A paradox in itself
But then I saw her there across
the room
through flocks and flocks of 'beautiful'
silly seagulls --
              frivolously flocking,
                                            pecking at
the shiniest trash that flutters by
Only to swallow
pass
flock, peck again
-----------------------------------------------------------­---
She intrigued my mind
   through
the eye I saw her beak was flat                                y
no craning,
                  crooning neck                                   l
                                           and could not f
for she had no wings
... maybe we do not care to fly!
------------------------------------------------------------­--
Like the Red Sea
She-Moses split through the flock
to me,
beakless
surrounded by chronically cocking faces
all but one,
                                                            ­          all alone
She had been                                                     too
-------------------------------------------------------------­
Now next to me
                                                              ­                                        No wandering eye could care
in soundless conversation
proclaimed we
                       are together
as one we surely gleamed as gold
too bright for gulls to see
              ...Mastur-consolation?
------------------------­-------------------------------------
And so it's true
we were                   alone
                               together
perfect paradoxical bliss

I can't stop
sinking about you.
Below myself, underneath
the warm water of existence
that I prefer, that serene six inches
pooled at the top,
heated by love and
the sun.

I can't stop
sinking about you.
Frigid layers of ocean are
suspended underneath me.
Cold water flirts with
my organs, seeps
into my hair, collects
tiny frozen membranes
between my toes.

I am not a girl, I am
a ship mid-wreck
unlikely
to be found.

You're not a man, you are
an anchor pulling my
already heavy heart
straight down.

3 days without a remedy.
Nothing to remind me,
Of who I am,
And not who I was.

3 days and I'm tweaking,
Because you aren't here.
I keep losing my temper,
And biting my tongue.

I can hardly control myself.
I have no medication,
For the inevitable insanity,
That is creeping up faster than ever.

Being this way makes me wonder,
How I ever got you in the first place.
I am not a pleasant being.
I'm ****** and unstable.

I'm not me.
I'm the other me.
The left me,
Because you bring out the right in me

My hands are trembling,
Just sitting here.
I'm going to combust.
And when I do...

I'm taking everybody with me.

What happens when my bliss,
Resides in you?
And when you leave,
What the **** shall I do?

Happiness is temporary,
I've been taught many times.
And you, my dear,
You're oh so sublime.

You, my love,
Many times, proved an angel,
But my love for you,
Proves my being to be in danger.

Because love is not forever,
And bliss is just for a minute.
And love resembles bliss,
Which unfortunately, I am in it.

For to lose you is my death,
And to love you is a threat.
To need you causes stress,
I need you and nothing less.

I love you.
I cannot outrun that fact,
And if you decide to run away,
Would bliss ever come back?

Have I ever had
an original thought?
I've been told
that, 'Everything we ever
write is just an accumulation
of all we've ever read,'
or something
like that.

I don't remember
by who, but I've cited him
Chicago Style
in my heart.

It started young, with my name.
Permanent ink on the soul,
a cliche. I hated
hearing it,
over used and
haphazardly
picked out of
a book.

If I have children,
they won't suffer from recycled
personality disorder. I'll
start them off right,
give them names
that don't
exist yet.

One in a sea
of Lindseys. My
post-modernism
lost-cause syndrome
in itself
is unoriginal.

How can I write
in stream of consciousness
with two decades of
songs stuck in
my head?

This isn't new, I've always
plagiarized while I dreamt
of you, hallucinated
my creativity, now I can't
even picture you without
sappy lyrics
sticking to your
clothes.

I am merely stealing like
an artist, another concept
I stole, brilliant,
but don't
thank me.

I see through that deathly daze of yours.
I see the opportunity,
The regret, the heartache, the gratefulness.

You told me that you weren't sure,
If you are happy you get another chance,
Or sorrow-filled because it isn't over.

Those words broke my heart.
So I left this whitewashed room,
Of demonic devices,
And went to my car.

I wasn't sure what I was doing,
So I sparked this cigarette,
Put it to my lips,
And let everything go.

I looked crazy, I could tell.
Punching my steering wheel,
Crying like you were in a meeting,
With the coroner.

I opened my glove box,
Saw my antidote,
And swallowed.

I dried my sorrows,
Picked up my hope,
Locked my insanity in my car,
And slapped this smile back upon my face.

I couldn't let you see me like this.
I couldn't let you see how upset I am,
Not with you, but with your decision.
You have enough on your mind.

I return back to Hope's deathbed,
Give her a smile to assure her I am fine,
And crawl into the bed next to her.

Back to reality, I sink.
Only to be stolen from sobriety.
It's easier this way.
I feel nothing.
I'm numb.

Numb as usual.
But this time, body matches soul.
And not another tear shall be shed,
For the worst is over...

And for us all,
Recovery commences.

I see you trapped,
Among insanity,
Among bad decisions.
Among regret.

I know that I can't help you,
But more than anything,
I know that I will be there.
I know that this is only the beginning.

There is long journey ahead,
And I will be there every step,
No matter what.
Because I love you.

I know this now.
After everything,
I realize life is too short,
To leave words unsaid.

I want to tell you I love you.
I want to tell you I'll never leave your side.
That I've broken down too many times to count,
Because you jeopardized your life.

I want you here.
I want to bust you out,
Of the imprisonment,
Of your own thoughts.

I want to fix you.
I want to make you realize,
How dear your life is,
To all of these people.

These unsaid words,
Burn on the tip of my tongue.
They sting in the air in front of me.
They burn along with the tequila.

I wish I could tell you now,
But it must wait.

...Again.