If you feel lonely,
I was lonely too.
I long to know, you, pale cryptic thing, beyond my reach.
If only, I could breech-
space and time for some sliver of a moment-
to tell you-
I'm sorry.
You'll never know
that the sound your boiled blood makes reaches me-
I'm sorry.
Believe me, when I say,
I meant to build something to keep us safe,
together.
But the tempest was too strong.
And my will to weak.
And I can't help but linger of your graceful physique.
I mourn
for my shards that came smashing through your pastel stained windows,
tumbling onto your nicely kept white sheets.
A home made of skin,
so delicately adorned.
I think you're tasteful.
I think you're tastey.
I think you're.
I think you.
I think.
I.
What it all boils down to.

You are the East, and Juliet is the sunrise.
My hedonism tangles the 3 of us in demise-
I despise-
Myself for it.
I long to be punched by your

"soft little fists"

as he once said.

I long to know.
I long too.
I long.
I.

I wake up in the morning wishing I could melt into your ether,
but Apollo isn't strong enough.
So I crawl my body on top of yours hoping that maybe I'll sink down into you, But gravity isn't on my side.
I neither sink nor float.
I'm trapped, perfectly suspended, between two disbeliefs.

If I let my eyes glaze over just right, I get a nice film quality picture.
I hover out of my body- like a mad director, evaluating what we've got, I snip the film strips from my memory, franticaly re-piecing together the story.
I didn't get the shots I wanted.
I feel hollow and sick.
Playing and re-playing the scenes where it all went to the dregs.
Maybe if I were paying closer attention- I could have gotten it right.
I could've rearranged the shot list- so "major life accident" was at the end of the movie- not the beginning.  

Sorting through what we're left with,
I hear no mellow music scoring my mothers choked sobs.
No soft glow to hide the harsh lines of grief described on her face.
The bottles of liquor weren't props.
And when the sound of silence rendered her breathless-
no one was there to yell "CUT"!
I grit my teeth and hold back my seething anger at such a **** writer.

This is not a sci-fi film.
No alien plummets to earth eager to turn back the sands of time because there was a fluke in the configubobulator.

Not a romantic comedy,
where his smashed body miraculously recovers and my mother, him, and all the kids pursue their dreams as a family of comics on the road- The jackson 5 of stand up!

No inspiring action film where the government tests a bionic exoskeleton, connects it to his brains nervous system, and after wild success he dedicates his life to intergalactic vigilante work, as well as a remaining a reliable family man.

There's no sending it back for re-writes.

There is no 1 hero to lean on.
No villain to hate.
Only us.
I hope one day, it's enough.

I hope one day we have a film we can be proud of.

I'm avoiding the shower,
because I don't want to watch the remains of you circle down the drain.
I'll have to watch your scent peel from my skin and disappear into a greedy steamy cloud.
I'll look down at my body and miss the way your fingers looked holding the notches in my hips, and then it will remind me of the view from over your shoulder as you hold me deeper into your chest, and that will make me mad with the thought of your face buried in my hair.
I'll wash my neck and accidentally pretend my hand was yours thoughtfully caressing the nape, and then I'll lean my head on my hand and pretend it was your shoulder and linger there a little too long.
I'm avoiding the shower because, I've come to love the dirt cozied beneath my fingernails like I am beneath your arms.

Sitting on the brim of a dripping cauldron of jealousy,
feet sloshing around in all the hate.
I heard once, if you fill a bathtub with tobacco water and lay,
your body will soak it in, and it will make you sick.
That thought crosses my mind as my skin begins to turn a sensational green,
the same as the dripping sloshing ******* cauldron I slip.
Sinking deeper into the sloshing ******* stunning green goo, stunned.
I attempt to claw myself out the fire that lured me in now revealing itself much more sinister,
icy cold,
and hardening.  
Her perfect little fingers wrapped around my ankles.
To my hips,
my heart,
my head.
Drowned in a dripping cauldron of jealousy,
silently suffering in all the hate.

Cheers with the bud light limes-
The Stella D'Oro,
sunlit clink chimes!
You gimme that small town,
big heart,
grand dreaming,
adventure scheming,
fuzzy man peach,

kind of love

Cheers to the bud light limes-
**** and fizzy,
citrus combined!
Good loving,
body munching,
laugh until we're bustin,

kind of love

Cheers with the bud light limes-
Cheesy-
Like,  Jimmy Buffet divine.

All our pains and all our fears
drowning out with tastefully selected beers.
We dance and laugh to forget all night
we stay up kissing until morning light.
You wake up gathering your things from the floor
your face now different
not like before.

You secretly slip away to meet this dark mystery by his car you've seen skid out of parking lots late nights.
His black hair veiling his pale body and dark face.
His skin is covered in drawings of words and creatures that torture him.
You jump into his small car as he nods his head towards you. Smoke pouring from his lips. Something is frightening in his eyes. But you obediently buckle your seat belt and take the blunt from his hands.

I wish I could soak my brain in narcotics.
Then maybe I could sleep at night.
Maybe if I pour Nyquil into my ears.
If I drill a hole in my skull and funnel down some Vicodin.
Some Ambien, Eszopiclone, Ramelteon, Triazolam, Zaleplon, Zolpidem salad.
And a bowl or two on the side.
But then I may never wake up.
And the sky looks too perfect in the morning to sleep forever.

I'm a narcissistic fool madly in love with the piece of myself that I remember you sinking into.
You asked to give me a piece of your soul,
and now I can't stop seeing it in my mirrors.
Our conversations wrapped in cobwebs
come falling over me as I look at you in my eyes.
Am I me?
Or am I you?
Or are we one?
For the fear of seeing you, I refuse to look myself in the eye.
Next thing I know, I'm neither of us.

I make love to the son of Francisco Alcarez.
He keeps me warm when I am frigid.
He lights a fire within me when I am frozen.
They say he makes your clothes fall off,
and oh Francisco Alcarez,
you've given me your magic.
Weber Blue agave are your eyes.
You've brought your chaos from the south of freedom, so stab it into my stomach.
~It's not the worst thing thats been stabbed into my stomach~
I think I've cracked you open, but- you've uncorked me.
Slide me into the bliss I've missed, waiting for you~
Tear me away from my cyclical thoughts,
Smooth out my mind,
Kiss me gently and watch me cringe with sour pleasure.
But, lets keep this affair private~
I don't think they understand--- I need you.

I am an old stool that sits at the corner of a soggy bar.
Peoples names etched into me like rigged little scars.
Surrounded with scraps of sad saps coaxing demons from within their repertoire.
Shadows of pretty pale faces twisted in the dim light collect over the years.
I'm sticky from thousands of spilt beer and silent tears.
I cling to your worn jeans as you rest upon me.
You find it cozy; I am the only one that holds onto you with desperation and not the other way around.
But don't be outfoxed.
I don't need you.
I don't need you like the juke box ****** needs the needle hidden in his socks.
I don't need you like the bartender needs his private bottle of Jamison to soothe his own life's hard knocks.
I don't need you like the blonde at the end of the counter needs someone's beer stained breath hot against her coin slot.
Because I'm just a stool.
An old fool,
forgotten in the corner of your soggy cesspool.

Let me love you! Let me delicately ****** you into enlightenment.
I promise you'll like the way the lights lick my jaw line,
speaking- sharp and pointed.
BANG BANG BANG-
I knock harder at the pearly gates of Hell.
I WANT THE WORLD TO KNOW MY TRUTHS!
What truths?
The truths that tumble from your mouth half thought through?
The truths that are untouched, unused, turned to dust, and kicked up by your own dumb shoes?

Things that matter are things like space and stars and gravity.
But sometimes those things don't wake me up in the morning.
Perhaps I'm searching for happiness in mountains of magazines
and
billboards are filling my mouth with bubbling ideas of dollars
and
cash is bloating up my throat.
Biting my nails tastes like dirt and sweat from inside some falling apart shack.
Am I dying to the world?

I see faces I once knew
With the same eyes,
but differents mantras.
Singing songs of sorrow and success,
With smoke filled mouths.
They gurgle and blow.
Secretly afraid of the iron fist,
Fair weather anarchists.
They dance in the moonlight.
Slow moving bodies twist and shimmer like the water rippling around their bare feet.

I am the creamy glass of milk
you've stolen from the easterners gods you're hastily slurping down
"for my own good".
Willing myself to turn sour in your mouth.
Begging you to spit me out, because I'd rather be anywhere other than splashing around your rotten yellowed teeth.
Mindful of the approaching date you've slapped on my side,
robbing me of my cured potential, so rich and golden.
As I'm sliding down your throat I cheers to hoping I curdle your stomach, like you've curdled mine.

Watching you stumbling through your chords I swear to whatever the **** we call god, I saw you for the very first time.
P0etic and afraid.
B0ld and timid.
Moving through time on the wavelengths your fingers said were appropriate.
Unsure and solid.
But most of all h0nestly eager.
I soak you up as you glance my way.
You see a city beneath your surface.
I say a universe~
I told you I saw it in your eyes.
Little brown nebulas dying to escape.
I see it now~
Like the color blue.
I am the egyptians and you are my sky.
Shine on Geminii.

Love is rose colored glasses.
With smudged mishaps and
Misspokes.
Treasuring the tripping words
dripping out of your mouth.
Proud of the pursuit of the
combined two sounds
purely by accident.
Because
it’s a little breath of originality.
Love is awkward hand placements looking like
marble art
and zits that slowly
turn to constellations;
And if I squint, that sweat bead dropping down your forehead looks like a shooting star.
Love is briefly closing my eyes to make a wish
On your forehead ***
and maybe
part of me
is afraid
it might
come true.
But
In this moment,
I'm glad to have you.

Orange and Red.
****** skies, or beautiful sunsets.
Who can know?
Not me.
Blue and Green.
Jealous nations or breathtaking seas.
Who can know?
Not me.
High and low, dark and light, opened and closed, black and white.
I see what I can, I know what I couldn’t, I open my mouth to people I shouldn’t.
Shut down, blacked over, forcefully shoved.
My mouth is closed, My eyes are shut.
To all those after me:
Good luck.

The tasteless strip hits my lips,
the clouds are exploding.
This is an acid trip.
Eyes scream things you can't tell are real.
All I can do is draw, my pen is surreal.
The touching and pressing is scary inside,
The walls are too close,
There's nowhere to hide.

Dangling time in front of my face.
A rythmic ace.
East to west. East to west.
Ensnared.
By this chain as it wraps around my chest.
Hexed, dancing towards the edge of a chasm.
C ontorting for you cynicism
               U nvieling for you undived attention.
     R easoning for your recoilation.
    S alivating for your sensuality.
E xcusing your erosion.   ----
D ancing in my delusion. ---
You are the jack of spades.
A master of trades.
Colder than the queen of diamonds you've plucked from my mind and displayed.
I am the rabbit you'll rip from your mad hatter.
Impatiently awaiting my own dismal disaster.
Pounding my fists;
"Make this trick go faster!"
Getting mixed up with an illusionist was hasty and unplanned;
As my courage melts, he strokes my cheek
With his sleight of hand.

If love is to gold;
Your hands are to Midas.
In a pan of penne pasta,
Or sizzling out a fresh cracked la croix.
Touched my tummy,
Full of gold, Midas nurtured safety.
Don’t worry bubble guts,
Take a whipper for love.
Plunge, jump, reach,
go ahead,
Fall.
Into my pile of blankets on my sheepskin rug.
Share in ecstasy of being witnessed,
I call you to the stand!
In 1803 where we both reached for the same mango.
I loved that bodega, in that other life, where our souls crossed paths that last time.
Or so I can imagine.

Can I cry yet?
Leering behind my eyes, down my throat,
falling to my feet, filling me.
They get so heavy,
I can barely pick them up,
My legs like cinderblocks.
I have to keep moving.
Things to do,
People to see,
Obligations to keep.
Don’t hug me too long,
Don’t squeeze me too hard,
For fear it all comes bursting out.
The levy might not hold!
Don’t look me in the eyes.
Don’t gently stroke my hand.
Don’t say something soft.
Don’t dare penetrate.
For even the smallest of cracks might send these salty waves over the edge.
I must wait.
Alone alone alone
Wait to be alone.
Wait.
Weight.
Don’t share the weight.
When you’re in the shower maybe then you can cry.
Convince yourself it’s just the bath water running down your face.
Not a break.
Just a momentary escape.
A little crack in the ****.
I have to hold it in.
The big wave hasn’t crested.
If you let it out a little bit at a time-

Time
Time
Time
Just a little more time.

- maybe it won’t hurt so much when it all inevitably comes bursting through, breaking me to pieces.
How will I recover? Who will I be? Who am I now carrying around this grief? How will I survive?
The reaper comes for us all.

I scraped the skin from the mannequin I made of myself.
Beginning to graft it back onto my slippery insides.
Numb and dry,
While everyone politely admired my outsides,
carefully poised behind the glass of my storefront window.
Reaaranged and redisplayed to fit the scene and season.
But I dumped my bucket of innards on my crusty bones and as my skin grabs hold-
It hurts like a sonuvabitch.
Have I died?!
And if I've died, who is this frankenstein rising up from inside?
Will she be kind to me?
Will she wash the matted dirt from my hair, and kiss the smelly flesh of the hands that put me back together?
Will she tell me goodmorning, and tuck me in safe at night?
Will she listen to my heartache when it's 3 AM and the rest of the world is in deep slumber, unaware of the pain of the observer?
Will she love me better than the one before?
Together we've cross stitched a body that looks like a girl we used to know-
So tender and red with a long way to go.
Her hand is left, my hand is right-
We grab tight,
fall to our knees,
and thank the GOD WITHIN
for bringing us back to life.

If I had the words to say, I'd tell you.
But words are fleeting
and far too many people over
complicate simple meaning.
So I tell you "I love you" and hope that it's enough.
3 little words hang heavy in the air.
They are the gravity.
Or more,
They are the tiny secrets between gravity holding it all together.
I will every molecule in my being to keep them from imploding,
******* along the seams of my skin to make sure everything inside me doesn't come ripping through.
I am a child first playing with fire,
I am the shepherd girl facing my giants with rubies instead of stones.
Burning inside,
I slingshot myself into you,
hoping that,
together,
our explosion will rip apart both our bodies,
our insides will splash across the stars like we always dreamed they would.
Our protons and neutrons amounting to something more than death.
If I had the words to say I'd tell you,
But I love you will never be enough.

Skin milky soft against golden brown light nudging you awake.
Hair jet black against a porcelain complexion.
Angular face throwing shadows onto my body as the sun licks it up.
Grumpily turn your back.
I see now, You are a morning flower m'love.
You may not know it,
and you may not like it,
You're quick to bloom,
and soon to wilt,
I'm sorry I plucked you,
I'm sorry I killed you,
I didn't know you were but only a morning flower m'love.

You're on the other side of the world, and still you don't feel so far away. Almost like my mind has created a black hole you live in and the gravity of the situation has bent time and space in half for me.
Maybe thats a far out notion,
But baby you're a far out man.
Your cosmic waves have knocked me out of orbit and thank the divine because I was headed towards a righteous meteor waiting to smash me to bits.
You've shed some light on the darkside of my moon when you fearlessly landed on my daunting craters and planted a flag of freedom.
Is it naive of me to believe in miracles?
But what is this life other than miraculous?
It's like you told me in my dreams-
"You've got to find the cracks in reality".
And that's where I'll meet you m'love.

You said you would love me forever.
You whispered those things in my ear.
Now those thoughts are but ****** remains,
ripped too soon from my eager veins.
I crumble.
I tear and tumble.
I feel your hands,
Here,
Here,
Here.
Unbeknownst they've disappeared.
We once thought the word "forever" as though we'd invented it.
My holy writ.
****** words dripping from my lips,
All sour and soiled,
drowned in imminent turmoil.
Who knew forever would be so short.
abort.
abort.
Where are my million years?
In place,
a  million tears,
million fears,
million bottled beers,
unclears,
slutty sneers,
you're too drunk, stay right here's.
You said you would love me forever,
you whispered those things in my ear.

I lay my red cheek heavily on the wooden walls that have enclosed some existence for... how long?
Planks upon planks of royalty- sliced apart to shelter me. Keeping me safe.
What kind of sound did you make when they cut you down? Did others see? Did you hear their hearts break as you thudded into the ground? Were you proud?
To lose your crown.
And now you're holding your place, as a families base in some nowhere tiny town.
So tell me, What have you seen here?
You freckled knotted wood!
You can trust me, you can tell me!
As I sleep- whisper into my dreams.
Your gorgeous and solemn,
and
your dead silence makes me angry.
My little red cheek blushes even harder at your hollow absence.
Are your secrets trapped forever behind your once so stoic posture?
And if your secrets are lost, can I whisper you mine?
Will you keep them hidden in your history? Add them to your rings?
Remnants of who you were stare back at me.
I guess you could say the same.
You have heard my secrets.
You do hear my cries.
When it's 3 am and the weight of my sorrows is too much for my shoulders, and your floor boards creak, just like you could speak.
You know that sometimes our shelves need dusting.
You offer me a place to whisper more grey matter into the air,
still hoping to lure you out of silence.
It's not fair that you know so much more about my soul.
Could you please tell me what I'm going to sound like when I come thudding down?
Your secrets are too deep.
So I'm left with my little red cheek anxiously pressed against your wooden walls.

I’ve hung around too many open bars,
Took a pre game a little too far-
Looking for one more shot.
A shot through my own foot.  
Shot to pieces- shocked.
Tell me, is it a shot in the dark,
to ask for your heart,
one more time?
All the shots I’ve shot before cinged my insides,
Leaving me warm,
For a time.
But when I drink you in,
I burn in all the ways I searched for at the bottom of the bottle.
I’m sorry I forgot,
loves a long shot,
Not,
For the short sighted.
No quick fix,
But I’d rather shoot the ****,
Than shoot the shot that landed me here in the first place.
With a birds eye view,
I’d rather be at home with you.
But a birds eye shot has filleted my insides,
Openly sifting for all the things I despise,
about myself,
to excavate and place on display as a target on my back,
And I’m asking you to take the long shot,
Across the chasm I created.
All I’m looking for,
Is one more shot.

I am thankful for the way his soul sits on my lips.
It lingers there like sweet citrus on a hot sticky florida day.
Tangy and reminiscent like the joy of youth, my face twists in sweet and sour pleasure.  
He reminds me I don't need to carry the load of the past alone,
as he picks up my basket of oranges, sifting through the rotten ones, biting into the saccharine remains of who I used to be, while planting seeds and whispering to me all I will become.
The future never tasted so ripe.

I've fiercely rejected the monotonous
monogamous
mainstream
madness,
for a forest of lovers.
I've asked for a bouquet of boys freshly cut beaming above my bedside table.
Spruced alongside sprinkles of sensual femininity offering scintillating chatter as I slip asleep.
As I am many galaxies in one girl,
giving myself can be quite gaudy;
One wooer would soon wither away under such wavering weathers.

Theres a pit in my stomach.
That must make me a peach.
My skin is so soft.
That must make me a peach.
I bruise.
That must make me a peach.
Sometimes I'm hard and bitter.
When you wait to see, I'm as sweet as can be.
That must make me a peach.
I must be a peach.

You remind me of my cold bitter coffee.
Better yet, my cold bitter coffee reminds me of you.
Once upon a time it was warm.
Like you.
Now, It makes my stomach sick when I sip on the stale sweet leftovers.
And if you didn't catch the pattern, like you.
Still I find myself mindlessly reaching this past hour while sitting in an ambiance ridden coffee shop, listening to other saps who've been suckered into lust, beating out their soft sorrows with melodies in the background.
I bring my cup to my lips, tilt it back, expecting to be infused with a sense of belonging that's no longer there.
I'm searching for you in my coffee cup, but all that's left is ***** looking walls and lipstick stains.

Lying beneath the stars longing to feel your honest heart beet.
Returning to the dirt we came from, I can feel your breath hot and sticky filling the gap between us.
Scrupulously steaming us vegetables.
I can't help but imagine biting into your savory peel.
Some say the skin is the most nutritious part.
I inhale the ripe droplets dewing across you,
and wonder what we'd look like mashed together.
Stuck in a blender.
Ripped apart and delicately reassembled.
And then I remember,
That we already were.

Today I recoil from the world,
loud, chaotic, self-serving.
I draw close to my mysterious self,
one that feels unknown even to me.
I kiss my heart with tender lips and tell her-
You don't have to be so angry with the world,
but it is ok to step away.