the prettiest picture i paint
is biting cold, cobalt steel
counting down to
my great relief,
wondering if my teeth
will shatter
before eight pounds of pressure
turns all my thoughts, desires, and memories
into
the prettiest picture i paint.

His head was caving in
  the way an aluminum can does
  when stomped with your heel.

The crunch cackled through his crumbling cranium.

The irony mocked him like
  a self-deprecating comedian
  who was all too sensitive.

He laughed at himself
(and cried inside)
His smile was a shelf
(on which he held his lies)

If he keeps holding
                                    he
                                          will
                                                  break.

Some say
"Math is hard."
I grin
Hiding
Thinking
What I
Would give
To be
Able
To love
The way
Love ought
To be.

It is early in the morning.
The sun is turning the curtains that ugly, ***** hue.

I have not slept well in weeks.
My *** drive is dwindling.
*** walk.

I am beginning to wonder if anyone ever loved me,
running my tongue over a mouth sore.

I must be tired.

I kissed her, my hair in our eyes.
I pulled back, mystified.
She made me feel poetry.
And her skin was poetry,
delicate and savory.
I was so inspired that
I couldn't find the words.
"Seeing that she's nearly a stranger,"
I thought,
"I'll have to show her later."

Her beach sand is sprinkled with fine sea shells.
I'll spend the evenings studying them all.

And I am a boy
who has never seen the ocean -
the vastness in her eyes that I
would love to get lost in.

For some, smoke screens.
Others see their reflections,
brush their finger tips through the rubble,
make friends with the debris.
Calloused palms hold broken glass,
washing cuts with poison.

In ashes their hearts lye.

there's ice on the windshield,
overlapping, mirroring itself in an array like scales.

i scrape and scrape and scrape;
the ice would still remain.

it distorts.
hazards look like brakelights.
"Is something wrong?"
pedestrians resemble road signs.
"To where are you guiding me?"
road markings... nothing.
"Have I gone too far?"

i dare not try to change lanes
for fear of crashing
and bursting into a crowd of yellow and red octopuses that hug like a bloom.

but the warmth wouldn't reach me.
it wouldn't even melt the ice.
if the fire were on the inside,
the ice would still remain,
sealing me inside,
keeping me inside,
keeping me safe,
keeping the world safe...

i can't find my way.