagabonds,
Cursing the bottle as it makes love to the tongue?

                        Or shall we be a reckless symphony?
                        Truest tones found only in short breaths,
                        Tainted with sinless pleasure?

One in the same as smoke curls the lip.
                      
                        Shall we always be friends as this?

While you smell of ***, yes,
Or until I finish this paragraph.
Would you like me to read it to you?

                            Must you always speak in riddles?

If only to keep the thieves at bay,
For doctors know nothing of riddles.
  
                        You are no doctor, my friend,
                        For though I worship no idol,
                        Religion binds me to you.

As I am your god, you are my teacher,
For no one understands me quite like you.

                    Is that not what the alligator said to the turtle?

I think you’ve read the wrong version, my dear.
The alligator safely takes the turtle to shore,
And they grow old together in the humid afternoon sun.

        Your mind is filled with the optimism your privileges have allowed;
        Whereas the turtle never stood a chance.

Your doubt is lost on me,
But just as Proust has made me ironic,
Words will bring me back to you.

                            Shall I follow you, then, if you stray?

And ruin the cat’s game before its begun?
                      
                        I heard the mouse goes blind in the end.

Then lets never find the hole in the decaying wall,
Until youth betrays our mind and perjury is revealed.

                        Is it truly perjury if we always knew it,
                           Both halves of the mind working tirelessly to keep it?
                        To reserve each word for tomorrow,
                        If only to keep eternity from death?

Must you always speak in riddles?

And he turned back to his book, as her thoughts lit the streetlights one by one.

If contradiction
was a meritable skill
I'd be at the top of the league.
Everything from fears
to opinions on government.
Everything about my head is
a contradiction
and no one understands.