my name felt so comfortable on your lips.
two tones too low
two times too soft
to tell if you meant it.
as much as you mean to me.
don't wait anymore.
please. the sun will hold your hand as it rises.
the moon will keep your feet on the ground.
take this hand that's been held open
held towards the ceiling and        held       here
it's catching music notes                  oh       look
turn off those lights and     smile      at me
the shape your face made when it saw me looking at you

i thought
my heart
was safe.

something is welling up in that place between my stomach and my heart
something i cannot define.
something i cannot locate, though i know it exists.
i am craving something.
this thing is a beautiful something
something begging to be captured. captivated.
something waiting to be enlightened.
this something is longing to be brought to life.
brought to new life from something old
this something aches.
this something nudges and nods uncomfortably.
freedom for something.
freedom from something.
freedom to be something bigger than this.

this is not the something that i imagine.
this is something more.

It must be nice not to eat dinner in silence (or alone),

not to see her crying as she adds honey to oats,

waiting for that spoon to be knocked out of her hands

then hear she butters bread on the wrong side.

Have conversation like stringed balloons, waving,

instead of wrists shaking on counter-tops, spite flaming

on black gas hobs, that clutch with their hot prongs.

Not to gargle sympathies while packing, catching the backwash

of that drink- it’s foul- choked, swallowed too quickly.

Ignore her strong, sombre hints of “stay, bear it with me”,

cradling her elbows. Say: not today, places to go.

And shudder on brass hinges. Grasping at the rail

to support my skidding feet at the ice rink one mild day.

But I’ve got my own life coming,

my own sorrows to plunder.

Love is intoxicating
In that
In it
One sees no
Negative

I love the way it looks in my head when I close my eyes
It's easy to forget why I come here
What were you expecting?
"I never expect anything," she said
He sighed and returned his head to the pillow
She sighed and tilted hers so that her chin kissed the air
We are not who we once were and we never will be again
One day
we will be older,
slightly more sophisticated,
and tired from the time in between
We are divided, simultaneously separated
into One
Stolen time and broken rhyme
Distorted
Disfigured
Derailed

I don't have butterflies fluttering about my tummy.
It's more like
a large mass of dead butterflies
rolling around,
smacking and tearing my stomach walls.
The butterflies start out happy and well,
flitting about, jostling merrily,
wings glimmering, flying wondrously.
Then,
they lose their energy,
collapse and die,
Their fragile bodies crumpling
like bits of sticks
as each leg and antennae snaps off and falls
to the bottom.
They decay and collect
as more and more butterflies give up,
give in, and drop.

I am left with nothing but
this heaving mess of dead insects in my stomach.

I feel sick.

What hurts more?
Hanging on or letting go?
Who does it hurt...besides you?
Saying goodbye to troubles or facing them?
Some might wonder,
Whats the difference>
Whats more tiring?
Moving on or taking the hit?
In a cruel place,
there seems no way out,
but whose the coward when the door opens,
and leaving scares you?
Staying alone at home,
is it scarier than walking out alone...not having a home.

When you have just one life to get it all right
would you give it all up in just one night?
The effort, the fighting, the kicking, the biting
illuminating the truth with the most brilliant lighting.
To claim such strong love yet throw such big stones
seem truly a trick and a dead soul's lost moan.
My window has shattered, my heartbeat has stopped.
The blood in my veins and temperature just dropped.
Around me is glass and rusty-grey stones
with a rotten dead pain that roots from the bones.
My life line depleting is a deep red relief,
with a silent mind violent, with a broken belief.
Apologetic to apathetic in no time at all -
wrenching and wounding; the greatest of all falls.